Talia - Fires of Ferelden
by Roku - Molester of Science
Summary: The Mage-Four manage to botch a simple scroll, and are sent a thousand miles the wrong direction. Before they know what's happening, Talia and Onmund are assumed Apostates, while Brelyna and J'zargo are nowhere to be found. Ferelden does not make a good first impression. Non-Dragonborn-fic.
1. Mages from across the sea

**_Greetings and Salutations, readers new as well as old!_**

_**What I have here for you, this day, is nothing short of a pretty damn good story! So, buckle up and grab some popcorn, because I am about to take you with me onto a journey spanning a decade and two continents!**_

**_There will be magic! Trauma! Politics, intricacies, sex, violence! Lore, myths and religion, all for the taking, all previously ignored by the many, who would rather focus on the Dragonborn! Well, I say, no more. This story, as such, does not even involve the glorified son of a lizard! Instead, it's down to the guts of regular people, down to the discipline of the common soldier, and down to the moral integrity of the mortal being._**

**_Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you, the first installment of 'Talia'_**

_**Fires of Ferelden**_

* * *

_Winterhold was once a great, powerful and wealthy hold, and its relationship with the College of Winterhold was good._

_In 4E 122, an unprecedented, cataclysmic event struck Winterhold and most of the areas along the coastline. A massive storm came in from the Sea of Ghosts, which brought huge waves that crashed into Winterhold. Most of the city fell into the sea, leaving the city in ruins both physically in terms of the destruction of the city itself, and in terms of the emotional and psychological damage to Winterhold's people. This event would eventually be referred to as the "Great Collapse." The event left Winterhold in ruins, and some had said that things would never be the same again, including Winterhold's relationship with the College of Winterhold. The people of Winterhold would eventually begin to blame the College for causing the Great Collapse. Winterhold has never really recovered from the Great Collapse. _\- The Wanderer's guide to Skyrim, 'Winterhold and the College'.

* * *

**Mages from across the Sea**

* * *

The College of Winterhold was, traditionally, a place of learning, of study and of contemplation. It was the largest and most well renowned magical institution in Northern Tamriel outside of High Rock, and boasted the professors and scholars such would demand.

The student body, on the other hand, was somewhat less impressive.

Reaching just above twenty students in total, the College of Winterhold was among the least attended in the Empire. Most of this stemmed from the ongoing civil war making travelling between the provinces difficult, at best, as well as the local resentment of magic.

Talia, of House Aulus, was among the newer students. Having lived and learned within the halls of stone and brick for just short of three years, she and the rest of her peers were considered newcomers yet by the older students. That, of course, came with its own share of patronizing looks directed their way, as well as the constant pressure to prove themselves worthy of the place they held here.

Still, it wasn't all bad.

She greatly enjoyed the classes, an appreciation for knowledge and learning she had received already from an early age. Faralda's instructions in the applications of destructive spells was by far her favorite subject, as was whenever Tolfdir decided to break something new from his stunning repertoire of spells and arcane arts. Classes were five days a week, with Loredas and Sundas dedicated to self-studies and sleeping in.

Classes were, for the sake of practical instruction, held for no more than four or five students per professor. Three years ago, Talia had become enrolled at the same time as foreign students from Morrowind and Elsweyr had arrived, and thus she enjoyed the - sometimes questionable - honor of sharing classes with a Khajiit, a Nord and a Dunmer.

A Sundas was, traditionally, a day dedicated to sleeping in. Talia valued her sleep about as much as she did her alcohol, and did not exactly appreciate being disturbed. Still, the face she woke up to, on a morning where she normally should have been allowed to sleep off the skooma, did provide some consolation.

Cinereal skin, soft, red eyes and a muted smile on the creases of tinted lips. Raven hair tied into orderly buns and pointy ears that just barely managed to poke out from underneath the black locks. A voice that could as well have belonged to a seductress, instead possessed by the quiet, introverted girl known as '_Don't talk about Dunmer'_…

Brelyna Maryon was a beauty to behold. She'd been a beauty when they'd met three years ago, and time - and puberty - had only honed that.

"Brelyna…There are two acceptable reasons for you to wake me up early on a Sundas." Talia groaned, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes; "Either you're finally here to engage in some extensive anatomical introspection…or someone's died."

"Oh, no one has died." The Dunmer mused, hiding her smile behind a curled hand. Damn, not even a blush? Talia swore to herself, realizing that of course, after three years one-sided crushing, Brelyna had gotten more than used to her flirting.

"So…you're here for the _other_ option?" a dry grin started spreading across her lips. Emerald met ruby, only to close with a not-really-disappointed sigh at the amusement Brelyna found in her expression. It kinda merged with the weakly pulsating ache in her head; "Fine, fine…What, then, if I might be so bold to ask, is the reason for this travesty you call waking up early?"

"It's morning." Came the dry, yet gentle response. Talia sighed and grunted, halfway sitting up in her bed. Gentle hands ran through her hair, changing her sigh from one of annoyance to pleasure. She could feel the tiny pricks of a comb scratching the skin of her head; "And your hair looks like it was used for J'zargo's shock-spells."

"Probably was…Don't remember much from last night." Maybe she should have gotten a door installed in her room. She was pretty sure there'd been the sound of a Khajiit throwing up at some point in the night.

"Are you still asleep?" Onmund, of course, had to poke his head in and give her more reason to consider a door. She loved the guy, no question, but there was a point where she wanted some privacy, even from people who'd become like family to her; "Honestly, even J'zargo is up."

Damn. Her head was still thrumming, like someone was bashing her skull in with a warhammer. _What on Nirn was in those… Skoma, riiiiiight. J'zargo better have a headache worse than mine or I'm dropping his furry butt from the bridge._

Why, oh why, had she indulged in his wares? _Sure J'zargo, let's have a go at it. Do I feel weird? Nope, I'm a cool cat. Why am I turning purple… wait, purple? That's probably a bad sign. Should have stopped at purple._

Yeah…she should definitely have stopped at purple.

"Yes, Onmund. I am asleep and this is all a nightmare." She muttered, dusting off her robes. She envied J'zargo and Onmund each, when the bloody covers weren't sufficient at keeping out the bloody cold. Why did the College _have_ to be placed in the coldest populated place on the entire continent? She'd weep tears over the idiocy if she didn't still fear they'd freeze to her cheeks; "And in a moment, Two-Sock's gonna come crashing down on the lot of you. And Faralda will dance around naked with Ancano."

"That is…an image I'd rather have been without." Brelyna shuddered, but it _could_ just have been a reaction to the cold. The dormitory's only source of heating was the central well of fireglass, which was better than nothing, of course, but still not enough.

"You drank with J'zargo, I take it." It wasn't even a question. Damn him, and his introspection. Or, rather, damn the fact that he knew her so well by now. It really didn't leave her a lot of room for mischief or mistakes, when everyone around her could read her so damn well.

"You can't prove anything." She said, then added with a curious glance around; "Where _is_ the damned cat, by the way?"

"Sacrificing to the Khajit god of the latrines, last time I…" Onmund started. There was the sound of someone reeking in the latrines; "…heard."

"He's sick?"

"Somewhat, yes. I offered healing his sickness, but he declined, stating that he would _never be the greatest mage ever if he accepted help._" Onmund explained, smiling a bit at the jab. He was like that, really; kinder than anyone really had any right of asking from him; "I did heal you though."

Talia felt a small flush of gratitude. That _would_ explain why she wasn't currently joining the Khajit, emptying her bowels in the holes. The though alone made her stomach churn, and caused hairs to stand on her neck. Onmund had never really been the most outgoing of their group - somehow, _J'zargo_ of all people filled that role - but he was loyal, and never hesitated to help.

It put him above her own brother, back home, quite easily.

"Yeah well I… thanks." She muttered, picking the first, the best edible object within arm's reach, which turned out to be a cold, half-eaten beef. _Meh_, she'd eaten worse at better places.

Not that the College wasn't an awesome place, it was just damnable _cold_. Only warm place was the library, which was why she spent as much time there as she could get away with.

That Urag had just picked up a fresh collection of books on summoning, didn't have anything to do with it. The Orc was probably the scariest librarian she'd ever met, but also by far her favorite. The books were his life, not just occupation. She'd even once caught him talking to them.

J'zargo joined them after a few more minutes of listening to him empty his body of fluids and whatever else was in a Khajit, looking none too pleased about anything. When Brelyna offered him a bottle of mead, Talia almost felt bad as J'zargo turned green beneath his furry face - and it really was all furry and fuzzy. So instead, she just forced down her own beef, and did the usual morning stretches, blowing at her cobber hair when the long strands fell into her face.

This, apparently, was a Breton-only thing. The first day she had been to the College, or rather the first morning, the others had looked at her, confused, when she did her exercises. Mother always did say a good physique was important to a mage, and just any young people in general.

It had helped her build up a pleasant physique over the years. That, and the cold of Winterhold had probably done more good for her body than any treatments or diets back home ever could. She was strong, fit and healthy.

Which was great, except it had made her that much more of an eligible bride in High Rock.

Tolfdir, as per mandatory, was far too cheerful and energic for a man his age - surely, _he_ was bathing in the blood of virgins -, and started up with informing the class of what news had come to him concerning the blasted so-called _trip_ to Saarthal.

"Trip", being a nicer way of saying 'Shared near-death experience'. The old man had almost looked like he enjoyed it, back in those fucking ruins. Personally, Talia wasn't a fan of the undead.

"Good morning, Students." He greeted them.

"'_Good', he says…"_ J'zargo muttered, keeping his hands held over one of the wells. Fur aside, he _was_ from the warmest place of them all, and thus the least adapted to the cold.

"Let me start by congratulating you all on a more mature and efficient work in Saarthal than I could have hoped for. You each did your assigned tasks with nothing short of praiseworthy dedication. I was, I admit, ready to call off the class when we encountered the Draugr, but once more, you young ones gave me faith in the new generation." Tolfdir beamed at them, causing Talia to shift her feet in the awkward silence that followed.

He always seemed unnaturally enthusiastic about anything even remotely related to the achievements of the younger generations. Was this what getting old was like? If so, Talia didn't look forward to it. Tolfdir _was_ enthusiastic about most things though, the Draugr included.

It hadn't been _that_ bad though, honestly. Draugr were scary, true, but in the end they were walking corpses. And corpses caught fire _surprisingly_ easy. It had more been the giant eye-ball-thingy that hovered over the ground that had served to freak her the fuck out. _Seriously, what in Lorkhan's two halves was that thing?_

"We still don't really know exactly _what_ we found, but…" and the way Tolfdir drew out the 'but', made Talia nervous; "We're going to find out."

"J'zargo wonders if this thing can be harnessed. Clearly, it is of great magical power."

"Looking for an easy catch, are we?" Talia grinned at the way his whiskers bristled with in mock-offense; "I'll admit…that thing_ is_ pretty weird. I'd love to know we don't have a Daedric artifact or some kind of sigil stone in the middle of the gods-be-damned hall though…"

"Quite true." Tolfdir agreed; "We are just not equipped to handle something like this, at least not with our current staff. So, I have prepared a scroll of teleportation that will take you to Cyrodiil, more accurately, to the Synod."

"The Synod?" Talia repressed a groan. Great, Tolfdir wanted them to go to _that_ place? She'd left High Rock, among other reasons, to get away from bickering politicians, and people kissing the asses of aforementioned; "Why?"

"Because they're one of two officially registered magical authorities in the heartland. The Synod's main activities are searching for magical artifacts all across Tamriel, cataloging them and figuring out their uses." Tolfdir always did seem overly excited when asked to expand or explain something. Odd how enthusiastic he was when it came to their competitors.

"But they never share secrets, hmm?" J'zargo mused; "J'zargo knows, because he tried… _learning_ what they knew of magic. They didn't want to teach." What he didn't say, but what every person in the room knew, Tolfdir maybe excluded, was that J'zargo was completely willing to snatch away artifacts if they would and could make him more powerful.

"Again, quite and sadly true. The Synod guard their secrets well, as opposed to the College. However, you won't be going to the Synod with merely a demand for answers. This scroll will allow you to travel to the Synod, pick up Master Artificer Sylvius Ambrent, and return here by help of a scroll prepared by the Synods themselves. All in less than a day."

"How come, if they have the scroll too, that we have to haul across Tamriel for this _one_ person?" Talia asked, tugging at her left braid of orange hair.

"The Synod does not like to be summoned. They have…respectfully requested an escort." Tolfdir added the last bit with some irritation; "The scroll should be accurate enough that you'll be within eyesight of the Synod upon arriving."

"J'zargo does not like this way of travel. Too loose, too unknown."

"Says the Khajit who would have set himself on fire if I hadn't tested out the bloody scrolls." Talia glanced at him. Thát had been a fun day, really. Like, really fun, in the '_fuck, I'm on fire!' _kind of way. J'zargo had wisely kept his distance it the weeks it took for her eyebrows to grow back out.

"Says girl, who pets the wolf-ghost." The cat shot back. Clearly, he was in a grumpy mood this morning. It might have something to do with his breath reeking of vomit.

"Two-Sock is a summon, _not_ a ghost. And he's completely petable, just so you know."

"It is a magical being, _not_ a pet for women who want to cuddle fluffy animals. J'zargo is fluffy and furry, why won't you pet him?" The Khajit asked, smirking with slightly bared fangs. The room went silent, even Tolfdir looking like someone had hit him with a fish.

Onmund just looked like he'd grown numb to these things. Which, honestly, Talia did not blame him. Of them all, he was probably the most sane, not to mention level-headed. It wasn't really a tall bar to reach, but it was something.

"…regardless." He coughed after a few seconds of awkwardness; "Head down to Master Urag, he will give you the scroll. It is a delicate piece of work, so be careful when using it. Enjoy yourselves now, won't you?"

Urag was in one of his better moods that morning. Better, meaning he wasn't verbally chewing out J'zargo for even _looking_ funny at some of the tomes. Instead he only gave the cat a wary look, before turning to Brelyna.

In their class, the Dunmer was the most skilled with both summoning and using scrolls on the fly. It made sense, with how much of her time she spent with her cute little nose in the books.

Talia smiled a little at the thought, glancing to her classmate; it was a _very_ cute nose.

"Here you go, Child…" The old Orc grumped, handing Brelyna a large scroll. The parchment was bleached and musty, and it gave off a smell of burning sulfur. Talia didn't mind, really. It was just how magic items tended to smell; "Handle it with care, scrolls like these take time to prepare."

"We'll be careful." Onmund promised. Of course, _he_ would be careful, he always was. As for the rest of them though…Okay, so maybe it _was_ just her and J'zargo.

Talia was just glad she hadn't been the one to be called 'child', by the old Orc. She _was_ nineteen winters, as the Nords insisted on counting winters instead of Solstices. Come to think of it, she didn't actually know how old Brelyna was, only that the girl felt more like a sort of younger sister than an older one. Onmund, she knew, was the oldest in the class, with his oh-so-mature twenty-one winters. Of J'zargo, she had no clue.

Brelyna often felt like a somewhat less introverted version of her own younger sister back home, Alai. The difference, of course, being race. Though she'd not have minded Onmund as her older brother, instead of Aveel.

"So… do we use it in here or…" She asked, pulling one of the books on the art of finer summoning from the shelf. It would be a bad idea if the scroll sent a wave of fire outwards when they left. Urag would probably use their hides for new book-covers in that case.

"_Malakath_ no!" The Orc exclaimed, his expression a mix of panic and outrage that they would even think of such a thing; "You will leave my Arcanum before even flickering a flame, much less using a scroll of this magnitude."

"Right, right. Sorry, Urag, didn't mean to imply we were going to torch the Arcanum. I haven't read half the books here yet." Talia quickly apologized, waving her hands in surrender. Books were precious to her, probably something she could blame on her sister and Brelyna both being absolute brown-noses.

Instead of braving the almost constant blizzards and snowstorms raging outside, the young mages gathered in the Hall of Elements. It was still cold, but the warmth coming from the magical well in the center of the room, heated the room a bit more than the entrance to the College itself. The only thing that bothered Talia, was the giant, hovering orb.

Somehow, it had been moved in the very short time between Tolfdir's greeting and their return. Magic could be creepy like that too. Most likely it was one of Arniel's spells, another one she could probably not even comprehend yet at her current level. The teachers here worked with what they did for a reason.

Or, it could be Savos Aren. The man was probably immortal, for all he had implied, so it wasn't exactly impossible.

"Ready for some instantaneous travel?" Brelyna asked, unfolding the scroll. Her eyes almost instantly started crawling across the surprisingly pristine parchment, eating up every little detail in its symbols and runes. Arithmancy had never been Talia's strongest suite, which was just another reason she failed as hard as she did with enchantments.

She could put up a pretty dapper fire-rune though, so that was something.

"Ready to head for a warm vacation, you mean?" Talia smirked. Gods, did she long for warmer weather. Even after three years of study in Winterhold, the freezing storms could still send shivers to the marrow of her bones. Something was obviously wrong when you needed expedition-grade clothing for a trip to the tavern. Reaching back, she pulled her hood up, tucking in the neatly combed hair before tying the strings shut, keeping the fabric in place.

"Doesn't a vacation usually last for more than a day though?"

"Fine then, a _warm excursion_." Talia corrected, giving the Nord a flat look. Onmund chuckled at her reaction, but remained silent as Brelyna started muttering the incantations on the parchment. Each breath of air from her lips carried strands of raw magica, grafting itself into the symbols of the scroll. It looked most of all as if the Dunmer was exhaling a thick mist, coalescing around them in spiraling clouds.

"Next stop: Cyrodiil." She called, silently looking forward to spend at least a few hours at the bank of the warm lakes iconic to the heartland. She herself had never been there, but her parents had, back when the College of Whispers still allowed necromancy; "Hold on to your lunches."

"J'zargo hasn't had-"

The cat's words were swallowed up by the break in local reality. The air imploded and swallowed them whole, and within the span of a second, the group was gone, leaving not even a mote of dust disturbed behind them.

The only witness to their departure had been the hovering orb, its mystic etchings aglow with sporadic bursts of energy. Slowly, it's lights dulled, and with the final flicker of green, it crashed to the floor with a splintering of brick and granite.

* * *

When the world once more untangled itself from a twisting vortex of impossibilities, the air itself seemed to finally have grown sick of its blind passengers, and vomited the four mages back out into reality. Empty space was their immediate reception, and Talia felt a brief moment of air blowing by her ears before slamming roughly into what felt suspiciously like wet, soggy hillside.

"Daughter of a _bastard_!" the Breton exclaimed, as soon as air once more returned to her lungs. She could already feel the back of her robes growing damp and wet from contact with the ground, and was _not_ pleased.

"That was… not my best transit to date." Brelyna sheepishly admitted, groaning from where she was picking herself out of a bush. At least _she_'d landed dryly; "I was sure I would have landed us at the front stairs of the Synod."

"Well…" Onmund mused, optimism already in his voice as he scanned their surroundings. Talia did the same, and found she did not much care for the visual aspects either. They'd landed in a fucking _marsh_; "We seem to have been a bit off. I'm guessing we hit the forests outside the Imperial city."

There also was a statue, apparently depicting a woman of some sort. The head was missing from the shoulders, where it had evidently broken off and now rested at its feet, covered in mosses.

"Glad I didn't land on that thing…" She muttered, picking herself up. The land around them seemed to be the start of a swamp, of some sort. The marshlands was actually generously strewn with what looked like old ruins, the biggest of them being a broken dome of stone, halfway sunken into the wet ground.

"_Swamps_. J'zargo does _not_ like swamps."

"If we hit Argonia, I'm going to be very, _very_ disappointed with you, Brelyna." Talia wanted to glare at the perpetrator, but given who that was, she glared at the statue instead.

"_Sorry_, _sorry_, I-I don't know what went wrong." The Dunmer girl exclaimed, unfolding the scroll from her robes. It was so easy to make the poor girl upset, but right now Talia just needed to vent on something, even if it meant giving a statue the stink-eye; "I did all the right incantations, I even said them when we left. I _don't_…I…I…I am an _idiot_."

"A very loose term." Talia muttered from her glare at the statue; "What makes you an idiot, aside from the fact that we seem to be in the wrong place?" If an Argonian was going to turn up now, she was going to send him off with an ethereal wolf chasing his scaly ass.

"The orb." Brelyna deadpanned; "We should have never attempted magic near something so unknown and…no, no _no_!" At her panicked outburst, Talia snapped around, only to see the elf frantically trying to stop the scroll in her hands from disappearing into thin air.

"What in _Oblivion_ are you doing?!" She yelled, rushing to stop whatever was going on.

"I didn't do anything!" Brelyna yelled back, trying to stop the last bits of the parchment from simply burning to a crisp between her fingers. Talia tried as well, but the parchment burned her skin; "-it just started- I don't know!"

"Well…this is _bad._ We're stuck in a marsh, and J'zargo still wonders where we are."

"Not Argonia, at least." Onmund said; "It's nowhere near warm enough, and the trees are temperate, like near Riften." His words made Talia turn to him instead of the now panicking Brelyna; "I'm just saying…calm down. At worst, the College realizes we didn't end up the right place, and they'll send someone else for the Synod. We'll just have to get back home, somehow…"

"I don't think this is Riften or anywhere nearby. Those ruins aren't Nordic, even I can see that, Onmund, and it's your blasted ancestors, so you should know."

"I _meant_, we might just be a few miles outside the Imperial city." He explained, with an annoyed tone that said he wasn't in the mood for her to drag his ancestors into the mess; "We'll find a road, find some travelers, and ask for directions."

"Tolfdir is going to _kill_ me…" Brelyna moaned, slumping against a sorry excuse for a tree; "And if he doesn't, Urag will flay me alive for losing the scroll."

"How about we try focusing on finding a road before we focus on what the teachers will do to us?" Talia said, pulling the depressed girl from her slumped state on the humid ground.

Though, if she was honest, Talia was worried too about how Urag would react to the story of how the priceless scroll just so happened to disintegrate because the blasted orb from Saarthal had been disruptive to the spell.

No one was to blame.

Yeah, that was going to work really well with the man who probably valued books over his own children. Orcs were strange enough already, Urag just took that to the next level.

"Well, the sun is still below zenith, so…south would be that way." Onmund pointed; "and seeing how we're in humid, yet cool temperatures, I'd guess we are somewhere north of the Imperial city."

South it was, then. Talia repressed a sigh of having to wander through marsh and hills and whatnot, wearing only her normal footwear. Magical boots were meant to be flexible and comfortable, not to endure a continental tour. _Damn… I should have stayed in my bed._

There was, even after hours of sullen, aching walking, no sign of functioning civilization. Ruins were all they saw, and even then those signs of civilization were lessening in frequency. Talia had called Two-Sock out as they traversed the countryside, mainly to let the Familiar stretch his legs. The wolf greeted the unfamiliar landscape with the same enthusiasm as he always did, tongue lolling and a powerful wagging of his transparent tail.

"Well at least _someone's _enjoying the change in scenery." Talia didn't even bother hiding the annoyance from her voice, resulting in her Familiar glancing her way with what she could have _sworn_ was a cheeky grin; "You're _so_ lucky you're cute."

"J'zargo thinks he stepped in something…"

The landscape barely changed, if only for the progressive addition of trees. It seemed they were moving out of the marshes, and the ground was steadily getting more firm underneath their feet. It was still humid as Dibella's inner thighs though, and strange birds kept chirping in ear-splittingly high pitches.

The sickness from the morning had already caught up with J'zargo again, forcing him to lean against a tree as the nausea passed. At least Talia only had to endure a small migraine until finally choosing to ignore the attention it would garner, and heal herself for it.

Neither Onmund nor Brelyna said anything though. _Good_. The healing left Talia a bit more drained than it should, likely because she only knew what healing spells the basic course had emphasized. Brelyna and Onmund were the better healers, with her only just beating out J'zargo on it.

"I'm tired…" Brelyna complained as they topped a small hill; "Can't we stop for a break?"

"The sooner we get to a road, the sooner we can find someone and ask for directions. We can rest then." Onmund stated, sounding about as eager about the concept as Talia felt. While agreeing with him, Talia really wanted nothing more than to set something on fire and curl up next to the warm flames.

She had never been one for traveling. There was a reason Skyrim had a carriage-service, for Daedras' sake!

"Someone approaches." J'zargo suddenly said, sniffing the air; "five men…They do not smell…they smell strange."

"What? Who?" Brelyna asked, receiving a look from the cat that said _'I don't damn well know who strangers are from their smell_', but it was kept at a look. Talia glanced around, trying to spot wherever they were approaching from. Right now, though, all she could see was forest, and grass, and more forest.

"How far away?" Onmund asked, glancing at their surroundings; "We'll meet them halfway and ask for directions."

"Not far." The cat sniffed again; "…I think, that way." J'zargo pointed back the way they'd come, causing Talia to smack her forehead. If they had just remained where they were, the people would have found them a lot sooner and saved them the torment of trekking through the forests and marshes. Or, likely they'd still have had to trek through the marsh, but at least they'd know which way was, well, _the way_.

"I'm not walking another step. We walked all the way up here, so they can damn well do the same." Talia stated, dumping herself down on the ground. It was still damnable cold, so she ignited a pair of dancing flames in her hands to spread some warmth. The flow of magic was like a stream within her, oozing out of every and any pore she so chose. She could not imagine the inability to manipulate at least the basic laws of physics at will, which she knew might be arrogant, because she was well aware that the vast majority of the people of the Empire did not possess any aptitude for magic, only the very most basic potential.

She could do what she did, only because of how it had been part of her life since the day she could talk.

"J'zargo thinks humans are unused to walking because you lack the glorious fur of Khajit." J'zargo purred, crouching next to Talia to steal some heat without having to risk scorching his own paws. She gave him a dead stare, eyes wandering from where his tail was threatening her face, to his own.

"_Bite me,_ Cat-man."

"Oh, where would you prefer?" There was a sinister grin in the cat's voice and expression, and Talia slapped his robes with a burning palm, causing him to wince back. _Stendarr_, why did he always manage to get under her skin?

"I can see them." Onmund said after a few minutes of boring wait; "Soldiers, looks like Heartland Legionaries. Good, they can direct us to the nearest road or town."

"Odd, I haven't seen that type of armor before…" Talia's eyes narrowed as she tried focusing on the approaching men. Onmund was right in that their armor _did_ look like that worn by the Legions of the Imperial Province, but there were differences, things she couldn't get to fit.

The helmet was probably the first clue she should have gotten, it being completely enclosed instead of open like what was the norm with soldiers of the Empire. Years later, she would still regret this oversight.

Rubbing her flaming palms together for the last bit of heat, Talia got to her feet and followed Onmund as he went to greet the newcomers, pulling Brelyna to her feet along with her. The Dunmer did not seem appreciative of being made to move, and stamped the ground, rubbing some fire into her own palms.

"Hello, are you from the Imperial City?" Onmund called as soon as the soldiers were close enough to hear him; "We are students from Winterhold, and our spell somehow misfired and we ended up in a marsh. Could you maybe help us out?"

The leader of the soldiers signaled his men to stop, then stepped forward towards Onmund. _Sword drawn_, Talia noted with a bit of unease. Actually, a _lot_ of unease. She hadn't been raised to survive machinations of Court without realizing when someone wanted something other than a handshake.

"…You are mages?" The man asked, looking between them. He seemed to linger especially long at J'zargo and Brelyna. The Khajiit was looking less and less comfortable with the situation, gradually stepping behind the Nord; "None of you look old enough for a Senior Enchanter, what are you doing outside your tower?"

"The College?" Onmund explained; "Tolfdir of the College asked us to teleport to the Synod, in the Imperial city, but…" He cast a sympathetic glance at Brelyna; "Our scroll didn't work properly."

"I see." The soldiers said, his words drawn out while he obviously pondered Onmund's words; "I don't know what you mean by 'the Imperial city' or the Synod, but I need to see a written permission from the Knight-Commander at your tower, or you will have to come with us. Please just comply, there is no need for this to become unpleasant."

"Our… what-now?" Talia asked, stepping up next to Onmund, arms folded across her chest. She could feel herself tensing up, muscles straining underneath the robes. There was _definitely_ a hostile air here now, and she did not like the way things were going. Swords were drawn, and glares directed at not just her Familiar, but also her classmates; "Winterhold doesn't have any Knight-Commanders, we barely have any soldiers at all, aside from the Jarl's own guards. Look, we're _just_ trying to get to the fucking city. We haven't committed any crimes, haven't set anything on fire, poached or even littered."

"I see. Before we proceed, we must deal with the abominations in your group." The soldier said, taking a step towards Brelyna and J'zargo; "I regret that they were possessed, but you know it is the risk. I will ensure this is done with quickly."

"What?" Brelyna's eyes widened in both horror and disbelief. Talia's did the same, feeling the hairs standing on her skin. Her heart was pumping faster already, sending out adrenaline and protective anger throughout her body and mind; "W-what'd you mean?"

"What are you doing?" Onmund demanded, his voice touching into a rare edge of anger. The air around him grew colder, and seemed to actually _kill_ the grass he stood on; "What, do you mean '_abominations'_?"

The soldier turned, regarding Onmund for a moment, before gesturing at the now-alert and hissing Khajiit, and the frightened, but wary Dunmer. Talia placed herself in-between them, keeping Onmund on her right, and a lightly growling Two-Sock on her left. She felt like her heart-rate was going to be the death of her.

"I understand why you left, I do. These two were clearly not prepared for their Harrowing. I'm going to end their suffering." The soldier gestured to his men, and Talia's eyes tracked them like a hawk as they started coming nearer as well.

"Please, we'll leave. Just, just stay back!" Onmund's hands clenched into fists in spite of his words; "This doesn't have to end in violence. We're innocents, and you don't want trouble with the College."

"And I am _not_ _suffering_!" Brelyna exclaimed, leaping back next to J'zargo; "I feel _completely_ fine!"

"J'zargo thinks these are madmen. We should leave before they decide to kill us up close. J'zargo's claws are not meant for armor." The cat snarled; "But he can still throw them off the hillside!"

"What in Julianos' name are you…" Talia started, the realization dawned upon her with all the dread that followed. They really did mean to murder them; "You want to kill people who haven't even lifted a hand against you?"

"What? No! You can't do that!" Onmund exclaimed, positioning himself between the soldiers and the rest of his group. Talia remained beside him, her feet rooted into the ground, ready to fight - and kill, if she had to.

She reviled the idea of actually, intentionally killing people.

"Stand aside, mage. You're lucky we're just taking the two of you back to the Circle." One of the other soldiers declared, with a lot less sympathy in his voice than the man who currently seemed to contemplate whether or not to simply run Onmund through to get to the non-human mages. Were things really this bad down south in Tamriel, that soldiers just killed any mage not human?

Was some kind of revolution going on, that the isolation of Winterhold had prevented them from knowing about? Was this another piece of the Empire, falling apart on itself? If things were this bad in Cyrodiil…could pretend-soldiers and sellswords really act in this way?

The thought made her blood boil in her veins. Indignation and protective anger, as well as no small dose of fear, rushed through her body.

"Touch them and I'll fucking flay you!" She shouted, hands ablaze with fire. At this moment, she felt like she could actually go through with it too. Onmund was right beside her, an aura of Skyrim's cold surrounding him. She knew he could kill someone, if he had to. Of the four of them, only he and Brelyna had actually taken lives before. Talia had hurt people, but…she didn't think that was going to be enough here.

Here, she might actually, finally, have to kill another person.

"_Don't_ try it, mage. Don't throw away your life for abominations. Your friends are dead, it is time you realized this." The soldier took another step forward.

And Two-Sock jumped him. The normally so docile, hound-like Familiar had changed, its entire demeanor now ferocious and hungering for blood. The wolf's momentum was enough that they were carried backwards, tumbling down the hill.

"Brelyna! J'zargo, _Run!_" Talia screamed, not daring to take her eyes off the men; "Run! _Run!"_

"Lucas!"

The next thing she knew, the soldiers clapped their hands together behind their leader, the spread their armored palms outward in a snapping motion. Talia felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach, and found herself hitting the ground hard.

A wall of ice grew from the ground, separating her and Onmund from the soldiers. The Nord rushed to her side and helped her back to her feet, even as their attackers went around the barrier. Feeling yet like her bones were drained, she managed to put out a wash of her own flames, forcing back the soldiers as the ground at their feet caught fire.

Another bright light, and Onmund was sent to the ground. He did not move, nor even attempt to rise, and Talia's heart went into he throat when she realized she was alone in this now. Her friends had either escaped or been knocked unconscious, and now she_ had_ to do this, had to _kill_ these people.

Grasping at the lingering strands of magicka in her blood, she pooled what scraps she could into the palms of her hands. A spray of fire was sent at their leader, one she wanted to scare them off more than actually maiming them. Gods, what the _fuck_ was going-

Her head felt like an overdose of Skoma had hit her without warning, and her mind was swimming in the clouds, unable to focus on even blinking one eye at a time, much less cast a spell. Her hearing started becoming fuzzy, even as she was roughly turned onto her stomach and clasped in… were those irons?

_"The abominations fled. The one… cat, seemed to… other one up… into the wood… follow… bring ba… to Kinloch…"_

* * *

Even as all was dark, Talia started regaining her senses. She could feel something soft beneath her, like a bed, and something soft covering her skin. She had slept without clothes on, apparently. Great, that would mean catching a cold the second she would step from her bed. Well, then she was just going to stay in bed. Ought to, too, with the headache currently hammering away at her mind. And oh, someone was talking.

_"…still think we should wait, Knight-Commander."_

_"I understand your concern, but they are clearly dangerous and have already been in contact with abominations. The sooner the better." _

_"Perhaps, but… this is all a bit much. Did Templar Morag say where they had run off from?"_

_"No, he didn't seem to know. A place called Winterhold was mentioned, but no records mention such a place, unless…"_

_"She seems quite old, never to have undergone the trial. Are we sure she is untested?" _

"We ask her then. If she knows what goes on in the trial, she has been through it. If not, we put her through it. Is that acceptable?"

The other voice was a lot sterner, and didn't sound very nice. Next thing she knew, a pair of strong hands shook her awake, or at least to a lot more conscious state than before. Also it set fire to her headache.

"Wha… what… where…" She muttered as her eyes slid open, revealing a bearded man in heavy armor. His expression was one of barely repressed impatience and anger; "You… you're not Tolfdir."

"Do you know what the Harrowing is?" The man asked, completely ignoring the fact that he was, indeed, not Tolfdir. Talia pressed her eyes shut and tried retreating under the covers. Said covers were rapidly yanked away, laying bare her almost-naked form, bar underwear she herself had definitely not put on. She flinched and curled up, trying to preserve _some_ modesty. _Who… someone… saw me…oh Gods._

"I asked you a question."

"Why am I- where are my clothes!"

"Do you know what the Harrowing is?" The man repeated, getting within inches of her face. Talia could feel his breath, and did not care for it. Especially because it did not improve upon her headache.

"No! Damn you, and what happened to my- _where_ am I?!" Her demand for clothing was abruptly changed when she realized she wasn't in any place she recognized. The room was dimply lit, rather small and cold. Two pieces of furniture, a bed and a washing sink, and nothing else decorated it. Clearly, this was not a place for paying guests.

Why was everywhere she woke up cold?

"I see." A man, the one with the concerned voice, said from behind the armored one; "Then, she goes through the Harrowing. Tonight."

"The what…" Talia started, even as the two old men left her small room, locking the heavy door behind them

"…what just happened?" she whispered to herself, still too overwhelmed to really process what had happened. Throwing off her covers, Talia found a set of dull robes, more a dress than anything else, lying neatly folded on the floor. She stared, aghast, at what was clearly meant for her to wear. A _dress_, or even worse, some parodic mimic of an actual set of magical robes.

Flickering her hand with magicka, she summoned Two-Sock. The ethereal wolf whined at sensing her mood, and placed his heavy head in her lab. There was something about being able to summon a confidante, that really couldn't be topped by a regular hound. Even if Two-Sock's ghostly eyes would have been even better if they were black orbs of love. Still, she ran her fingers through the ectoplasmic fur;

"Hey boy…" The wolf gave a small, soft whine in return; "Yeah… I've got fuck-all idea what's going on too…You think Onmund's around? We're getting out of here, just…need to figure out how."

The yiff she received told her that Two-Sock found the idea a good one. _Good_. She always knew he was a smart boy. Which really was a given, considering he was _her_ Familiar. Soul-bound beings and all that, they tended to mimic the intellect of their owners, or in this case, really more like partners.

"Still… it's better than walk around in this." She gestured at her uncomfortable bra and smalls; "It's like they made it just to be chafing. You know what happened to the others?"

A sad whine. _Figures_. Two-Sock didn't know. Not that she had expected he would, but talking to the wolf made everything feel a bit less gloomy. And what was this 'Harrowing' her captors mentioned? It sounded like a trial, of some sort. Was that what the Heartland had devolved to? Old men setting up populist mob-courts to try and trial everyone trespassing?

_Damn it._

Annoyed with the situation in general, Talia picked up one of the shoes placed for her to wear, and hurled it at the door with a disappointingly soft thud being the result. Ignoring the rest of the clothing, She buried herself beneath the covers, let Two-Sock climb up and rest next to her, and just shut out the rest of the world.

"Dinner!" A series of heavy, frustratingly noisy knocks to her door stirred Talia awake. Two-Sock had vanished at some point, probably after the magica binding him had run out, leaving her without his comforting presence. When the knocking stopped, a small tray of dry cheese and bread was shoved beneath her door. Dungeon-food.

"Where are my friends?" she demanded, giving the door the stink-eye. The bucket-helmet of one of the soldiers came into view on the other side of a barred slide-port.

"Eat, mage."

"Eat my _ass _and _Bite me_, you bastard! I want to know where my classmates are!" she kicked the door for effect. Sadly, it was thicker than she'd thought, and her reward remained at a stubbed toe.

"Put some clothes on, woman. You will not tempt me. Your friends' location is of no matter until you have undergone the Harrowing. Eat."

"_Suck_ off a Horker." Talia growled, grabbing the tray with "_food_".

Divines, she had never had to eat this kind of food. Back home there was always enough food, because Bretons actually knew how to cultivate the damn land with magic, as opposed to the Nords who just worked until their backs broke and called it a day. That, and being as highly placed in society as they were, she'd never really starved.

The bread was hard and dry, almost impossible to chew without water or mead. And nothing was offered to drink, even with the cheese being moldy and dry as well. By the Emperor, didn't these people know how to cook?

But she was a mage, damn it. She could have made her own water if it wouldn't have meant licking frostbite from the wall, seeing as there was no way the tray could hold water. Damn this place to the deepest planes of Oblivion.

Two-Sock was her only reprieve from loneliness, his ghostly form still being better than a real dog or wolf any day. Swallowing her pride, Talia put on the dress, and slumped down on the bed with the wolf next to her. This time, she stayed awake, and Two-Sock stayed with her.

"I'm going to give them four more hours. If no one comes by, releases and apologizes to us, we're blasting our way out of here, right boy?" She mused, scratching the wolf behind his ears and under his jaw, prompting a merry waggling of his bushy, transparent tail; "…someone _better_ come and let us out."

As the situation would have it, she was let out only an hour later. Though, it wasn't with an apology. Four heavily armed and armored soldiers, the same type as those who attacked them earlier, were waiting to escort her someplace new. When Two-Sock made to follow her, one of the soldiers muttered something and hit her wolf with some sort of energy, banishing it.

Talia lost her shit, at that. Because contrary to popular belief, mages could _feel_ what their Familiar's underwent, and that...that was _painful._

"YOU SON OF A WHORE!"

She leapt at the offender.

"Keep her down!"

"_Andraste_! The _Hell_ did they drag her from?!"

The rest of the trip to their destination went with Talia going through her repertoire of insults and curses, of which she knew more than most. Who on _Nirn_ did he think he was, to just attack her companion out of nowhere? _Shithead_, is what he was. A freshly laid cluster of mammoth-dung, given sentience!

It wasn't until someone clasped a hand over her mouth to stop her swearing, that she realized she was at her destination.

An enormous room, at least the size of the Hall of Elements, where a bowl of glowing blue liquids was at the center off it all. A man in darker robes stood next to it, wearing a marginally less hostile expression than the armored men.

"What is your name, my dear?" The man asked. Talia wanted to chew him out, say that after locking her up and treating her like she had professed to Talos in front of Ancano himself, that he had no right to be so informal with her. But she swallowed her bile, at least for now.

"Talia Aulus Geotien, of the Most Noble House Aulus." She pressed down on each and every word of import; "I am a student of Winterhold, and you have no _rights_ to keep me, or my friends, locked up in this place!"

"Do you know why you are here?" The old man, a mage obviously, asked. Talia blinked, feeling like her every word had just been ignored. Did she stutter?

"Because Brelyna messed up." She bit out. Brelyna wasn't there to hear her say it, so she could be honest and say Brelyna had messed up. Because she had; "And then your swords came and attacked us."

"I see. And, who, if I may ask, is this 'Brelyna'?"

"A Dunmer student. She's also my friend and a _nice_ girl that one of your soldiers tried to kill without reason."

"The dark-skinned abomination?" There was no malice in the man's words, but rather a simple curiosity. Talia bristled at the accusation nonetheless. How _fucking_ dare he?

"Why the _f_\- _Why_ are you people calling her an _abomination_?" She growled, forcing down less mature words. Right now, if she had to get them out of here, she had to maintain her calm. A few of the remaining soldiers touched the hilts of their swords, a silent warning that she did catch. She was _pissed off_, not stupid.

"Are you saying she isn't a possessed elf?"

"There with the 'possessed' thing again. Why by the Eight, Nine, Ten and Eleventh would you start accusing people of being _possessed_, just because they happen to be Dunmer? Next thing, you'll declare the whole of Elsweyr or Argonia possessed for being inhabited by walking lizards and cats." She exclaimed, folding her arms beneath her breasts; "_Honestly_, you people are worse than the fucking Stormcloaks."

The room was silent for a long while. The mage who hadn't introduce himself yet, seemed to mull over her words. Talia shifted on her feet, glancing at the stock-still guards lining the walls of the room. There was no escape through fighting, she realized thát much. Somehow, the armored soldiers could drain her of magicka, without even touching her. It was dirty cheating, but that was where things were at.

"Where, to put it bluntly, would you say we are?"

"I don't know, and frankly I don't care as long as you just let us go again. Whatever messed up agendas you have going on here, the College will not be happy when they find out you detained us. And what in _Oblivion_ happened to my friends?"

"You are in the Tower of Magi, more specifically in Kinloch Hold. This is the Harrowing Chamber." The mage explained.

"Funny, I was _so_ sure it was the Blue Palace." She mocked his words, tossing the notion of 'remaining calm' to the wind, until a small fear started settling in her guts; "Are we even _near_ Cyrodiil?"

"Cyrodiil?" there was clear and honest confusion in his voice, something that unnerved her more than being locked up ever could. _Just where, by the intestines of Magnus are we?_

"The…Heartland? The seat of the Empire? The Imperial City?" She tried. The ever-confused wrinkles in the old mage's eyes didn't calm her down one bit; "Okay, where by the _tits_ of Dibella are we?"

"Kinloch Hold." The man repeated, as if that would solve everything; "The tower stands in Lake Calenhad, and we are in Ferelden. The only current Empire I can think of would be Orlais…your accent does strike me as somewhat Orlesian, now that I think about it."

"Orle-what?"

"You are, not from Orlais, then?"

"…what." Talia stammered, her hands falling from her chest, to simply dangling by her side; "_NO_, I'm _not_ from this Orlais-place, you old _fucker!_ I'm an _Imperial citizen of Tamriel,_ of _High Rock!"_

"Do you know what will happen here, in this chamber?" The old mage asked, returning her attention to the pedestal in the middle of the room. Talia wanted to hit him, truly she did, because this was like arguing with a pigeon - no matter what she said, eventually he'd just shit over her arguments and strut around like he'd won. But she had a feeling that if she did, those soldiers would simply smack her to the ground again.

"…no?" She did her best _not _to sling insults out with every word, but it was hard, so very hard. When the old mage beckoned her closer, she followed, if only so that she could be close enough to break his nose before the soldiers got to them. Right now, she was too stuffed with fear and anger to really contemplate the consequences of any potential actions.

She'd never been too good at that, the contemplation thing.

"You will undergo the Harrowing. If you pass, there will be no further danger or mistreatment to you, and we can properly discuss your situation. Until then, we cannot know if your words are directed by demons from the Fade." The words were delivered as gently as he probably could, but still frustrated the Breton to no end.

"Demons from… I don't even… _Fine, _you old _shit_, what do I have to do to pass your test?" She brushed off whatever concerns she had, and leveled a glare at the surrounding guards. She would pass whatever the old mage asked of her, and then find the soldier who dissolved Two-Sock.

And most likely kick him between the legs.

"Step up to the pedestal, and drink its contents."

"Why" she moved, yes, but did not so much as reach out for the bluish waters, if they were even that; "Why should I drink what is clearly infused, and I have no idea what it is?"

"It is a specially treated Lyrium-solution, meant to aid you in entering the Fade."

"The Fade…that's the trial, then? You want me to enter 'the Fade', and…?"

"And return, of your own power."

The water tasted a lot like magic smelled, only it also made her nauseous and caused the room to spin and warp. The cold ground rose to meet her, only she wasn't granted unconsciousness until _after_ her face had kissed the tiles.

* * *

Opening her eyes, Talia was a bit surprised at what she saw. It definitely was a bit weird, especially because she was damn sure she had been kicked out by the same innkeeper who was now holding a mug labelled "infinite mead" towards her.

"Ehm… hi?"

"My Lady, it is my deepest honor to offer you everything I have to serve." He exclaimed, his overly awed voice reminding her of home. Was it really that long since people had bowed and scraped before her? No matter, at least this meant the whole 'captured by soldiers' thing was a dream. Good thing too, because someone had hurt Two-Sock in it, and maybe Brelyna and J'zargo had even died. Still, just a dream.

"Did I fall asleep on the benches again?" She muttered rather sheepishly. It was just that fire was so nice to sleep next to.

"You did, but it doesn't matter. A courier arrived from High Rock with news from your esteemed father. He has cancelled the arranged marriage, if only you will return home to the estates." Well… that was unexpected news. Though not at all unpleasant.

"He did? Damn… I don't know what to say, really." She muttered, then eyed the innkeeper; "didn't you kick me out not long ago?"

"Oh, I am terribly sorry, milady, but it was nothing personal. I only hope to offer you some compensation for the terrible offense I caused."

"What happened to the roof?" Talia asked, having noticed that something was off. The roof was, indeed, gone, instead showing a vast expanse of air, filled with floating islands and thick wines; "…this is trippy."

"Milady?" The innkeeper asked, uncertainty in his voice. Deciding pondering really wasn't worth it, Talia grabbed the mead, sniffed it and handed it back again. She suddenly didn't feel like getting drunk anymore.

"Thanks. Listen, I'm going home, then. Father will no doubt be pleased to see me." She gave the innkeeper a curt smile, the ducked out the door. Outside, everything was normal. The winds were howling and snow was falling slowly despite the blowing storms. Guards in their cuirass's patrolled the street, holding torches to lighten their paths.

"Talia?" She turned, noticing a hooded man who was leaning against the outside of the inn, a friendly smile visible in the part of his face left visible by his hood.

"Yeah?"

"I am Ankus Tevian, and… I need your help. I'll reward you for it, of course." Well, it wasn't actually cold, despite the weather, so why not.

"Sure, I suppose."

"I have come across a tome that allows whomever reads it to master the arts of arcane destruction. Here, at least..." Now, she was piqued. This was exactly what she had been looking for all along, and to have it just offered to her…

"What's the price?" She did her best to suppress the eagerness in her voice, but it didn't really work. Ankus smiled friendly at her.

"You see, I was like you, once. I was a promising mage, and the Circle had me undergo the Harrowing. You do, of course, remember that this is all a dream?"

"Of course… no one ever offered me free mead before." She replied, a little sullen at the realization; "Wait, so…. What?"

"I never managed to finish the tests, and as a result, I couldn't escape this dreamscape. An eternity of wine, entertainment and, no offense intended, lusty women throwing themselves at me, can't make up for the real world." Talia perked up at that. If he could have lusty women… could she too?

"Wait, you mean you just have to wish for something, and it comes true here?" She asked, and dared hope for yes.

"It is a dream." He nodded. Talia felt a grin spreading on her lips. Come on, imagine. Imagine. Curves, long legs, perfect skin… what else… what else? "You're not trying to dream up something similar, are you?"

"…No." Talia tried, even as she turned to the sound of soft moaning. The entire street was gone, replaced with a lush field of soft grass and mosses, warm rays shining down through the canopy of leaves above her, and the sight before her; "…wouldn't dream of it."

"_Taliii__a_~…"

In the middle of the clearing, nude as the day she had been born, Brelyna Maryon reclined on soft mosses, her shapely rear glistening with a light sweat. Cerulean skin and raven hair rivalled the other in reflecting the light in the most tantalizing of ways.

"Sweet Divines what an ass."

"Wanna fool around, Tali~a?" Brelyna grinned, rolling so that she was reclining on her side, showing of a bosom more generous than a Dunmer really had any right to possess.

_"...Damn,_ just..."

Talia could feel her heart racing at the sight, and the fact that, even though this was a dream, every detail was nailed to perfection; "I wanna wrap my legs around you, Tali~a, and _never_ let you go."

"H-hey, Ankus, can you wait like, just, like, ten minutes?"

"Listen, can you _please_ just get us out of here? I'm not in the mood to watch you playing around in some messed up sexual fantasy. You won't get the tome unless I get out of here." Ankus groaned. The fantasy faded with that, and Talia was no longer granted the sight of her nude classmate. _Damn_. _'Blue Balls' how I did not miss thee…_

"Fine… so, what do I do to get out of here?" She exclaimed, once again watching as guards did their routes on the street of Winterhold. Ankus pointed at the College, barely visible in the flying snow;

"A demon holds this realm. You'll have to defeat it in order to pass and return. I… wasn't able to do it."

"So, I just have to kick its ass?" She summarized, squinting her eyes to better see the College. Ankus nodded; "Easy."

"I hope so. I will try to help you, where I can. The demon will be in the shape of a person you know, to fool you."

"Figures. As long as it isn't Urag." Demon or not, when the orc was angry, he was scary.

* * *

Morrigan was not what one would describe as a normal girl. Normal girls did not grow up taking the shapes of wolves, spiders and birds. Normal girls also likely wore more clothing than she did.

It mattered little, she knew. Normal girls were the type to fancy those idiot Templars, and Morrigan was not one such girl.

Indeed, she was far superior to such idle fantasies as romance and 'happy endings' in castles of fine stone. Still, the mirror would have been a nice keepsake, from her one-time attempt at exploring the world outside her forest. But, Mother was right. Such things were superficial, and not fitting for one of her kind.

Speaking of the old hag, Mother seemed to be returning, the shape of a large avian blotting out the sun as Flemmeth landed with both claws full. It was odd, at first, when mother had explained that she must 'go and interfere with destiny', as she worded it, but Morrigan had long since gotten used to her mother speaking in riddles.

Indeed, it was not prey, which filled the talons of Flemmeth's giant bird form, but rather, two people. One, she at first thought to be very ill due to her coloration, and another she realized to be from a land far, far away. Cats in robes were, after all, not that very common in Ferelden, were they?

* * *

Setting Two-Sock loose on Ancano was, Talia realized, far more satisfying than she had ever imagined. She was only disturbed when the Thalmor's skin ruptured, and a humanoid being of living fire stepped out, swatting aside the ethereal wolf like an annoying fly.

"BURN! KILL!" It raged, moving towards her like a snail would, only much faster. Both Talia's hands shone with cold, and she sent the demon, what Ankus in the middle of his panicking had called a 'Rage demon', a smirk;

"You know, that's a really good idea." And she poured frostbite at the demon, causing its flaming surface to crack and rupture when the superheated liquids met with arcane cold. If a demon could feel pain, the agonized howls coming from the demon in front of Talia was probably a good show of it.

"That… was freaky… but surprisingly easy." She stretched and glanced at Ankus, who looked slightly uncomfortable at the show; "Well, what now?"

"Now? I don't know, I thought the trial would be done by now." The younger man muttered; "Maybe… try closing and opening your eyes?"

Talia did, and nothing came of it. There was something she was missing, she was sure of it. Demons… Demons. They took on human shapes to trick people… what more?

"How long have you been here, by the way?" She asked Ankus. The young mage sighed;

"A long time." He muttered.

"If I'm sleeping while here… how does my body get food and such?" She pondered, and once again, Ankus looked uncomfortable at her question.

"It doesn't. If you spend too long in here, your body withers away and dies."

"Then… wouldn't you be dead too?" She didn't fully understand how this place worked, but it seemed logical, to her at least. Still, there was probably some simple explanation here that would make her look stupid when he answered it.

"_**You just had to start asking questions!"**_

Or, maybe she wasn't stupid at all.

"I'm guessing this means I overlooked a demon…" Damn it.

"_**If you will not let me out, I will come out, through you**_." And with thát, Ankus vanished, replaced by something that looked… really odd. It was like a picture of one of those Dragon Priests, only taller, and purple, of all things.

Talia started backing off a lot faster than she would call a smart retreat; "Nope, nope, nope, nope."

"There is nothing to fear. You are different from the mages in Ferelden, you don't have to be afraid of demons. Let me bolster your magic, you can pull J'zargo through the dirt, _humiliate_ him!"

"I really think I should go. As in, far away from you." Talia forced out through a fake, toothy smile; "It's nothing personal, I just don't love the idea of 'demons' toying with my mind."

"Oh, but where will you go?" The demon gestured for the entire dreamscape; "I am everywhere."

So, she was trapped with a demon in her own dream. This was starting to look more and more like something she would be seeing after taking Skoma. In retrospect, maybe that meant she should stop with the Skoma. Even if J'zargo was at his friendliest when a bit of the sugary stuff had touched his tongue. Mead was all she needed from now on.

In other words, she was going to have to fight this thing. _Fantastic_.

Summoning up Two-Sock again, she let the wolf loose on the demon while flinging both spikes of ice and bolts of flame at the thing. Some sort of arcane shield appeared around it, protecting it from her attacks like a bubble that just would not burst. She just kept it up, dismissing the very idea of not being able to kill something with sufficient fire.

Ankus, or whatever its real name was, swatted Two-Sock aside, slamming the wolf into a rock where it dissolved with a pathetic whine. Talia ground her teeth and decided to sod the consequences of trying out her weakest magical attack. Gathering both hands together, she leapt back when the demon sent a fireball of its own after her, feeling the flames lick at her robes even as she was in the air. _This is probably a bad thing._

She realized she hadn't stopped falling yet, and looked behind her. There was nothing there, except for the endless depths of the dreamscape. Above her, the demon had leapt after her, a guttural laughter in its throat.

Well. Screw _that_ laughter. She unleashed the gathered lightning in her hands, sending it towards the demon in a stream of electricity. The demon yelled and howled as it twisted from the electric attack, and suddenly, Talia hit the ground hard.

Opening her eyes, she was staring at the ceiling of the Harrowing Chamber, and the old mage who had sent her into the damned dream in the first place.

"Good. You have passed the Harrowing." He said, a kind and relieved smile on his bearded face. Talia was, despite just having slept, far too tired to respond, and simply fell asleep on the floor.

* * *

**A/N: First chapter down, only the rest of the story to go :)**

**To get it out of the way: Yes, Thedas is Akavir. Yes, it goes against a good chunk of lore. And Yes, this is actually necessary for a crossover to work with these two universes, because Akavir rightly has the title "mysterious". We, the people, have maps over the foreign continent. That, I cannot dispute. And I won't, because it'll actually start making sense later on.**

**Just as the different kinds of magic will. You'll see...oh, you'll most definitely see.  
**

**Now then, back to work for me. University means I get very little time to actually write, and even less time to earn an income when I'm not studying. If you're interested, I have a Ptreon on my profile, where just a single dollar will make the difference.**

**And if not? Hey, it's cool. Writing doesn't cost me a cent, so no reason reading should cost you either, eh? :)**

**Next chapter: Talia loses her shit. Again.**


	2. Prisoner of Stone

**Greetings, those who follow the Tale of Talia**

**We have another long chapter ahead, and one I really liked writing. Keep in mind that I am not a basher of characters (unless they are Ancano. Then I'll bash him with a cricket-bat), and all descriptions of events and characters are viewed from Talia's eyes.**

**Author's reply to Sergeant Sonji: "Quite true, there are multiple major differences between the magic of Thedas and that of Tamriel. However, I find that similarities are multiple enough as well to allow me to merge the two. Magic, even in worlds where it is well-established, would be foolish to assume fully explored. (Also, I set my character in Aspect of Fire _On fire_, and no one batted an eye). It really is the best answer I can give on that part. As for how the Templars can banish Two-Sock and drain magica, I decided to give them a few common traits, to allow the protagonist to not be overly overpowered. If templars were useless agaisnt Tamriel's mages, there wouldn't be much of a story. Scrolls, as I understand and view them, are one-shot items in-game, but lorewise there really is no reason for the parchment to dissolve after using it to summon, say, a spike of ice."**

**Alright, let us get going with some brutal events.**

* * *

_These truths the Maker has revealed to me:_  
_As there is but one world, _  
_One life, one death, there is _  
_But one god, and He is our Maker._

_They are sinners, who have given their love_  
_To false gods._

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.  
Foul and corrupt are they  
Who have taken His gift  
And turned it against His children._

_They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.  
They shall find no rest in this world  
Or beyond._

Canticle of Transfigurations 1:1-1:5

* * *

**Prisoner of Stone**

* * *

Templar Cullen was on duty. It wasn't as bad as the others thought, having to spend time around the mages. A lot of them were surprisingly well-meaning people, even if they were locked in the tower, for their own protection, of course.

Cullen had been in the tower for just over a year, and had so far yet to meet a mage that deserved the stigma as dangerous or very unsympathetic. Mages, like the young Jorwan, were just people like him. Then again, the Knight-Commander had taken great care to explain that it wasn't the _person_, as much as it was the potential host they were to demons, that was so dangerous. True, it was a risk. Cullen knew that much.

Still didn't mean he enjoyed watching the newest resident in the tower, the young redheaded woman, collapse on the floor as she underwent the Harrowing. It was never a pleasant experience, but at least most other apprentices had an inkling as what to prepare for. From what Cullen had been able to discern from the girl's short conversation with First Enchanter Irving, she had no idea what a Harrowing even was, much less what to expect because Irving didn't even tell her.

It was, how should he put it, not a very pleasant experience to be him. Mainly because he had been entrusted with the duty, or plight, to end the girl's suffering if a demon won her over. He had been standing above the girl, sword ready, as she started… he wasn't sure _what_ she did. It wasn't like anything he had ever witnessed before.

Instead of the usual convulsions that meant the girl had encountered and was fighting a demon in the Fade, she started gaining a faint, shimmering and purple aura. It was faint enough that only he, as the one standing above her, could see.

"What in the Maker…" he whispered to himself, gripping the handle on his sword tighter. If she was turning, he didn't want her to suffer. A lot of people mistrusted and even looked down upon mages due to their susceptibility to demons and their potential for wreaking havoc. Still, the Chant of Light dictated that magic was never to rule over man, and as such, mages were pretty much doomed to be seen as threats. A sad fact, but a fact nonetheless.

The aura persisted, pulsating gently over the girl's limp form. There was no convulsion, not even a sign of distress or frustration. If anything, the girl had a slightly… mischievous smile on her lips for just enough time that Cullen was certain he hadn't just seen things.

The strangest thing was, she didn't even remotely behave like someone trapped in a lyrium-induced sleep. If anything, she looked like a perfectly normal person sleeping, not someone battling a demon. Still, the purple aura was a strange new trait he hadn't seen before. Maybe the girl was a spirit healer and… no, no they didn't get purple auras. Then what was it?

If the girl made it through, he decided, he would inform Irving. If she didn't, the aura was likely a mere sign of the demon winning through. Yes, yes that seemed the most reasonable thing to do.

The smile turned into a frown on the girl's expression, then replaced by what almost looked like amusement. It was definitely the strangest Harrowing Cullen had been witness to so far. The amusement vanished, turning into anger, then more amusement, then surprise. When the surprise suddenly became panic, Cullen could feel his heart speed up. Panic was usually a sign that demons were winning.

The grip on his sword tightened, ready to trust into the heart of the poor girl if she did indeed become possessed. By Andraste, he hated this part.

The girl's eyes opened with a gasp, showing clear blue eyes staring at the ceiling in panicked surprise. Cullen breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back, sword sheathed before she was going to notice the drawn weapon. First Enchanter Irving was already at her side, kneeling next to the girl.

"Good. You have passed the Harrowing." He said, comforting the obviously exhausted girl. She merely looked at him idly, before passing right back out. Cullen blinked in mild surprise, having not expected the apprentice to pass out right after sleep. Again, another unexpected reaction to the Harrowing. Most apprentices were too shaken after the experience to even consider going back to sleep.

Irving sighed, having likely endured the same anxiousness that Cullen himself had been under. Irving, he knew, just had a lot more at stake. Every apprentice was his responsibility, and now that Enchanter Wynne had left the tower, there was a lot more on the old man's shoulders. In a way, that could be why the Knight-Commander had such respect for the old mage. He shouldered a tremendous burden, something Templars should be able to understand and sympathize with. Sadly, not many did.

"Templar Cullen, would you be so kind as to take Talia to the apprentices' dormitory? I suspect she wouldn't mind waking up in a bed, rather on the cold stone floor." Irving said, still looking only at the girl. Cullen nodded, and picked Talia up from the floor. She was surprisingly light, considering she was at least his height.

"Of course, First Enchanter."

"And, would you tell them to bring her companion in a few minutes?" Irving said, with a lot less joy than his former words held. True, men were often more easily taken by demons, though Cullen wasn't sure why. Maybe pride, but weren't women known for far more… well, shallow prides than men? It wasn't something worth pondering, in any case.

"Yes, First Enchanter." He replied again, leaving the room with his burden. The trip down, after delivering the message to his brothers, was mostly uneventful. A few curious glances here and there, at seeing a templar carrying a, he admitted, rather beautiful young woman in bridal-style. Still, he was above blushing at such things.

The main dormitory on the first level was meant for apprentices only, and as such held a few more templars than the others levels. This was mainly because apprentices were at the most risk from encroaching demons, and templars were needed for a quick response to any threat from the Fade. At least this one girl was now safe from the demons, for the time being. Cullen deposited her in the newly vacant bed that had belonged to Simon Amell, one of the other apprentices before his Harrowing. Cullen had been the one to cut him down.

She was rather striking, Cullen thought as he pulled the covers over her. He wasn't going to start undressing her, the thought alone made him cringe at the invasion of her privacy. The bed next to hers turned out to belong to Jorwan, of all people. Jorwan was a good boy, if rather awkward around templars. Cullen suspected it stemmed from the templars who had picked the boy up from his farm.

Having made sure everything was in order, with no one looking at the young woman the wrong way, Cullen made his way back to the Harrowing Chamber. It was likely he was going to be needed again soon, much as he hoped otherwise. He hadn't seen Talia's companion, but the other templars had mentioned he constantly tried explaining that they hadn't done anything wrong. It was odd, like the young mage didn't understand why he was being held. Were his parents apostates outside the Chantry?

The Harrowing Chamber was once more set in the gloomy mood that signaled readiness. The boy was on the floor, a purple aura surrounding him as well. Cullen started speculating, if maybe this was something common to the hometown of the two young mages, seeing as Talia had proven able to resist demons, so it couldn't be the work of the Fade on an unwilling mind.

No one spoke a word, instead watching as the boy slept. His expressions underwent similar changes to what Talia had gone through, happiness, anger, surprise, fright. Cullen watched the young man, even as he himself wasn't the one in charge of his Harrowing. Templar Morag was the one standing above the young mage, sword at the ready. Cullen didn't like Morag that much, really. The man was straight as an arrow, and followed the rules to the letter. He also never deviated from them out of compassion, and would harm a child if it resisted returning to the tower. Had once, too.

The Harrowing dragged on, with no signs that anything would change. The young mage was still as if simply asleep, with the only difference being the weak, purple aura shimmering close to his body. Cullen became increasingly wary as nothing continued to happen, and he could see the rest of the room shared his worries. If a mage took too long in the Fade, it meant he had failed the Harrowing. _Maker, let the boy wake._

Cullen's eyes rested upon the young man's face, taking in his features. They were of a kind soul, likely a good friend to the young Talia. Not a brother, the features were too different. He had a strong jaw, and brown hair with a single braid down the side of his head. Cullen had noticed Talia had the same decoration of her hair. Was this maybe a sign of something? The mage's expression kept changing over the next hours, going from frightful to relieved, and back again. No demon had ever sought Cullen, but he believed he still recognized the signs of one being hunted, then believed safe, then hunted again. Demons, it appeared, were toying with the boy.

For what seemed like an eternity, Templar Morag looked at Cullen. Cullen looked back, and nodded. There was nothing more to do. They had been at it for more than seven hours now, and even with his legs protesting it, Cullen remained standing straight as Morag ended the Harrowing.

"It is done." Morag said, folding his hands in prayer for the mage's soul. Cullen stood as nailed to the floor, watching as First Enchanter Irving approached the corpse.

"Terrible… I was hoping that he showed the same resolve…" Irving muttered, bowing his head.

Cullen could feel the familiar sensation of his stomach churning with disgust and hatred towards the demons who so prayed on the weakest of the mages, and forced the templars to perform their duty.

"Someone should inform the girl that her companion was too weak." Morag stated matter-of-fact as he withdrew his sword from the mage's chest.

* * *

Talia was in a new room. Odd, she didn't remember having walked anywhere. The vaulted ceiling above her meant she was still in the tower, meaning the soldiers hadn't released her and Onmund yet. Damn, that meant she was probably going to have to find someone to ask for what the flying damn was going on. She still had no real clue what she, or any from their group had even done to be arrested. It was almost as if the soldiers had seen mages and deiced to jail them.

And what the damn was up with their ability to drain her magica? She knew enchantments on weapons could do that, but the soldiers had simply clapped their hands, not even drawn a blade aside from their leader. Arniel Gane would probably be rather interested in… why would she care what the old man was interested in, he wasn't here to help.

At least she wasn't naked this time.

With that reassurance in mind, Talia threw off the covers, and sat up in what turned out to be a bunk-bed, an empty one atop hers. _Great… I am in… where?_

There were plenty of people around, most of them younger than her. All of them wore the same girly dresses, even the boys. It was perhaps a good thing J'zargo wasn't here, or he would have ridiculed every single one of them. Thát, and the soldiers seemed to want to kill him for being a Khajit. She still didn't understand that part. _I mean, sure Khajit aren't _trusted_, but to kill them on sight?_

Hopefully she could find Onmund soon enough, and he would know what to do. Better to leave the planning to the smartest guy she knew, older people not included.

"Oh, you're awake?" A new voice said. Talia turned, noticing another young man, hardly more than a boy, sitting on the edge of his own bed, looking at her. His eyes shone with curiosity, and his face was friendly enough.

"Seems like it. Damn, then, that I'm still here." She rubbed her eyes for sleep before swinging her legs over the covers. There was no way she was leaving the bed before someone gave her something to eat. If she was a prisoner, they could damn well be bothered to bring her something to eat, _and drink_. Gods, she hadn't had a drop since that weird potion the old mage made her drink.

That was another thing too. What on Nirn had she been hauled through? It definitely wasn't a normal dream, if nothing else because everyone had seemed to know she would experience just what she did. Thát, and she was fully conscious and capable of reading in it. Normally, one couldn't read in a dream.

And the demon… what _was_ that even? It didn't even look like a Daedra, and it sure wasn't a human. It was something new, that much she knew. Was this were she was going to regret never to have paid much attention when her father hired the tutor from Hammerfell? Maybe there had been a mention of demons, and she just hadn't paid attention. Gods, this was worse than waking up drunk.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine… but you haven't seen Onmund, the guy I was with, around here, have you?"

"I don't know who that is, sorry. I've only seen you." The boy said, then seemed to remember something; "my name is Jorwan, by the way."

"Talia, a pleasure. Jorwan, why am I here?" She asked, looking around. Most of the other people in the room were engaged in idle chat, or maintaining their belongings. She _did_ spot a few girls braiding their hair at a set of mirrors, so maybe she wasn't going to get _that_ bored.

"What do you mean?" Jorwan asked, looking a bit confused. The thought struck Talia that she had no idea why _he_ was there either. If this was a mage-prison, was he a murderer or something? But, he looked far too young for that. Maybe a thief?

"I mean, I don't _think_ I've broken any laws, but my friends and I were still arrested by those soldiers… is it illegal for Khajit or Dunmers to be mages around here?" It was clear from the confusion painted across Jorwan's face that he had no clue what she was talking about.

"I'm sorry… illegal for what to be mages?"

"Khajit and Dunmers? The leader seemed to want to kill J'zargo and Brelyna, the Khajit and Dark Elf in our group, simply because they were mages. He even called them "abominations", of all things." Talia mused in slight annoyance, using her fingers to ridicule the leader's term for her friends. J'zargo could be annoying like kidney stone, but he wasn't an abomination, and how _anyone_ could think Brelyna and abomination in the same line was out of Talia's reach of understanding.

"Khajit and… a "dark" elf?" Talia had half a mind to shut the boy's gaping, confused mouth, but refrained with a bit of willpower. It was an annoying trend that no one seemed to know what a Dunmer was. Next thing, they'd ask what the damn a _Bosmer_ was, or compare an Elder Scroll to a cookbook. _Now that I think of it… I don't actually know _what_ one of those old scrolls even contain…_

"Have you been living under a rock?" She asked, giving the guy a flat, if mildly confused look. Maybe he had never been out of his village or town, and only knew that and this prison. Figures, they'd pair her with an illiterate.

A very polite cough behind Talia drew her attention, turning her to face one of those blasted soldiers. At least this one didn't wear a damn bucket on his head, so she could break his nose if he tried draining her. It really was a nausea-inducing way of attacking her. And it was still damn cheating.

"What?" She didn't even care that her tone was anything but polite. She didn't like the soldiers, or guards, around here. They attacked people for their race alone. Bigots.

"Talia, I am Templar Cullen. May I have a word?" Okay, so maybe not total asshats all of them. This one at least asked for permission to intrude, which was marginally better than people clasping her in irons for resisting innocent arrest, if that was even a term.

"Is this the formal apology for locking us up? Because if it is, you're not off to a great start." Her tone seemed to take the man aback. Good, that meant he at least wasn't an impassive arse. The rest of the soldiers seemed to be.

"I… why would there be… Talia, I need to talk to you about your friend." Cullen said. The concern and sympathy in his voice unnerved Talia, causing her to fidget with her braids. _Dammit hands, stop messing with my hair._ _Okay, calm down._

"Onmund? Don't tell me he escaped without me." While this was more something she would suspect J'zargo of being willing to do, even Onmund wasn't above suspicion. After all, she would do the same thing herself. She'd come back for him, of course, but still escape alone if she had to.

"He underwent the Harrowing just after you. While I carried you down here, actually…" Talia blushed at that. It meant this man had likely touched her butt. And maybe even more. Men could only be trusted to think with the small head around unconscious women, her mother had always said.

"Again with the bloody- Okay, you're here now, what _is_ the Harrowing?" She demanded, not giving any particular care that Jorwan was just behind her. Cullen did, though, and sighed;

"Apprentice Jorwan? Would you mind leaving us?" The young mage hurried off without as much as a word. Cullen turned back to Talia; "The Harrowing… what did you see during it?"

"I was dreaming. I met a guy named Ankus. He said he was a student here too, but it turned out he was a demon in disguise. Looked like a purple dragon priest, I think. I've only seen them as pictures though. Then he wanted to leave the dream, but I still don't get how he was going to do that, considering it was _my_ dream." Talia explained, leaning back against the bed. Cullen closed his eyes and drew what almost seemed like a breath of relief, or maybe sadness, it was hard to tell.

"The Harrowing… Irving didn't explain it properly, for that I am sorry. In the Harrowing, shortly put, they expose young apprentices to demons in the Fade, in order to test your resolve against temptation. If the demon wins, you die." Talia's first instinct was to call the guy on his bluff, or his Horkershit, depending if he even _knew_ what a Horker was. Her second instinct was to ask if he had something damaged in his head. No one would be dumb enough to do something like that. It would be like inviting a Daedra into the material world.

The Oblivion Crisis should be proof enough that it was a dumb idea.

"You're serious?" Her third instinct was that Cullen was telling the truth. He nodded, still with the underlying sadness, like his dog had died; "Who on _Nirn_ came up with that? You mean you actually sparred me with a demon, on _purpose_?" Now her voice was starting to build with outrage. Arch-Mage Aren would flip his beard if he heard about people _intentionally_ endangering his students.

The mental image was oddly entertaining.

"It is the best solution. Better to have passed, than to refuse and be made tranquil." Cullen insisted. There was still the undertone to his voice. If Talia hadn't been so close to pissing herself in anger, she might have heard the sympathetic tones, and sensed something was horribly wrong.

"…You people are insane, and I'm getting out of here. Where's Onmund, we're leaving!" She snapped, standing from the bed and pushing Cullen back. No way she was staying in this mess of a dungeon or tower or whatever the damn they called it. Even Riften and Markarth's prisons had better reputations than pitting people with demons.

"That… was what I came here to tell you." Cullen wasn't even mad about her outburst; "Onmund didn't manage to overcome the demon in his trial."

Talia's world suddenly went _very_ cold.

Her heart stopped in her chest at the implications of what Cullen was saying, but her mind refused to process what he could mean. Onmund was the best student at the College, there was no way he could fail a test, and even if he did, couldn't they just let him try again? Cullen had been joking when he said people could die in the Harrowing, he _had_ to have been joking.

She tried speaking, but her mouth just moved on its own, opening and closing without a word leaving her throat.

"We… were forced to put him down. I am sorry." Talia froze, in the middle of turning to leave. Her eyes widened, panic spreading through her in mere moments as her heart stopped beating. The world seemed to blur and swim around her. He was lying. He had to.

"Wha…" she managed to utter before collapsing on the tiled floor, tears streaming from unconscious eyes.

* * *

"Open the doors." Knight-Commander Greagoir ordered. His men set to, and the massive, enchanted doors swung open with the sound of long overdue use. Irving was beside him, welcoming their visitor to the tower. It was, after all, not everyday one was visited by a Grey Warden.

"Welcome to Kinloch Hold, Warden-Commander Duncan." Irving greeted with a bit less informality than his templar counterpart. Both had an inkling as to why Duncan was there, but silently agreed to let the famous Warden initiate the conversation.

"Thank you, First Enchanter, Knight-Commander. It has been some time since my last visit." Duncan agreed, offering both a warm, friendly smile. Irving found the man easy to get along with, but hoped Duncan wouldn't be offended if and when he heard the recent news about what had transpired in the Harrowing Chamber.

"Indeed it has. Tell me, do you know anything about a certain dagger that went missing from my predecessor's office?" Irving asked with a small smirk. He knew perfectly well Duncan had stolen it, all those years back when the then-young Warden was travelling with Maric and Fiona. He also knew the dagger had most likely saved Duncan's life later on. It was difficult to blame the man, especially seeing how First enchanter Remille had turned traitor shortly after.

"It is a grand world, First Enchanter. There are too many daggers for me to count." Duncan offered with a completely professional tone, though the glint in his eyes remained. Maker, the man really was something else.

"I suppose it is." Irving agreed as they entered the tower, leaving the Knight-Commander by the doors.

"You have heard the news, I presume?" Duncan's voice was now completely professional, and Irving realized the man was entering upon his reason for visiting. He nodded;

"King Cailan is amassing the army near Ostagar. Yes, we have heard. You are here for mages to join the king's army, I suppose." He didn't add that those very mages would likely meet their deaths since none had been trained to turn their magic against dangerous foes. It was highly possible a few knew more than they were supposed to, but he still didn't like the idea.

"If you can spare them. Cailan has already won several battles against the Darkspawn, but without more mages, I fear for what is to come."

"I know. I only fear they will not return, for one reason or the other." One reason being they came down with a case of dead. Irving knew that was the most likely outcome. The other being they simply fled, free of Chantry and templar oversight.

"Is enchanter Wynne still able to join? I seem to remember her being a very capable healer."

"She is, she is. I think she's currently here on this level, actually." She was, he knew. Young Talia had taken the news worse than Irving had thought, and simply collapsed on the floor a few hours ago. Wynne was examining her for anything out of the ordinary.

"Might we meet with her, or is she otherwise occupied?" Duncan's voice implied he already knew the answer. Irving resisted a frown at that. It was difficult understanding what went on in the minds of those who had fought the Blights for hundreds of years.

"For now, I believe she is occupied with an unconscious apprentice." Irving said, the added at Duncan's questioning look; "Nothing serious, medicinally at least. The apprentice just… her friend underwent the Harrowing, but it did not go as hoped."

"I see." Was all Duncan said as they passed the door to the Dormitory of the apprentices. Irving hoped Duncan would not notice, but the Warden glanced inside the room. Wynne was kneeling next to a sobbing young woman, offering her best consolations; "Thát, is the apprentice, I suppose."

"It is. We believe she and her companions, of which only she and her young friend were brought back, fled their tower. Though, we do not know which." Irving admitted, wanting to get Duncan moving. Until Talia was emotionally stable, he didn't want to expose Duncan to the less friendly faces in the tower.

"She refused to tell?" Duncan asked, getting the hint to move along. Irving considered his answer for a few moment as they walked the library, monitoring the apprentices and other mages spending their time with the books.

"In a sense. She kept insisting to belong to a "College of Winterhold", though there is no record of one such place. Curiously, she doesn't seem to understand why the templars brought them in."

"Where were they captured?" Irving was slightly annoyed that Duncan wouldn't drop the issue, but decided it was his own fault for not dismissing it at the start.

"In the outskirts of the Korari Wilds. They were hunting the Witches of the Wild, when they came across young Talia's group. Two, from Morag's account, were already abominations when they caught up."

"They were slain?"

"No…" Irving said, both regret and a tiny amount of relief in his voice. From Talia's own, if brief, accounts, those two had not been abominations at all, but rather… something else; "They escaped into the Wilds. With two unconscious mages, Morag was forced to return to the tower first."

* * *

This land truly was worse than the Oblivion. Onmund… was dead.

He was dead, because the insane people running this prison had seen fit to murder him in a fit when he hadn't passed their test. What on Nirn was wrong with them? Who the Daedra did they even think they were, to slaughter students of the College in this way?

And now they had set some old grandmother of a mage on her. Talia was _not_ in the mood nor mindset to be cuddled by a person from the very group that had murdered Onmund. Tears stinging her eyes, she picked up voices from outside the small area of her surroundings, and recognized the voice of the oldest mage, the one who was named Irving. _He_ had been giving the orders all the time. _He_ was behind Onmund's death.

And now he was mentioning her like some mental case, a thing to be ignored out of refusing to accept that he had made a mistake in not believing her about Winterhold. If, no _when_ she got back home, both the College and her father would be told of this… this _violation_.

She brushed the older woman aside, getting to her feet.

"And where do you think you are going, young lady?" The old woman asked in a stern, yet mildly admonishing tone. Talia nearly winced at the tone - so much like her old nan when she had used to misbehave - and looked at the woman.

"My friend is dead because of a trial that Irving forced him through." She spat out through clenched teeth. The mere mention of the fact still made her breathing difficult. The old woman's eyes grew soft, and saddened;

"The Harrowing, yes. Most survive it, but there are those who are too susceptible to demons." Talia nearly tripped in her steps from the way the old woman_ defended_ the damn ritual. She glared at the woman;

"Then the devisers are _murderous_, and _cruel_ people for forcing people through it in the first place."

"Young lady, I fully understand that you are feeling grief and sorrow for a dead friend, but you know as well as what risks there are with an unharrowed mage. You should realize your luck that you were even given the chance to pass it, considering you fled your own tower." The old mage admonished her. Talia wanted to cry out what she had repeated to just about every soul who would and wouldn't listen, that they _hadn't fled any gods-be-damned tower!_ She clenched her fists and glared right at the old mage, who hadn't even introduced herself, and felt a burning resentment for everything that existed in the world.

Onmund was dead. J

'zargo and Brelyna were lost in the wilds, if not dead too...

And she was trapped here, in a prison tower that everyone insisted she deserved to be in, and should even be _thankful _for. Stendarr's mercy, this was a place she wasn't even allowed to glare at the men in armor before they _dissolved_ her familiar. How could they even do that? The soldier, or _templar_ as they called themselves, hadn't even attacked Two-Sock, only touched it. There had been no conjuration-magic at work aside from her own, so how were they doing those things? She hated them, for arresting her, for routing her friends, and for killing Onmund.

"I _did_ _not_ flee. any. damn. tower." She growled and forced each word out; "The _College_ sent us to Cyrodiil to contact the _Synod_, but we ended up _here_, in this land or region or whatever by Mara's _tits_ you call this place." She gestured roughly at everything around them, even as the old woman seemed to blanch at her somewhat heretical use of Mara's name.

"There is no tower to my knowledge, or even place, called by that name. If you can't offer a straight answer, I suggest you stop taking out your anger on the organization doing its best to safeguard and train us mages." She started, pointing a finger at Talia. Her expression softened somewhat; "I understand why you want to speak with Irving, especially given what happened to your friend." Talia snorted at that.

"I seriously doubt you would be able to understand, otherwise you wouldn't be defending it." She forced out under her breath, glaring daggers at a passing templar. If looks could kill, the man would be a charred corpse by the time the old mage spoke again.

"Regardless of my understanding, if you promise to do your best at behaving, I can let you meet with Irving." She did pick up on thát, though, and focused her attention back on the old woman again.

"Why would you do that?" She demanded. Anger was still seeping through her every thought and word. Anger at Irving. Anger, and grief that Onmund was no longer there to help her. Not that she ever _needed_ help, but… it had been a good thing to have, a good friend.

"I believe you need to understand why what went wrong, went wrong. If confronting Irving with it will help you come to terms, it is the better solution than allowing you to wallow in rage."

"Oh believe me, I _never_ wallow…" Talia muttered under her breath, so low she wasn't sure if it was even picked up.

* * *

"We are already sending many to Ostagar. Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages! We've committed enough of our own to the war effort-" Greagoir argued against Duncan's request for more mages. Irving found the argument amusing in a small way;

"Your own? Hmm. Since when have you felt such kinship with mages, Greagoir. Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually _use_ their Maker-given powers?" He inquired, chuckling under his breath. Greagoir didn't seem to find the misstep quite as funny, though.

"How _dare_ you suggest-" The Knight-Commander started with a pointed finger, until Duncan, of all people, interrupted him.

"Gentlemen, please. Irving, someone is here to see you."

* * *

Talia stopped in the doorway, takin in the scene before her. She recognized the first two men in the room, _Irving_, and the armored man who seemed to be in command of the templars. There was a third man too, though. His armor reminded her more of some of the bandits she sometimes saw being hauled before the Jarl in Winterhold, but it seemed a lot more official than that. Shoulder-pauldrons and a breastplate of steel seemed to be among the few pieces of actual armor the man wore, the rest being something close to the dress she herself was still forced to wear until she found her own clothes again.

Without hesitating, she made her way towards Irving.

"_Irving_" She breathed. Unable to decide what insult to go with, she went with his name.

"Ah, our new sister in the Circle… How are you feeling, child?" He responded, apparently _not_ catching her mood from her tone. Before she could give him an honest-to-Divines answer though, the new, bearded man stepped forward.

"This is…" He started, looking at Talia with eyes much different than Irving's own. They were far more curious and evaluating than Irving's interested and teacher-like gaze. Irving nodded;

"Yes, this is she."

"I am _Talia Aulus Geotien_, not a _she_." She growled, glaring daggers at Irving. If it wasn't for the armored men in the room, and she wasn't sure if the other, new man was of the same kind, she would have frozen Irving _solid_ for disregarding her like that.

"Well, Irving." The most heavily armored man said; "You are obviously busy. We'll discuss this later." He then left the room, passing close enough to Talia that she could feel annoyance radiating from him in waves.

"Of course…" Irving said to the man, then turned to regard Talia once more; "Where was I… Oh yes, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens." Talia gave Duncan a once-over, then looked back at Irving.

"I don't care if he was the Leader of the Greybeards; I am here because of you. Onmund, my friend and an innocent young mage, was murdered in your _Harrowing_, and I seem to be the only one capable of seeing the wrongness in that!" She exclaimed, taking a step towards Irving.

"Ah, yes… that. I regret that he didn't make it through, I truly do, child, but in the end the demons won him over." Irving said, truly sounding like he meant it. Talia didn't give a flying mudcrab for his sincerity.

"The Daedra or demons or whatever you choose to call them, wouldn't have had the chance if it wasn't for your twisted trial!" Talia yelled, jabbing an accusing finger at Irving, while Duncan merely looked mildly confused at her words, or maybe the accusation in them. She honestly didn't care which it was.

"You should know, even if you don't accept it, that the Harrowing is a necessary evil, child." Irving admonished. Gods, he was so self-righteous, they _all_ were, that it made her want to kick a puppy. Or Irving, whichever one was most doable; "I do, however, understand your grief. I went through the same thing myself, when I was not even your age."

"Then why, by all the Gods, are you keeping the same evil ritual going?!" If Irving wasn't lying, then Talia simply didn't see how he could live with himself as long as the ritual was being carried out.

"Because it is necessary." His tone was suddenly a lot sterner, but softened again; "If a mage isn't harrowed, there is no knowing whether or not demons will be able to take possession over him. This way, the possession can be ended on the spot if the mage isn't strong enough to resist."

"You still _caused his death_." Talia stated coldly; "I am leaving this accursed tower now, so hand over my belongings. And I want Onmund's body as well."

Both men's eyebrows shot up in surprise and confusion. She suspected it was because she wanted a dead body; "Onmund deserves to be buried back in Skyrim, not here in… you call this Ferelden. This is not his home, however cold it may be."

"Excuse me for interrupting, First Enchanter…" Duncan said, turning to regard Talia; "But, just _who_ are you?" Finally, someone actually took a note of her words instead of just dismissing her as a runaway mage, because apparently mages running away was punishable with death-by-sick-trial. She glared at Irving a final time before looking at Duncan with a hard, examining gaze.

"I am Talia Aulus Geotien, daughter of _Omluard_ Aulus Geotien, second-heir to the Aulus-estate of Evermor. I am a student of the College of Winterhold, and my friend was Onmund Broksson, also a student of the College, and my friend. I am a prisoner of this tower, and my friend was killed by the people here because he didn't pass their trial." She declared and glared back at Irving at the last part. He would be reminded of his part in the murder of Onmund, at every chance she got. The mage in question, as well as Duncan, glanced at each other before looking back at her.

"Child, there is no such place in Thedas carrying any of the names you just mentioned." Irving said.

"My condolences to your loss, but I must admit I have not heard these names or places mentioned before either. You are certain you aren't just imagining things out of grief?" Talia snarled at the doubt in their voices, and what _by the Twelve_ was "_Thedas"_, now all of a sudden? She knew damn well no place in Tamriel went with that name. Geography might never have been her interest, but by Julianos, she wasn't _dumb_!

"I am leaving this tower, with or without your consent." She stated, then spun on her heels towards the exit. Irving gave a deep sigh behind her;

"Child, you know mages aren't allowed to leave the tower without permission from the Knight-Commander." He said, regret in his voice. But it wasn't regret that she wasn't allowed to leave. It seemed to be regret that she didn't realize her own wrongs. Blasted man, she would force her way out then.

"I am a mage, trained at the _College._" She stated. In most cases, that sentence alone would discourage people from picking a fight.

"The templars will not allow you to pass."

"Let them stop me if they can. Remaining means my death, so rather face it on my feet than slaughtered in my sleep!" She yelled, snapping about to glare at Irving once more. The man had a saddened look in his eyes, but she didn't give a Horker's lump of fat for his sadness.

"Wait, let us not do anything rash." Duncan jumped in. She glared at him now, waiting for another round of "adult" minds telling her what to do. She had left High Rock for just that same reason, and those had been her parents. Foreigners would not dictate her actions, not after what they had bereft her.

"You won't stop me. You can lock me up, I will break out. You can cut off my feet, I will drag myself out. You can cut off my hands, I will kick my way out." Anything less, and J'zargo would probably laugh when she made it to the afterlife. Both men seemed taken aback at her words, Irving more than Duncan.

"In all my years…" he muttered.

"There is no need for more to die, young Talia. I think I may offer… a better solution." Duncan offered, stepping closer to her. She stepped back the same distance.

"Unless it is a map and a horse, I don't think you do."

"I came here looking for mages to join the King's army, yes, but I was also looking for promising recruits." Duncan explained. Irving turned to focus his full attention on the Warden, Talia seemingly briefly forgotten.

"That is the first I hear of this, Duncan." He said. Duncan nodded;

"It was my secondary goal here, and not deemed as important as gaining additional support from the Circle. However, the Grey Wardens _do_ need more recruits, and Talia wants to leave the tower." He explained.

"From one prison to the other? And what about Onmund's body? I will not be leaving it here to fester in a dungeon for mages." Talia declared. Irving sighed again;

"I was hoping to inform you of this at a better time, child, but we have already cremated his body." Talia turned to Irving very slowly, tears of outrage stinging her eyes. They had burned him here, without even letting her know? He would find Sovngarde, but what about her? She hadn't been given a chance to even say farewell, and now he was gone.

"Your name was Duncan?" She asked with a calm that surprised even her, in the small part of her mind that was still rational despite the anger; "I am ready to leave this place. If it burns, if Alduin himself razes it to the ground, I will stand and I won't shed a tear. And lastly; give me my clothes back, now please."

"Is this acceptable to you, First Enchanter?" Duncan asked, looking more confused than anything else. Irving massaged his temples, looking at Talia with saddened eyes;

"Yes, yes I suppose it is. I am sad, Talia, that you refused to find peace here. May you at least survive outside the tower. Ferelden is dangerous in these dark times." Irving said, opening a chest at the wall. He pulled out Talia's robes, her _own_ robes from the College, and handed them to her.

She yanked the robes from him like he was dirtying them with his mere touch. The man was the leader of a murderous institution, she would not have his presence lingering on her belongings. Not caring the least what the men thought of her, she pulled the Circle-given robes off on the spot. Duncan and Irving both stopped breathing for a moment, shifting uncomfortably as Talia put on her own clothes.

Patting her satchel, she gave Irving one final glare before looking at Duncan;

"Are we going?"

"I suppose invoking the right of Conscription is rather meaningless at this point." The man pondered; "yes, we are. I have already been informed that the Circle is unable to afford more mages for the war than have already been promised. I bid you a continued good day, Fist Enchanter Irving."

"Likewise, Warden-Commander Duncan." Irving replied; "The same to you, Talia Aulus of Winterfell."

"Winter_hold_." She muttered under her breath, but refused to even acknowledge the man's words, instead walking out the door before Duncan could even say a word.

As they approached the doors on the first level, Duncan's constant glancing at her, became too much for Talia to bear;

"What?"

"I'm sorry?" He said, seemingly unaware of her annoyance. On one hand, she was glad she could leave the tower-dungeon, leave it all behind.

On the other, she was apparently entering into a new prison, this one in the form of an order or an army called the Grey Wardens. She had no idea if they possessed the same cheating ability as the templars, and thus if she could fight her way out.

"You're constantly looking at me." She muttered as the templars opened the door.

"I meant no offense, I can assure you."

"Then what is the looking for?" She bit out as they exited the tower, a few glowering templars looking at her back as she strode through the main entrance-hall, offering glares in return to every soul in the room.

"You are different than most mages I have met so far." Duncan admitted as Greagoir gave them leave, opening the final set of doors. The outside was… not what she expected. Talia had expected somewhere like a dark forest or a mountain-range for the place of the prison. Instead she came out into an enormous lake, connected to the other side by a broken bridge of stone. Despite being broken, she could still see the artisanship that had gone into its making.

"You are nowhere _close_ with that statement, Duncan." While she voiced his name with anything but respect, it wasn't with the same venom or hostility as she used with Irving's name.

"Well, we do have a long way to walk from here. I suppose you could enlighten me on the way?"

"…Maybe." She offered, not mentioning that she would steal a horse and escape at the first given chance. Wasn't worth it just to make him wary. Whatever thoughts she might have had on using the bridge were banished when Duncan led them down a narrow path instead. They ended up at a small, make-shift dock with a young templar waiting to take them across. Talia glared at him, but offered nothing else as Duncan managed their transit, surprisingly by bribing the man with cookies, of all things.

Much greater her astonishment, when the templar accepted the bribery with an overjoyed expression and allowed them transport. _If I ever get back to Winterhold… I'm not sure what, just…_

She relinquished further thoughts on home, as she instead settled down in the boat, Duncan taking the seat across from her. The templar got in as the last one, and started rowing. The trip itself was quiet, the only sound breaking the silence were the oars in the water. Talia closed her eyes, considering taking out her book on the finer arts of summoning, but decided the time wasn't for it. She also didn't want the templar on the boat to get a glimpse of College spellbooks. So instead she closed her eyes, listening to the sound of birds chirping as they neared shore, and the paddling of oars in the water.

The small clatter of wood on wood startled her out of the almost relaxing sensation it was to simply shut her eyes. The templar was out first, offering each a hand up. She pointedly didn't accept it.

"We're going to follow the Imperial Highway north, until we reach the Teyrnir of Highever," Duncan explained as they started up the hill, bypassing the small hamlet that had secured itself as something akin to a port-town by the lake.

"I take it you're not talking about the Empire of Tiber Septim?" Talia asked, expecting a confused no. She received one, too, when Duncan glanced at her with both curiosity and confusion; "I didn't think so…"

"This Empire of Tiber Septim, you talk about… I don't think I know about it." Duncan said with curiosity, but also a tone that wanted her to continue. Talia sighed, knowing she was in for a long walk, even if it seemed to be on paved road. She brought her hand up and snapped her fingers, bringing Two-Sock into being.

Duncan looked less than composed at the sudden appearance of the familiar. It lasted almost a full second.

"Seems to me you're not a mere apprentice." He offered, glancing at Two-Sock as it lolled its tongue and walked beside Talia without even having started doing so. It had simply appeared while already walking. Talia scratched it behind its ears, the wolf being the last companion she had left of the College. Her Flame Atronachs were nowhere near as familiar as Two-Sock, and thus not considered companions as much as merely conjured tools.

"Duncan, meet Two-Sock. Two-Sock, Duncan, commander of…" She trailed off. The lingering confusion on Duncan's face did a little to alleviate her anger. _He_ wasn't the one who had killed Onmund, after all.

"The Gray Wardens. I take it Two-Sock here is your companion on regular travels?" Duncan offered the familiar a polite nod before speaking to Talia.

"He is." Talia said, then added with stinging grief; "Now he's the only one I have left."

"I am sorry. I know my condolences will not bring back your friend, but… they are all I can offer." Talia nodded and wiped away the first small tear.

"You didn't kill him. I just… I just miss him so much, and I don't even know what happened to Brelyna and J'zargo." She found her voice was hoarse with grief, even as she knew her two other friends were likely dead as well. She knew both were strong, but… she just didn't know.

"We will gain an additional companion soon enough." Duncan offered, causing Talia to snap up to look at him; "In the Teyrnir of Highever, we're looking for some prospective recruits before we head for Ostagar."

"What… what is a Teyrnir?" Talia sniffed the last of her grief back behind the façade and looked at the Warden.

"It is… a bit like an Arling, only bigger." Duncan tried. Talia nodded. She knew what an Arling was, both High Rock and Skyrim had Jarls ruling parts of them. She had personal experience there. She breathed a sigh and allowed Two-Sock to run ahead, leaving her and Duncan in silence for a few minutes.

"Back at the tower, you mentioned something about conscripting me."

"Ah, yes. I did." Duncan said; "I suppose you would like an explanation for that?"

Talia nodded.

"The Grey Wardens are an independent and politically neutral organization on Thedas. We are above most laws, and in return, we do not involve ourselves in the rulings of each nation. We keep apart from the rest of the world's workings, except when we recruit or combat a Blight, such as now."

"Sounds a bit like the Greybeards, with the whole 'keep apart' thing." Talia huffed, kicking a pebble on the paved road. It was really more of a bridge built over land, than a road.

"Greybeards?" Duncan asked.

"Old monks or sages, I think. They live on the top of Tamriel's highest mountain, but that's really as far as my knowledge goes."

"Tamriel, is another word or place I don't know of." Duncan admitted, giving her a curious look; "Is it your home country?" Talia sighed, realizing she really should stop being surprised at this point.

"It's actually the continent. My home country is High Rock, but I lived in Skyrim, in Winterhold, for three years before we ended up here."

"And yet, I have never heard of these places. A continent by the name of Tamriel… that makes me curious, how can you speak our language if you come from so far away as an undiscovered continent?" He asked, genuinely curious and confused. The question made Talia miss a step.

She had not considered thát.

"I… I…Honestly I have no idea." She admitted awkwardly. Ahead of them, Two-Sock was pawing at a hole in the ground, but raised his head and sped on when the two humans came close. Talia often wondered how no one had ever written a book on how deeply alive familiars were. Most dismissed them as constructs and weak atronachs.

"It is something to ponder, I think." Duncan said; "another thing, while we're talking about your homeland."

"Yes?"

"You mentioned an empire more than once. What is it?" Duncan asked. Talia blew a sigh that lifted a few strands of her cobber-red hair from her head. She herself didn't even know _that_ much about the Empire of Tiber Septim, how was she supposed to explain it to a man who had probably never even heard the term 'dragon', much less 'Dragonborn'?

"Damn… I'm not really the best historian." She muttered, blew a new sigh and looked back up and over the side of the road, taking in the enormous landscapes; "Buuuuuut, I know it was founded by Tiber Septim, or Talos as the Nords call him. He was… I can't actually remember if he was Dragonborn or not, but he had the Thu'um, the dragonspeak that made him able to conquer the entire continent and found the empire. After that, things just… went the right way, I guess. When he died, Tal- Tiber Septim was uplifted as the Ninth Divine, but when the Aldmeri Dominion, or the "Thalmor" as well call them, invaded, they banned the worship of Talos, said it was heretical."

"Nine Divines?" Duncan asked, more confused and surprised than merely curious. Talia shrugged;

"I grew up in High Rock, so I was never really even introduced to Talos as a possible Divine. Onmund did, though. Still, I like to think Mara is watching over my family, even if Stendarr has yet to provide justice for Onmund's death." She explained. Duncan went silent for a whole minute, fingers going through his dark beard. Finally, he spoke again;

"I think… you should refrain from mentioning your faith here, Talia. Ferelden, as well as most of Thedas, believes there is but one God, the Maker."

"…Oh." Talia missed a step; "Then… was it a bad idea that I more or less shouted to _Irving_ that he by the Eight Divines should stop claiming Brelyna was an abomination?" She still spat out the name like it was rotten fruit.

Duncan sighed and rubbed his forehead. He almost seemed distressed. Sad really, Talia mused, he really did seem like a much more intelligent person than those mages at the tower who insisted on _murdering _people for falling asleep;

"I don't think the First Enchanter is going to read too much into it." He said, pointedly looking at her like a disappointed tutor; "Still, yes; it might be for the best that you don't mention what gods you worship. There could be… consequences, if the Chantry finds out a mage is going around with a different viewpoint on faith."

"Fine." Talia blew hair from her face, rolling her eyes at the bigotry of this "Chantry" as they were called. They sounded a lot like just another bunch of Thalmor, except they didn't follow _any_ of the Divines; "Then what is so great about this "Maker" of yours? What is he god of?" Duncan seemed briefly taken aback at the question, though he regained his posture quickly enough that it could have just been a trick of her eyes.

"Well… everything, actually."

"Really? _One_ Div- one God for everything there is?" She stared at Duncan with wide eyes, even as Two-Sock came running back around her, doing a full round before sprinting off again; "Sounds… stressful."

"Stressful? I… suppose it would be for a human, but…the Maker is… difficult to explain. How would you explain _your_ gods?" Duncan asked after a minute's silent thought. Talia bit her lower lip with a single tooth, looking at the skies while thinking. The skies were grey, like they were ready to unleash a storm that never came.

"Well… The main Divine is Akatosh. He's the Dragon God of time and the king of the Divines, only, not "king" as you would understand it, all with subjects and cities. More like the Chief of the Gods, I think. Then, there's Arkay. He is the Divine of Rebirth and Death. Most cities have shrines to him in their burial places. I know Windhelm has one in its Hall of the Dead, although it's because… because Onmund told me." She heaved a breath, trying to clear her mind of the returning grief.

"You still mourn him." Duncan said, not even asking. Talia nodded, blinking away the tears;

"I… yes. But, Arkay will make sure he gets to Sovngarde."

"Of course."

"Then, there is… Dibella, of course. She is the Goddess of Beauty and Love. I've never been to Markarth, but her main temple in Skyrim is supposed to be there. The priestesses are supposed to be… rather appreciating. I think. And, then there is Julianos, the God of Wisdom and Logic. Kynareth, she is the Goddess of nature. Pilgrims go to some place east of High Hrothgar to visit her shrine, or really it is more of a coven, with a large, spiritual tree in the center. Shame I never went there."

"Pilgrims visit a tree instead of Kynareth's chapel?" Duncan asked, as thunder rolled across the lands, bringing promises, or threats, of rain with it.

"Oh, they do. Whiterun's temple is dedicated to Kynareth, and they have a large tree in her honor in the middle of the city too." Talia explained. Yet another part of Skyrim she hadn't gotten to see as much as she'd have liked; "Sheor is not as much worshipped as he is revered out of, say fear. He is the God of strife, and most view him more as the demonized version of Shor. Then, there is the one most important to my people, well aside from Akatosh of course."

"Yes?" Duncan mused, clearly intrigued by her tale. Talia tried to ignore the feeling that rain was going to drop soon. It would be less than pleasant having to walk in soaked clothes.

"Magnus. He is the God of Magic, and one of the original spirits. It is… hard to explain, but in the Dawn Era he was one of the et'Ada's, original spirits, who created Mundus. Lorkhan, one of the other et'Ada's tricked Magnus and the et'Ada's into sacrificing a lot of their power to create Mundus, and then returned to Aetherius when Mundus was formed. The hole he ripped in the Oblivion is the sun, and what remains of him, all around us, is what we call magic, more or less." Talia said, then felt a drop of water splash on the hood of her robes. More soon followed in more and more rapid succession; "Oh great…"

"Seems like we'll be walking wet for the next few miles. There is a small village not too far ahead, we can find shelter in the inn, should the rain continue." Duncan offered. Talia blew a bundle of already soaked hair from her face, only to have it smack back again.

"Just what I needed." She muttered. If J'zargo or Brelyna had been there, one of them could probably come up with some sort of spell to protect against the rain. Damn the fate that they were not; "There is Mara, after Magnus. She is the goddess of Love and motherhood. When people get married, they tend to do it in her temples. My parents were too, in Evermor. It's one of High Rock's larger cities."

"Is this Mara the wife of Akatosh?" Duncan asked, seemingly unbothered by the now pouring rain. Talia gave him an odd look, mostly out of surprise;

"Well… actually, yes. Some Pantheons see her as Lorkhan's wife, but the Imperial and Breton Pantheon portrays her as married to Akatosh. How did you know that?"

"There are more pantheons?" Duncan asked, not answering her question. Damn the man, but fair enough;

"There are." She admitted, lighting her palms on fire to ward against the cold; "There is the Imperial, of course. Then there is the Nordic, the Altmeri, the Bosmeri, the Dunmeri pantheon, the latter of which was Brelyna's pantheon. There is the Redguard Pantheon, the Khajit Pantheon and the Bretony pantheon, which is the one I am explaining."

Duncan looked mildly aghast, though she wasn't able to tell if it was the rain, the amount of pantheons or the fact that she was retelling her own, not the Imperial pantheon. Whatever he was aghast about, she didn't care;

"Phynaster is the hero-god of the Summerset Isles, and fills more or less the role Talos does in the Nordic pantheon. I don't really know much about him though. Stendarr is the Divine my parents revere the highest, after Akatosh and Magnus of course. He is the god of mercy and righteous rule. I once saw one of his Vigilants on the road. They hunt vampires and werewolves, but they don't really seem to wear more armor than me." Talia said, rubbing her flaming hands together. She considered offering to warm Duncan, but withdrew the thought almost instantly. It would be _weird_, asking if he wanted her to pat him.

"They sound much like the templars, or maybe the Inquisition, though the latter I know only from rumors and stories. Are they involved with mages too?" Duncan asked, offering Two-Sock a look of mild envy as the rain simply _passed_ through the ethereal wolf. It offered him a lolling wolf-grin in return.

"Most of them are mages to some extent. Have to be, when hunting things other people flee from." Talia resisted the urge to snap at the mere comparison of the Vigilants of Stendarr, and the murderous templars.

"Of course."

"Y'ffre is in our pantheon too, though the Bosmeri pantheon holds him in much higher regard. We call him the Storyteller, because when Mundus was created, all was chaos until he settled the laws of nature, like why things fall down when you toss them into the air." She kicked a loose stone for effect, watching as it sailed through the air before going over the side of the road and below.

"Why "Storyteller", though?" Duncan asked, lightning illuminating his face in a short second. Thunder followed a moment later, causing Two-Sock to bark at the sky. Talia found herself grinning at the familiar's exhibition of what it truly meant being a living wolf, or hound or what people would call him: Being afraid of thunder, or at least angry at it.

"He told mortals of the laws of nature, made order." She explained off-handedly. It was all old stuff, and a lot was hard to remember beyond the names and dedications of each Aedra.

"I see."

"Zenithar is the last of the pantheon's Aedra."

"Aedra?"

"Divines. He stands for wealth, labor, commerce and communication. He is basically the god of the trader." Talia explained, then added; "He has an anvil for his symbol. It doesn't get much more practical than that."

"I suppose not… but if your pantheon has twelve gods, why do you exclaim "by the _Eight" _instead of the twelve?" True, it was a bit stupid when even people of other religions noticed. Talia rubbed her hands together, spreading warmth while considering the best reply. In the end, honesty was the easiest choice;

"I've been living in Skyrim for three years…exclaiming 'by the _eight_' gets less attention than 'by the twelve'." She said, realizing how stupid it probably sounded even as she spoke. Damn honesty, and damn the fact that she wasn't going to change her expressions. Father might flip his table if he heard her dismiss all but eight of the Aedra, but father wasn't here. She could do whatever she damned well pleased.

Except bring Onmund back. There always was _something_ fate denied her. Friendship seemed to be one of those things here.

Hours passed in more or less silence, with Two-Sock being the only break from the constant pouring of rain. It wasn't until nightfall they reached the town of Strathmore.

* * *

**Anyone who can point out the camoes and references in the chapters?**

**I think I am going to enjoy this story, especially because I just found a list of the Chant of Light, meaning we can get some epic poems in. I was a bit surprised to find that almost each race has a different pantheon.**


	3. Castle Cousland

**Lo and behold, the Tale of Talia continues. **

**So far the response to this story has been mainly positive, so I'm going to pull not a single punch with Talia, and really show off what her character contains. NOT in a single chapter, of course. Still, I enjoy this chapter, and the next one, far more than I did the first chapter.**

**Man... finding verses for EACH chapter, will be a bother. Anyone know a site with verses from other organisations and groups than just the Chantry?**

**Anyway, let us press on, for Castle Cousland.**

* * *

_All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,_

_From the lowest slaves_

_To the highest kings._

_Those who bring harm_

_Without provocation to the least of His children_

_Are hated and accursed by the Maker. _

__Transfigurations 3:5__

* * *

**Castle Cousland**

* * *

"I don't believe it!" Talia exclaimed, jumping from her place in the corner of the _Drunken Mage_ inn. Duncan snapped to look at her, but Talia hardly noticed as she instead started emptying her satchel on the small table before her.

"What, what is wrong?"

"My _book_. It's gone." She growled, pawing through the various trinkets making up the rest of her carried belongings. There was an empty soul gem in a string, the bundled lavenders, the few septims she had had the forethought of bringing, and straps of leather, if and when her boots would need repair.

But there was no book.

"I don't remember you mentioning a book before now." Duncan remarked, glancing at the emptied contents before looking back at her; "You are certain you had it with you from your College?"

"Of _course_ I am bloody certain I brought it. I brought it specifically to have something to read while we did business with the Synod and- Dammit! Urag will tear my legs off if I lose his books."

"Calm down, Talia. We will be in Highever in a few days, I am sure they won't mind you burrowing a single book." Duncan tried, running a hand through his dark beard. Talia bristled at him; "You should try to get some sleep."

"I know where it is." She muttered. A mutter that became a sneer; "I know who took it. _Irving_. Irving took my book while I was imprisoned." Duncan sighed;

"What type of book would this even be?" He asked, tiredness and exasperation in his voice. Talia snapped up to him, staring into his dark, brown eyes with her blue ones.

"It was a spellbook. I wanted to read up on summoning, make Two-Sock a bit more durable." The ethereal wolf was, wisely, not with them at the moment. Even if she was traveling with a Grey Warden, Duncan had explained, the wolf would attract too much attention. Talia slumped down in her seat; "Now we're going to have to walk the entire route back. Damn, can't we just… I dunno…"

She was tired. They had already been through Strathmore, and then some small village that wasn't even on Duncan's map, before ending up in the town of Strandtown. She had no idea if the name meant anything, but it was close enough to the ocean that she could hear the crashing waves from the main street when they arrived.

"Fine. I'm going to sleep. Wake me whenever we're leaving." She muttered, pushing out from the table as she gathered the last of her belongings. How people could travel with their entire home on their backs, she would never understand. The Khajiit caravans at least had horses and mules. She had a satchel not even big enough for an alchemy table.

"I will. Sleep well, Talia." The older man replied. Talia hummed in acknowledgement, dragging herself up the stairs to her room. Calling it a room, maybe that was an exaggeration on her part. There was a bed crammed into less room than would be filled by the staircase back in the College, as well as a communal privy at the end of the windy corridor making up the first and only extra story of the building.

Talia threw herself on the bed, staring at the tilted ceiling above her. She could hear the rain drumming on the other side of the wooden roof, glad that the ceiling was at least waterproof enough. The winds were still violent though, and shook the room on occasions.

"Gods… Akatosh, Dibella, Kynareth, Mara, Magnus, please…" She whispered, biting her lip; "I… I ask not for myself. I just… don't, please don't allow Brelyna and J'zargo to suffer the fate Onmund suffered."

There was no answer, only the rushing of winds shaking the building with such force that she idly wondered if the whole inn would collapse and be blown away.

"I know I… haven't always been the most devout. I haven't visited your shrines, I haven't done a pilgrimage yet, but… please, watch over my friends. I will… I will be a better person, if you will just allow me this." She whispered with closed eyes. Talia didn't really know_ what_ to do to be a better person than she was, since she could visit any of the temples anymore. There had to be something though.

She fell asleep before managing to figure it out.

* * *

The next day went as the former had, with seemingly endless walking. Two-Sock was the only one to seemingly enjoy the trip, running around with all the vigor and life of a real wolf. Talia spent the day watching her familiar as she and Duncan talked. He was a surprisingly intelligent man, for a warrior, and offered interesting perspectives.

Still, he seemed less than forthcoming whenever she tried getting him to talk about the Grey Wardens. Beyond telling the old legends, he almost seemed to brush off her questions by asking new ones to her. It was annoying, but it held the conversation.

"So your College has never had a problem with possessed mages?"

"Not that I know of, no. It is why I don't understand what happened to Onmund." Had Irving appeared at the moment she spoke, Talia might have ripped his head off in surprise and not regretted it afterwards.

"The Harrowing isn't known to me, I'm afraid." Duncan admitted, and they sunk into silence. Two-Sock's occasional howls and barks at anything interesting was the only break in the silence, and Talia was thankful for them. The silence was otherwise rather awkward.

A question _did_ pop up though, something she had thought about only briefly a few days prior.

"Duncan, you told Irving you were battling the Blight, or something." She eyed the man with curious eyes, looking for any tells that he was going to withhold something again. He did seem willing enough this time, though.

"The Blight… The Blight is, how should I put it? Have your homeland ever experienced a flood, something all-consuming that seemed to just go on and on?" He asked. Talia furrowed her brows at the oddity of his question.

"Not that I really know of. Sometimes there are heavy pours, but… not that I know of, no… Why?"

"The Blight is like a wave of darkness, crashing over the lands with the intent of swallowing everything alive. The armies of the Blight are made up of Darkspawn. Wretched creatures that were once human, elves or dwarves, but now serve-"

"Dwarves?" Talia snapped around, staring at Duncan with eyes the size of dinner plates. Duncan _had_ said dwarves, hadn't he? Like, in Dwemer? As in, he had hinted at there being Dwarves in these lands?

Suddenly, her skin seemed to tingle a bit more than normally.

"Yes, that is the type we have identified as Genlocks. They are small, but still dangerous." Duncan explained. Talia didn't care _what_ Genlocks were.

"No, I meant: you have _Dwarves_, here, alive? As in you have a civilization of still-around Dwemers?" The words almost fell from her mouth before she could speak them. The Dwemer, as well as their disappearance, had always been one of her most passionate subjects. A shame that Tolfdir had forbidden them from venturing into the opened Dwemer ruin near Winterhold.

"Yes, we have Dwarves. Orzammar and Kal-Sharok are the two Dwarven thaigs still inhabited… you speak as if you had dwarves but lost them?" He eyed her curiously, something she had ended up simply taking as his standard way of looking at her when she asked a new question.

"We _had_. No one really knows what happened, but the advanced and highly cultured and civilized dwarves of Tamriel simply disappeared from one day to the other. Everything they made still stands though, like their cities and automatons. They were _centuries_ ahead of the human and elven races, even found a way for steam to replace magic and running water in making things work."

"Impressive." Duncan hummed. From what his voice indicated, Talia guessed Duncan wasn't sure if he believed _that_ one. His fault, then. The Dwemer were awesome, and if they were here too… Maybe there _was_ something close to redeeming about this _Ferelden_ land.

As the hours passed and the pair had walked miles in silence, Duncan cleared his throat. Talia looked at the man, half expecting another round of him coughing, her asking 'what' and him repeating the 'what' until one just gave up and silence ensued.

"What?"

"I was thinking…" Duncan said, surprising Talia with actually having words behind the fake cough. Talia had half a mind noting that he shouldn't do that, it could be dangerous, but remained silent; "You have mentioned two other companions of yours."

"Brelyna and J'zargo?" She said, one brow raised in curiosity. Was this going to be another round of her explaining what a Khajiit and a Dunmer was? It lost its entertainment-value about the time when templars tried murdering them for being… well, them.

"Yes. Irving mentioned that you were determined neither was an abomination, despite one being a talking cat, and the other a dark-skinned elf." The man said, sounding like he wanted to avoid offending her. _Can't imagine he could get close to offending me like Irving or those bloody templars did._

"That's because they aren't abominations. J'zargo is a Khajiit. On Tamriel his kind lives in the southern lands of Elsweyr."

"They live elsewhere?" Duncan mused, confused from the way his bushy eyebrows raised, if she was to judge.

"Els_weyr_. It's mostly warm deserts and canyons, far as I know. There is _nothing_ even remotely abominable about them, though. In fact, the Khajiit are some of the kindest people you would meet on the road. They are still looked upon like thieves though, beats me why." Talia explained, then scrounged up her hair, more or less a complete mess, and added; "Okay, so some of them have to steal Figures, since no one will let them have jobs. They can't even get into the cities."

"A lot of distrust?" Duncan stated more than asked. Talia nodded; "Sounds familiar. Brelyna, then?"

"Brelyna is a Dunmer, or a Dark Elf, if you're going to be politically correct. I think she was born in Morrowind, actually. She's a really nice girl, mind you, so don't start bringing up her skin if we ever even find her again." Talia put as much emphasis on the last bit as she could, without being outright hostile.

"Her skin?" Duncan asked as they rounded a turn on the highway. Talia noticed what looked like a broken-down wagon further ahead, as well as some people standing around it.

"Dark Elves, like the name suggests, are dark skinned. A lot of people say it happened after the Red Mountain erupted and covered their entire country with ashes. She can pretty much stand naked in a bonfire though, so her people have that going for them, which is nice. I guess." Somehow, the image of young, sweet Brelyna standing naked in a fire, was both enticing and abhorring at the same time. Talia decided to shake it before saying anything else.

"And… why would she stand naked in a bonfire?" Duncan asked a bit confused. Talia chewed on the inside of her cheek. Why had she used _naked_ in that sentence? Blast, she had stepped a foot in her mouth there, hadn't she?

"Well… Dunmer have a high resistance to heat, fire included. Dunno if it's magical, they just do. Like, Nords have a much higher resistance to cold. Can't catch a bloody cold, believe it or not. I'm just a Breton, so that's always something." She added with a small, confident smirk, even as the people up ahead, armed too, started noticing them.

"Is there something special to Bretons too, then?" Duncan asked. By the new tone to his voice though, Talia guessed he had noticed the weapons too. Awesome.

"Weeeeeeeell…" She mused, hands behind her neck to look as harmless as possible. Better to avoid a fight, she guessed; "We're just the most badass and awesome human race in the field of magic." She patted Two-Sock behind the ears as the familiar had stopped before the other humans, posture somewhere between 'on guard' and 'wanna play?'.

Before Duncan could comment on her claim, which was entirely true, one of the men stepped towards them with an easygoing smile on his lips. So, friendly then?

"Hold there, friends." He said, raising a hand for emphasis; "There's a highway refugee-toll in effect, to support the war effort, of course." Talia raised an eyebrow, looking to Duncan for him to get them through. Had to, too. She didn't have any money those men would accept

"I don't remember there being a toll here, and you, gentlemen, do not strike me as the official type to man such a toll." Oh, so… highwaymen then? It was definitely an improvement in manners over those from Skyrim who would just jump out, wave a knife and demand a powerful mage to deliver her belongings.

Who ever said one couldn't train destruction magic on the road?

"Ehm… they don't look like refugees to me." One of the other men said. From the sound of his voice, she would place him somewhere on level with a mudcrab in intelligence. Still, his perception was markedly better than his leader's, it would seem.

"Daddy, are these robbers?" Talia asked, tucking Duncan's clothes with the most innocent expression she could muster without cracking a dung-eating grin. Duncan shot her a look that was somewhere between amused, surprised and confused… but he nodded, if only slightly.

"Now now, there is no need to use such words. We're merely businessmen, taking advantage of travelers with a need to ease their burdens a bit. You could say we're safe keepers, actually." The leader explained. Duncan repressed a groan, though Talia could still see it in the way his eyes rolled. Funny, who'd have known the old fart had a sense of humor.

"Yep, and if you don't want to trade, we gets to hit you on the head." The man with mudcrab intellect stated, patting a warhammer on his back for effect.

"You don't even know who I am, do you?" Duncan asked with a very level and polite voice. He sounded a little like Mirabelle when she was in one of her fits over J'zargo's less mature experiments. To be fair though, Ancano _did_ look like a cat-tail would look just nicely on him… Too bad it ended up on the wrong side of his hips. It did provide some laughs though.

"You look a bit like a warrior, and with the dress I'd hazard a guess you're affiliated with the Chantry somehow. Don't worry, we do say prayers each night." The leader said, obviously confident Duncan was the real threat. Talia hadn't seen Duncan in a fight, so it was entirely possible he was a formidable fighter. Or, he could be a skilled tactician who couldn't beat a child in a fist-fight.

Still, even if he was a skilled warrior, Talia felt the need to remind people that _she_ was the biggest threat. All her emotions: grief, anger and anxiousness for her friends, had become a need to do something _physical_, something that would give her an outlet. If scaring the piss from the highwaymen would do it, then sure, why not? And the leader_ had_ said they said their prayers…

"Good. Saves you saying them now." She said, stepping forward next to Two-Sock. Her demeanor was changed completely from the façade as a naïve youngster. She knew she looked a year or two younger than she was, so sometime people mistook her for a child. Morons. Now, she was ready to scare. Both hands were ablaze, and the familiar next to her was growling with unnatural sounds.

"A mage? What do you know, the man brought one of those apprentices with him." The leader said. Talia sneered, annoyed that the mere display of magic hadn't scared the pants off the man. She glanced at Two-Sock. Damn her inability to control summons better. _Sorry buddy. You'll need to go for a while._

She snapped her fingers with a dark, purple glow, and Two-Sock vanished in a flickering sparkle. The reason for his disappearance was made clear when the man at the back of the group caught fire. His screams caught the attention of the rest of the group, who turned to see something that _definitely_ did the job at putting a scare in them.

"DEMON! DEMON! DEMON!" They shrieked, leaping away and even some off the road entirely as the flame atronach started pelting them with firebolts. Talia felt a little of the stress and frustration evaporate at the sight of the horrified men leaping for their lives. The atronach hovered in place for a few moments, before Talia flickered her wrist and replaced it with Two-Sock, who promptly scratched his ear the moment he was summoned.

Talia turned and smirked at Duncan, who looked mildly startled, but at least wasn't about to jump off the road too. She found his expression even more satisfying than seeing the robbers run away.

"Well, what do ya think? Am I good or am I good?" She smirked even as Duncan's expression returned to his normal state of calm, collected and contemplating. Maybe those were his three 'C's, like hers were 'Work, Win and Violence'. Then again, she had only just made those up.

"You should… maybe not do that in a populated area." Duncan said after a few moments silent contemplation. Talia gaped in annoyance. She had just scared a bunch of highwaymen off without even killing one. What was the issue?

"What? Why not?"

"That thing…" Duncan started.

"The flame atronach?" Talia added, trying to save Duncan from trailing off. He nodded;

"It bears a strong resemblance to a Desire demon. If you use it near others, I may not be able to protect you from the templars." Duncan admitted with a concerned look in his eyes. Talia huffed and kicked a pebble in annoyance. Wasn't that a bummer? Her strongest conjuration, and she wasn't allowed to use it near people.

"A Desire demon?" She asked, trying to see how the atronach could be confused with something to be desired. True, it had a vaguely female shape, but other than that, she really didn't see it.

"Demons with the appearance of scantily clad women. They draw their powers from the victim's desires, hence the name." Duncan explained.

"…Oh." Talia muttered as they kept going, ignoring the highwayman hiding in the broken wagon; "How do you know what they look like if only mages get sent into that fade thing?"

"You misunderstand, Talia. Every time we dream, the Fade is where our souls are. Mages are just especially vulnerable due to your connection with the Fade."

"I don't have a _"connection"_ with the Fade. I'd never even been there before, until Irving shoved me into that dream-thing." Talia argued, then pointed a finger at her temple; "Also, my dreams _never_ look like some khaki sea of floating islands and creatures of fire trying to kill me."

"I am the wrong person to ask there, I'm afraid." Duncan excused himself. Talia huffed, setting off after Two-Sock who was chasing a poor squirrel. She never saw the sad expression in Duncan's eyes as he watched her run.

* * *

"So… this is Highever?" Talia mused as they passed through town. The place looked considerably better off than the other towns and villages she had seen, which could probably be contributed to their Jarl or "Teyrn" as Duncan called them. Talia really didn't have much of an idea as to what kind of power exactly a Teyrn held, but as long as the words 'more than an arl' were used, she knew it was enough power that she didn't want to be caught stealing sweet rolls from their kitchens; "Nice place."

"This is the town closest to the Highever Castle, yes. The Teyrn of Highever, Bryce Cousland and his wife hold power second to the king himself. Their lands stretch for hundreds of miles around the castle." Duncan explained as they passed by shops, marketplaces and stables. It reminded her a bit of Solitude, only closer to the ground, and less military-ish.

"Big and important people, understood." Talia acknowledged, nodding her head. Two-Sock was pointedly _not_ summoned, leaving people to see only a Warden and a mage. Which, from the looks she noticed, was an exciting event. Funny, people never seemed to stare when the class or just Talia alone had passed through towns and villages between the College and Solitude.

"If you can avoid provoking people, summoning your atronachs and not mentioning your religion, you can come with me to the Castle." Duncan stopped them as they reached sight of the moat surrounding a large castle. Talia tried whistling impressed, but only ended up blowing out air.

"No provoking, got it. And… Hey! I don't provoke." Talia declared as she caught the concealed reprimand. Duncan gave her a dry stare;

"You stated to Irving that you would like to see his tower razed to the ground." Duncan remarked in a completely calm, if slightly admonishing tone. Talia snorted and blew hair from her eyes;

"He _murdered_ my friend. He should be glad I didn't repay him on the spot." She growled, strands of red hair standing from the static electricity. Normally she hated when that happened, when her anger made her magic spin out on its own. Here, she didn't even care; "If I didn't think I would be killed before I could finish it, I'd have killed him where he stood."

Duncan seemed unnerved by her declaration. Probably, it was because there wasn't a trace of idle threat in her voice. She _would_ have done it. There wasn't even a shred of doubt in Talia's mind that she would have clawed and burnt the man to shreds if it wasn't because Duncan had been there. In Skyrim at least, murderers were dealt with swiftly and harshly.

"Talia… I _know_ you hurt from losing a friend, but Ferelden is at risk from a Blight. We need everyone, Irving included, to beat it." Talia ground her teeth in frustration at the teacher-like tone Duncan spoke with. It was annoying like a migraine when adults behaved like they were in the constant right.

"…_Fine_." She growled, turning away from Duncan. This in turn made her notice some snot-nosed boy who was staring at her from across the road. She sent the boy the most evil glare she could muster, causing him to turn and run like he was on fire. Good; "Let's just get to that damnable castle, get whatever recruits you're here for and get someplace where I can beat the shit out of something."

Duncan sighed and groaned at the same time, something that made him sound a bit like a tired cow. She didn't remark on that, but instead started walking when Duncan nodded and started for the castle's entrance. Guards in heavy armor stood by, observing the pair as they neared the gate.

"Halt, you are approaching the Castle of Highever, home of Teyrn Cousland, Lord of Highever and all the bannorns under her. State your purpose." One of the guards declared. He was looking more warily at Talia than Duncan, which made sense since she bore the expression of a woman ready to tear a man apart limp from limp. Really, she didn't mind people being a bit cautious around her, as long as they didn't try draining her.

"Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens. I seek an audience with the Teyrn, regarding recruitment for the order." Duncan stated with well-measured words as he presented a front so harmless, Talia could have taken him for a noble. _Not one of the fat ones at father's meetings… maybe._

"Warden-Commander Duncan?" the guard seemed utterly surprised and awed; "Of course, of course. Step right in. The Teyrn is awaiting your arrival."

"Thank you." Duncan nodded politely. As they passed by the guards, one of them cleared his throat.

"Warden-Commander, your companion looks a bit… angered. She isn't going to cause any trouble, I hope?" It was clear the man was terrified of causing offense to Duncan, but apparently misunderstood just _who_ it would piss off. Talia snapped around and readied a reply that would send the man either angered or cowering. Duncan beat her to it though;

"No worries. Talia is a Grey Warden recruit, she won't be causing any trouble." Talia's eyes widened at the reminder. _Piss, I completely forgot. I still need to find a way to… escape and… maybe…_

Her eyes narrowed and she chewed her cheek in thought. There was something she hadn't considered, back when she had been praying to the gods. She had promised she would be a better person than she had been up until that point. Would… would helping Duncan make her a better person?

"Of course, Warden-Commander. Please enter, and enjoy your stay." The man fidgeted under Duncan's gaze, causing Talia to crack, on purpose, a smirk at his cost. Still, there was the issue of how she was going to better herself enough that the gods would allow her wish. She hoped it was a start that she simply prayed for the wellbeing of others, but she had done that for Onmund and… and he… hadn't made it. Blast, she still couldn't even think about him without starting to lose her breath.

As they entered the large courtyard, Talia realized they were surrounded by parading soldiers. Hundreds of armed and armored men in chainmail and armor were marching around, drilling and preparing. For what she had no idea.

"Duncan, why are there so many soldiers out here?" She whispered as they passed through. When a soldier recognized them, or just Duncan, he quickly made a point not to get in the Warden's way. Talia had to admit there was a certain air of command around Duncan. Maybe that was what made soldiers obey him without even being ordered to.

"The Teyrn is marching for Ostagar, as are we when we have found what we came here for."

"Recruits. Right." She nodded, following in Duncan's heels as he opened the main door, entering a large, warm and well-lit room that seemed to serve as the main hall of the castle.

Three others, aside from the numerable guards, were standing next to a raised platform that also contained the main fireplace of the room. One was an obvious noble, his hair grey and his clothes fine and dark, mostly purple. Odd, that was a combination Talia didn't see often. Usually rich men wanted to dress off and show how content and relaxed they were.

In this, the second of the obvious nobles had things right. He was the same grey hair as his colleague, but his clothes were radiating wealth and power. Bright yellow and extremely fine silk, with dark-purple pants. Talia had grown up with nobles on all sides, she knew what to look for in wealthy men. Her eyes told her the bright and yellow man was the more powerful one, even if she couldn't put her finger on the concrete clues.

The third, and by far the youngest of the three, was the one that made her cock a brow. His short, dark hair stood in an orderly mess, if that was even a term. The left side of his face was decorated with a tattoo running from forehead to chin, intricate patterns giving him an almost mystic appearance.

Talia suddenly realized she was standing by the door while Duncan was already at the others. Great. Fantastic first impression. Why had she even zoned out? She had no idea and didn't care to find out. Instead, she hurried with the most dignified steps she could, to stand next to Duncan.

"It is an honor to be a guest within your halls, Teyrn Cousland." Duncan said. Talia offered the Teyrn a polite nod when he looked at her, but stayed silent and unnoticed otherwise. She had to focus to stop examining the youngest in the group. Purely out of contemplation if he could make a recruit, of course.

"Your lordship. You didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present." The lesser noble said. Talia thought he sounded a bit annoyed, maybe at having been bypassed. Still, it wasn't her place to start interfering in foreign policies. That was, if anyone, her brother's job. Being the oldest, he was the one to inherit. _Also why father didn't sent the family armed forces after me._

"Duncan's visit was announced just recently, and as far as I am informed, he arrived just now. Is there a problem?" The Teyrn asked. His was a voice that carried respect, and Talia found herself actually interested in his words, even if he wasn't even talking to her.

"Of course not, but a guest of his stature demands certain protocol. I am… at a disadvantage." The man apologized. Talia nodded. She had already seen how Duncan's mere presence was intimidating to soldiers. It wasn't all that strange that he would befuddle a civilian, noble or not.

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in-person, and here we seem to have two." The Teyrn agreed, turning to the young man next to him. Talia trailed between the two of them. There _was_ something similar between them, but she couldn't quite fixate on it. Related, perhaps?

"Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?" Talia felt like kicking her own shin. She hadn't even considered the young man to be the bloody _son_ of the Teyrn. Thát, or it meant the young man was some sort of _dog_, if that even made sense.

"They are an order of great warriors." The young man said. He looked to his father, then to Duncan and then to Talia. _Mara's tits, why am I sweating? Piss. Keep it together. Be a better person, the gods will help Brelyna and J'zargo._

But he did have so warm eyes. Luckily, the Teyrn saved her, if unwittingly;

"They are the heroes of legend, who ended the Blights and saved us all." The father explained. If only he knew that Talia was learning what he likely meant for his son to understand. There was a bit of funny irony in that, Talia mused to herself; "Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he has got his eye on Ser Gilmore."

Talia blinked at that one. She snapped to look at Duncan who only returned a calm, level gaze. Damn the man to Oblivion for not telling her. Or, it wasn't like she cared, but… _Gilmore_ sounded so unwarrior-ish. Also, why hadn't Duncan told her? Maybe it was a bit like in the courts back in High Rock, where someone told a lie to distract from the real goal. _If that was the case… who'd be the real recruit? _

"If I might be so bold…" Duncan started; "I believe your son is also an excellent candidate." Duncan said. For reasons she wasn't fully conscious or accepting of, Talia did a mental dance. She stopped the moment she even realized it herself, and hurried making sure no one else had noticed.

Luckily, they were all looking at Duncan. _Except_ for that blasted youth. Or, not _youth_, but he was younger than her. She believed. She wasn't sure, but maybe. Her uncertainty didn't change the fact that the man was looking _at her_, like he was just as surprised as she was. _Great, I have an admirer. Yay me…_

"Honor though that might be, this is one of my sons we're talking about." The Teyrn said, putting himself between Duncan and… Talia didn't even know his name. Both snapped to look at the older men.

"I think I rather like the idea, Father." The boy said, almost as if he was nervous to be overruled. Talia knew the feeling, if that was the case.

"I've not so many children that I would gladly see them all off to battle." The Teyrn stated. His voice was a few degrees colder than it had started out; "Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription…"

Talia snapped up at the mention. It had been the same thing mentioned by _Irving_ and Duncan back at the tower, and Duncan had been in the process of explaining it on the road when she or himself had derailed it. Blast, she had no idea what it meant, though it sounded like something where Duncan would force the boy to join the army.

"Have no fear. While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I have no intention of forcing the issue." Duncan stated. The Teyrn visibly became a lot less anxious at that statement. Talia, meanwhile, was starting to contemplate what similarities nobles in Ferelden had with the noble houses of High Rock. She was interrupted when the Teyrn spoke;

"Aedan, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I am gone?" So, his name was Aedan?

"Of course." Aedan stated with the perfect level of respect one gave one's noble father.

"In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me." The Teyrn said. So, Aedan Cousland? It almost sounded Imperial. She'd have taken him for an Imperial if she hadn't known better.

"Where is Fergus?" Aedan asked.

"Upstairs in his chambers, no doubt, spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson." Talia's eyes widened slightly at that. The Teyrn didn't look _that_ old, did he? "Be a good lad and do as I ask. We'll talk soon."

"Yes father" Aedan replied, nodded to the Wardens and left the room. Duncan looked at Talia;

"I believe this is a more delicate point of matters, Talia. Feel free to explore the castle, I will find you later." Duncan said. For some reason, Talia thought she saw a hint of something in his eyes. It was gone so fast, it was just as likely an illusion. She decided not to pay it any mind, and left the room. She pointedly chose the opposite door of the one Aedan had used. If she didn't actively follow him, nothing that happened could be her fault, could it?

Outside in the corridors between buildings, walls and towers, she hit her back against the wall, blowing out a deep sigh of relief. She had no idea what exactly had happened. Or, she might, but those thoughts were idiotic. She had run away from home _because_ of not wanting anything to do with nobles and their sons.

"Mara's tits that-" she stopped herself. Maybe an improvement would also be not to swear and curse. At least, not without very good reason. Fine then; "Mara's _grace,_ that was awkward."

Ignoring the looks she received from the guards, Talia pushed herself off the wall and started down the corridors. She might as well find something to do that had no connection to the Teyrn's son. Maybe there was a library? She stopped a patrolling guard, and despite being uncomfortable around her, maybe because she was a mage, she was shown the way to the library, which also turned out to house an older man.

"Ah, a visitor?" He said as she entered the room. There definitely were books in there. Not as many as Urag's Arcanum, but still enough to keep her occupied with reading. She nodded and smiled politely at the man; "Come in, come in."

"Thank you. Would you… mind if I killed time here?" She asked, glancing around. A pair of small boys, apprentices of some kind no doubt, were standing next to the old man. He was, oddly enough, dressed as a mage.

"Not at all, child. You are here with the Grey Wardens, aren't you?" The man, who had to be the Aldous she had heard mentioned, asked. His beard was the largest she had seen so far, and she had no idea why that even mattered.

"I… am, yes. You are Brother Aldous?" Talia asked, and was fully prepared for the man to deny that. What would the odds be, after all, that she had bumped into the one person she would know the name of by pure reference?

"I am honored that the Grey Wardens know of me. By chance of your visit, I am teaching these young squires of the Grey Wardens' history." The man proclaimed proudly. One of the boys, the blonde one, groaned;

"Ugh, do we have to? History is boring." The kid said. Talia didn't care that he talked about the Grey Wardens; this snot-nosed whelp was discarding the value of history. She sent him a glare.

"Boys, you are referring to the history of the very Order currently working to safeguard our nation from the threat of a new Blight. As well as the order of our guest. Show some respect." Talia decided now was another chance at getting some steam blown off;

"You boys know that the Wardens recruit mages?" She asked, pointedly studying her nails.

"They recruit everyone." The other boy said, obviously just as bored as his friend. Talia flickered a bright flame to life in her palm, glaring death at both boys;

"Would you prefer that I teach you history? I can assure you, you would enjoy it less than with your tutor."

"See what happens when you let your mouth wander where the mind isn't?" Aldous asked the boys with a stern tone; "The mind withers just as the body without its exercise. Perhaps you would like to join me to teach the lesson?"

Oh. She hadn't considered _that_ a possible outcome. There was a slight issue with Aldous' request, mainly that Talia had more knowledge on the behavior of pregnant Khajiit than she did on the Grey Wardens.

"I… think you are more suited for the task, Brother Aldous. I would love to attend though." There. She had reminded the man that she was only a newcomer to the order, and without revealing it to the two boys, who were likely dumb as pouches of cow fat. Faralda's influence was rubbing off, if _that_ was what she used to insult people.

"Of course. The Grey Wardens date back to the time of the first Blight…" Aldous launched into a long, long even for Talia's mind, explanation. She suddenly didn't blame the boys for being bored, even though she still considered the both of them to be snot-nosed brats. If they only knew how many sons and daughters of peasants back home would benefit from merely this simple education.

The door behind her swung open, followed by the sound of dog-feet trotting across the floor before tackling one of the small boys. Talia stared in amazement at the creature, the dog was at least the size of a small bear, made from sheer muscle and with teeth that looked like they could bite through chainmail.

And yet it was slobbering drool all over the laughing boy.

"Turk, down boy!" The second arrival came through the door, laughing at the dog's behavior. _Sweet Mara, it's him again…_

Aedan was splattered with blood, of all things, giving him a slightly off-putting appearance. His dog was even worse, now that Talia noticed. It's entire head was covered in semi-dried blood. Talia knew some nobles back in High Rock had been known for hunting the lawless themselves, or even cruelly chasing down random peasants. Of course, it wasn't likely Aedan had been doing _that_.

Not that she knew him or anything, but he seemed too polite to do something like that. The dog obeyed him, getting off the now soaked youth who was helped up by his laughing friend. Despite wanting to escape a conversation with Aedan, Talia couldn't help giggling at the way the squire's hair was one big, wet mess of spikes. _Blast, now he probably noticed me…_

"Sorry about the interruption, Aldous. I hope nothing too serious was cut short?" Aedan asked the old man, even as a newcomer with red hair looked through the door, muttered a 'Maker' and promptly left again. Talia concluded the people of Highever were strange.

"We happen to have just completed a lesson on the Grey Wardens, my lord." Aldous replied, then gestured at Talia. Oh, that old traitor, he was; "I thought it was fitting with our guests being who they are."

Aedan suddenly seemed to notice Talia, or maybe he was finally forced to actually look at her, she didn't know which. He was wearing brown armor, with an insignia of crossed spears with a leaf in the middle. His family's coat of arms maybe?

Talia, who was both noble-born and technically a Grey Warden recruit, didn't want to appear anything akin to weak near the son of the Teyrn. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the closest pillar, (which took a few steps to the side top accomplish) and greeted Aedan with a polite nod and an obvious once-over.

Better to establish dominance if Aedan actually came along when they left. Or, not that she wanted him to come along. That Ser Gilmore was probably all fine too. Of course.

And of course Aedan had to smile at her and approach. Great. Why wasn't he turning around and fleeing her attempt at snarling? Right, because her snarl had become something of an amusing frown. _Gods am I glad J'zargo isn't here right now. He'd never let me live this down._

"My lord." She sighed, greeting him with what she assumed was the demanded reverence. She hoped the disinterested tone would be enough to scare him off instantly. It was rather difficult to keep up.

"I don't believe we have been introduced." Aedan said with that same Daedra-be-cursed smile on his face. Talia wanted to do things to that smile, not all of them involving a fist. Great, now he expected her to introduce herself. What was she even going to say? He probably wasn't going to believe her if she said she was from another continent, or land to begin with.

Still, she bowed her head. Might as well start being that _better person_ by showing the needed respect to the noble-born man. Or, Aedan. Same thing. Completely;

"Talia Aulus Geotien, my lord." Maybe just saying her name would be enough. Blast, there was the damned smile again, even if he visibly tried suppressing it;

"Aedan Cousland, pleasure to meet you, Talia Aulus."

"Just… just 'Talia'… my lord." She couldn't tell him why, of course. All her life, when people called her 'Aulus', it was as if they used her to talk to her father, or wanted to arrange a marriage. She usually set people on fire if they didn't get the hints that she wasn't interested.

"Then I insist you call me Aedan." She was going to throw up out of embarrassment if he didn't stop smiling like that soon, she just knew it. And the buzzing in her stomach didn't help one bit. Aedan gestured for her to follow her outside. What could she do, deny the Teyrn's son? She followed him, into the warm sun bathing the corridors. So, it was midday.

"If you want, Aedan."

"Talia, you are one of the Grey Wardens, right?" Aedan asked. Suddenly, his tone was completely changed from before. Gone was the politeness, the noble tone that suggested rich articulation and education. Now, it was eagerness, idealism and jovial friendliness. Talia blinked, trying to figure out if this was a new person.

"I… guess. I mean, I am not… I am a recruit, so I don't know if that counts." She stammered. Blast it, where was Duncan to save her? She felt like she was fifteen again, surrounded with those servants trained for something other than cleaning. Gods this was awkward.

"Duncan recruited you? Where from? Your accent is really strange, no offense intended, of course. I just haven't heard anything like it before." He shone with warmth and curiosity. It was obvious he was younger than her, as well as not having been through much hardship in his life. Oh, but the innocent look in his eyes, even with the speck of dried blood on his cheek.

Talia suppressed a horrifyingly girly giggle at his boyish charm, even if she delivered the reply as drily as she could;

"He recruited me, yes. I was a… guest, at Kinloch Hold." She decided not to use the word 'prisoner', as there was a risk Aedan would be of the same mindset as those who believed she belonged behind bars and stone walls. She'd grown up behind stone walls, she wasn't going to live her life behind them.

"A guest? So, you're a mage? I mean, the clothes are a little odd, but you don't look like a mage."

"Oh?" She wasn't sure whether that was a compliment.

"I mean…" He seemed to realize his words could be misunderstood; "I just, ehm… because I didn't think mages were beautiful women and- no, I mean that your…" He trailed off and started reddening with shame. Talia couldn't help herself, and laughed at the boy's obvious embarrassment. Good, she wasn't the only one with the tendency to redden around the better looking versions of the other sex. Not that, Aedan was better looking, or… he wasn't 'not' good looking, but… _I am arguing with myself. Way to go, Talia._

"Sorry. Sorry, couldn't help it." She apologized the moment she could speak again. Aedan seemed mildly deflated, but also a bit encouraged that he had made her laugh. Wasn't a boy supposed to lose hope if the girl laughed _at_ him? She decided to help him out a little, adding a mischievous smirk; "Piece of advice: never call a girl's clothes 'odd'. She might set you on fire for it"

"Right, sorry, it's just you're not the usual kind of visitor here." He seemed to calm down a bit; "I'm not particularly good at talking to girls, sorry."

"Oh don't worry. You're already doing miles better than most of the people my esteemed father would try pairing me up with." She gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. It was more of a touch, really, seeing how a guard might think she was attacking him _if_ she actually punched him.

"That's… good to hear, I think. Wait, why would your father try pairing you with others?" Aedan asked. Right, no one knew she was noble. Well, no reason to change that perception… wait. Oh blast it, she'd just put a foot in her mouth again, hadn't she?

"He wanted to build alliances." She shrugged, trying to sound as disinterested on the subject as possible. Aedan didn't seem deterred, damn whatever divine gave him his curiosity.

"If you don't mind me asking, Talia. And, I am not even sure how to word this…" Aedan began. Talia could sense what he wanted to ask, so she decided to spare him the agony of coming up with a non-offensive question. Mainly because he looked so adorable with the questioning and insecure expression on his handsome face.

"You are wondering just where I come from, don't you, Aedan?" She asked in a soft tone. The subject wasn't nearly as painful to remember as Onmund, but knowing she was now even further away from any home she had ever known… it was more painful than she would have thought.

"If you don't mind sharing. You really don't sound like a Fereldan, no offense."

"None taken. Funny, at the tower I had to yell at people to even get them to listen." She huffed, smiling to Aedan. _Now who's blushing, eh?_ She thought with a bit of glee. The only part of Aedan's face not changing slightly in color was his dark tattoo; "I'm from High Rock. My father is Omluard Aulus Geotien, governor of Evermor."

Aedan looked slightly baffled.

"I… haven't heard of those places before. You're not just pulling my legs here, right?" He asked with a grin starting to form on his lips. Talia blew a sigh that scattered the red strands from her eyesight. So, maybe a piece of evidence would be needed?

"My people, I am Breton by the way, are some of the most powerful mages you'd ever be able to scrounge up." She flickered open her palm, revealing the pulsating orb of darkness and purple; "Wanna meet one of my friends?"

Aedan glanced around, obviously not seeing anyone, then looked at her hand. As his attention was focused on her fingers, Talia examined his face again. Why was there no one in Winterhold or Evermor_ this_ handsome? Blast whomever decided where people were born.

"Your friend is an orb?" Aedan finally asked. Talia grinned, snapping her fingers together. The sound of Oblivion tearing startled Aedan, and he nearly leapt back when Two-Sock materialized before him. Talia knelt down and scratched the familiar behind its ears.

"Aedan, meet Two-Sock. Two-Sock, Aedan." She declared, giving the familiar the hand sign for 'paw'. Two-Sock sat on his rump and extended a ghostly transparent paw towards Aedan. To the young man's credit, he took it. He still looked like someone had slapped him with a fish, though.

"So… this is… what is- I mean-what-is Two-Sock?" He poured out the last words, obviously still a little taken aback. Talia giggled and scratched her wolf's ears.

"Two-Sock is my familiar, and one of the first spells I learned was how to cast. It's a bit like a regular dog, only he's far more intelligent, doesn't poop on the floor and he doesn't even need food." Talia explained. She could still feel the odd buzzing in her stomach when he looked at her, like an urge. She just didn't know what to do with it.

"I get the magical advantages, but no dog can be more intelligent than a Mabari." Aedan said, smiling before he whistled a clear tone. Turk, the giant dog Talia had seen earlier, came charging out the door to the library, tongue hanging from its mouth; "There, boy."

It stopped, standing still as it nuzzled Aedan's hand. Two-Sock trotted over to the massive hound, causing Talia to smirk when Turk whined in surprise. Clearly, the dog had never seen a familiar before.

"And you said?" She grinned, patting Two-Sock. Aedan gave an amused grin himself as he nudged his dog forward. Turk eventually worked up the courage to sniff the ethereal wolf back, wrinkling his stubby nose when there wasn't any scent to pick up.

"Fine, you have an awesome dog." Aedan admitted. He smiled at Talia, causing something to shiver and flutter in her chest; "I get the impression you're telling the truth…Soooo, wanna tell me how you ended up with Duncan?"

"I thought nobles' sons were supposed to be all rigid and proud and chasing girls." Talia remarked, dismissing Two-Sock before some random guard would call 'demon' at the sight of him.

"Nope, I do all that. I just happen to be curious too. Wooing the beautiful, mysterious girl comes later" He said, grinning with the same dung-eater smirk she herself sometimes used. _If there is a joke here somewhere, I haven't gotten it yet._ She mused to herself.

Maybe Duncan wanted her to attract Aedan so much that he would join the Grey Wardens? Was that why Duncan had looked at her like that, seen the emotions flare across her face. In that case, the old guy was a creepy bugger, but remarkably sneaky. So a sneaky fart, in the end. Those _were_ the deadly ones, she'd been told._  
_

"Smart-ass." She muttered, shaking her head before speaking; "Alright, but it is kind of a long story."

Aedan hummed, hands behind his back as they walked. She got the impression he was trying to figure her out. Well, good luck with that one, she smiled;

"I love long stories. Are there griffons in it?" Aedan asked, causing Talia to miss a step. _Are there what in it?_

"I'm sorry… what?" She asked, giving Aedan a confused look. He seemed completely serious, like she was supposed to know what griffons were; "are there what in it?"

"Griffons? Big flying half-bird half-lion animals the Grey Wardens used to ride?"

"Ah… no. But there's a talking cat in it." She allowed herself a small smile at the way Aedan changed from curious to deflated to curious again. He was like a child, really. A _hot_ child. Still, she couldn't do _that_ with him. He was a noble, not some unaware servant who just happened to pass her by at the right moment. She couldn't… could she?

"A talking cat?" Aedan's question brought her out of the contemplation. Good thing too, she was starting to wander down less virtuous alleys of her mind.

"Mmm. It all started when my dad wanted to set me up with some doofus from another noble house, arranged marriage and all that." Talia explained, making sure her voice wasn't betraying her earlier thoughts. Mara, Aedan probably already was engaged to some other house for all she knew.

"Like what my father wants between me and Delilah Howe." Aedan grumbled. Talia wasn't sure whether to sigh in relief or annoyance that Aedan was taken.

"I suppose. Well, I wasn't having any of that, so I ran away one night. I stole away on a ship, ended up in Skyrim and took the first carriage to Winterhold's College. Gods know it was the right choice…" She mused at the memory, now a funny thing to look back on, rather than the frustrating uncertainty of where the Blast she was.

"Gods?" Aedan asked. Talia kicked herself over the mental shin. _Great job, you did exactly what Duncan told you _not_ to say out loud._

Talia sighed, glancing at Aedan to gauge his expression. He looked more curious than anything, which could be interpreted in a lot of ways.

"I don't… Listen, things are different where I come from." She tried. Her voice turned a lot softer than before, mostly because she wanted Aedan to understand she wasn't saying anything about his Maker. Aside from how mages were treated, she had nothing against the Chantry.

"So… you don't worship the Maker?" His voice was both shocked and confused, but still mostly surprised and curious. Talia gave him a small smile, shaking her head softly;

"...No. No one in Tamriel has ever even _heard_ of the Maker. We've always had our gods, the Aedra. I don't know how to explain it, really. Just, don't tell anyone, okay?" She almost, _almost_ pleaded with him. But only 'almost'. Talia didn't plead with people. It wasn't something she did.

"Sure. I'm not really thát religious myself, so I'm not going to turn you in to the big, scary Chantry." He returned her earlier punch to the shoulder. Talia wanted to hit him for even making her nervous like that, but settled for a relieved sigh.

"Good. Thanks." She said, looking into his eyes. _Blast! Why did I start looking- I hate this country._

"So… you got to Winterhold?" Aedan asked as they wandered on, passing soldiers, guards and servants on the way; "I'm guessing it's a cold place?"

"How did you know it-…Oh ha, ha, _ha_." She mock-laughed, punching his shoulder with a bit more force this time; "Aren't you just the funniest?"

"Funny, mother says the exact same words when I joke around her." Aedan mused; "Winterhold, what happened then?" Talia wanted to set his pants on fire for comparing her to a _mother_, of all things. Granted, it was probably a compliment in Ferelden or something, but she didn't care to get put in the same class as a woman who'd already married, given birth and given up kicking butt.

"Right. I enrolled in the College, our school for teaching and learning magical arts."

"So, it's like a tower?" Aedan asked. Talia bristled at the comparison of her home through three years and the dungeon for mages. She stopped walking and grabbed Aedan by the shoulder;

"Don't. _ever_. compare Winterhold to that place. Noble or not, I will set you on fire if you dirty my home by comparing it to the place where Onmund was murdered." She growled. Aedan's expression was one of utter surprise and confusion.

"What, I- what did-"

"The College is so different from the places they lock up mages that you wouldn't understand. In Kinloch hold, they slaughtered my friend through three years because he didn't wake up fast enough. They locked us up for being mages, they declared we were to never even leave the blasted place again, and they insisted I should be grateful for being there!" She was working hard not to shout at him. Aedan looked like someone had told him his parents were secretly Horkers.

"I… I'm sorry, Talia. I didn't know." He said. Talia's glare softened, and she realized her hand had left a small scorch-mark on Aedan's pauldron. A stream of emotions welled up in her, causing her to stagger and slump against the closest wall, tears welling into her eyes. _Gods! Why, why? They killed my friend, they killed my friend! Why did they kill Onmund and not me!? Why did Onmund have to die, just for their sick trial!?_

"They… my friends and I, we arrived here by mistake." She whispered. It was all she could to avoid her voice breaking up; "We were just supposed to go to the Synod, but then the scroll misfired or, I don't know what happened, but then templars attacked us and we didn't even know why." She ground her jaws together, wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her robes before standing against the wall. She wasn't going to be weak. She wasn't going to let Brelyna and J'zargo down, even if her mind told her she wasn't going to have any impact on their fates; "I… I'm sorry I lashed out."

"It's okay. I... I didn't know what you've been through." Aedan said, giving her shoulder an awkward squeeze. Talia knew he just tried to help, which almost made it worse because she had just shouted at him. A lot of the nobles she'd met over the years of her childhood wouldn't hesitate to have her jailed for something like that. Aedan just took her hand, his own admittedly gloved in chainmail; "Are you hungry?"

The question caught her so much off guard that she wasn't sure what eye to blink first. She had just nearly assaulted Aedan, and now he was offering her food? The absurdity of it all made her laugh a bit;

"I… guess. Maybe." She muttered. Upon seeing the relieved, yet still concerned expression on Aedan's face, she made up her mind; "Yeah, I am a bit hungry, actually."

"I'm going to wish Fergus goodbye. You want to find something to eat after that?" Aedan said, still clearly awkward about the situation. Still, he was kind to Talia, something few men in the land had been so far. She wasn't sure she liked the emotions churning in her stomach, knowing they had nothing to do with hunger, but she didn't mind the idea of spending a bit more time with Aedan. If nothing else it could mean he would join the Grey Wardens and she wouldn't be more or less alone again.

"I think I'd like that." She agreed, smiling. Something in the back of her mind yelled of caution and restraint, but she didn't pay it any heed. If she was stuck here for the near future, she might as well make a better impression.

* * *

Fergus turned out to be in the middle of say farewell to his family. His wife was fidgeting and obviously didn't like the idea of her husband riding off to war, while his son was talking a mile a minute, wanting his father to bring him back a 'real _sward_'. It seemed to Talia, as she waited outside the door, that boys would never change, no matter where on Nirn you were. And what by Akatosh was 'thruthiness' supposed to mean?

Talia smiled a little to herself as she listened to the exchange and farewells. Her eyes were closed and she simply rested against the wall, finding some small solace in the obvious depth and love the family was bonded with. She only opened her eyes when she heard someone walking towards her, or rather the door. Opening her eyes, she almost leapt back in surprise, but managed to just give off a surprised 'eep' as she recognized the Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland.

While one could be forgiven for forgetting that Aedan was a noble, but both parents carried themselves with a distinct air of nobility, in all meanings of the word. Talia breathed. She'd been dealing with the nobles of High Rock since she could write her own name. Hopefully, customs were the same here.

"Teyrn Cousland, Teyrna Cousland." It really sounded odd when spoken out loud, but it was how nobles were addressed back home. Hopefully, she hadn't just insulted them.

"I am afraid I don't know your name, mage." Teyrn Cousland replied with a polite smile. There was no malice in the way he said 'mage', so she didn't mind. Before Talia could even reply, Aedan emerged from the door, seeing her before he noticed his parents.

"Talia, you wanna commmmmm...-" he trailed off as he noticed his parents; "I mean, mother, father. You have… met Talia Aulus?" He stammered. Talia forced her expression to remain politely pleased, and hence suppressed the grin threatening to form at the way Aedan blushed. _Well, that handled the 'introducing' part._

"A pleasure, Miss Aulus." The Teyrna said. Her tone was formal, but not dishonest. Talia smiled;

"The pleasure, and honor, is all mine, my lady. Please, I do not wish to interrupt." Talia insisted, stepping back from the door. Before anyone could say anything, Aedan made a mock-sad frown;

"But you _have_ to. Oren wants to meet Two-Socks." He insisted. Talia groaned, not caring that a pair of powerful nobles were standing less than two meters away. Aedan had told his nephew, and by extent his brother and brother's wife about the familiar. Aedan's mother raised a brow in confusion;

"Why would Oren want to meet a pair of socks?" She said, then glanced at Talia; "Is there something I am missing here?" To which Talia resigned herself to her fate. If she lived, she was going to get Aedan back for this, one way or the other;

"It… Two-_Sock_," And here she directed the word 'sock' to Aedan; ", is my familiar. I _am_ a mage, so I can't do a lot of fighting myself, my lady." She explained. She doubted the older woman understood a lot of what she meant, but it wouldn't hurt hoping for a high intellect.

"What is a familiar, if you don't mind me asking?" Bryce Cousland asked. Of course Talia couldn't say that she did mind, which she did because if Aedan was startled, how wouldn't his parents react too seeing Two-Sock? The result would likely be that they were just as startled. Then again, maybe not.

"With your permission, my lord, I will show rather than simply tell." Talia replied, her hand already holding the dark, pulsating sphere. When the Teyrn nodded, she snapped her fingers.

Two-Sock appeared on the ground. Talia's eyes widened when the familiar actually appeared to be asleep. She knew familiar needed neither sleep nor food, so… She grinned as realization struck her. Two-Sock _was_ intelligent. He'd probably noticed how startled Aedan was, and decided to be as unthreatening as possible. _Damn… Good boy._

"Well… I'll be an Orlesian." The Teyrn muttered as Talia scratched Two-Sock behind his ears; "I have never heard of _this_ type of magic before."

"Few outside my home country have, my lord. Two-Sock has been with me for over ten years, he is my closest friend and the only link to my family in High Rock. Also, he loves children." Talia said, eying a small boy poking his head out from the door.

"Wow!" Oren, it had to be him, walked over to where Two-Sock was enjoying Talia's scratching of his ears. The familiar turned its head and observed Oren as the boy froze on the spot. Talia tried very hard not to grin, but lost thát fight when she noticed two new faces appearing from the room. One was Fergus, Aedan's brother, and the woman was obviously Oriana, his wife. Talia smiled and clapped Two-Sock's belly, making him know it was time to get off his lazy butt and greet the awestruck boy.

"What kind of magic… is he a spirit?" Fergus asked, watching his son touch the ethereal wolf. Talia looked up at him, biting her lip. She actually didn't know how to answer that question.

"Not… in the traditional sense. He didn't exist before I made him. He is a part of my soul, I guess, so he knows what I want him to do without me even telling him. Other than that he behaves like a completely normal, tame wolf."

"Magic truly is the Maker's gift, right Oren?" Fergus mused. Talia's smile widened a little at that. Oren didn't reply, he was too busy burrowing his hands on Two-Sock's stomach, delivering a devastating belly-rub. Two-Sock was on his back, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

* * *

Later, when Fergus had departed, Talia and Aedan went to his room, a large, rather cozy place with a fireplace, a large bed and a basket for an already snoring Turk. Who'd have known real dogs _snored?_ Two-Sock never slept. Talia waited on the edge of Aedan's bed, watching Turk snore while Aedan fetched food from the pantry.

She felt a bit… odd, about the situation. She hadn't planned anything, and certainly not this. If there even was a _this_ to not have been planned. She didn't know, but was glad Two-Sock was there to deter a situation, not sure which. It all felt so, so _weird_ she supposed, waiting for a young, handsome man on his bed. _Not_ that the bed was going to be used or-_ Gah, Blast! My mind is rebelling, I will not have it. Quiet down brain, or I shall drown you in mead._

She still felt the butterflies in her stomach. Or, in her case it was usually called 'wasps', but she wasn't even of a mind to consider that. It wasn't as if she couldn't leave at any time she wanted. She was free to leave, of course, and Aedan wouldn't even try to stop her. Why _was_ she even there, waiting on his bed?_ Well the chair doesn't look nearly as comfy._

Gods, what was wrong with her?

She kicked off her boots, the footwear hitting the floor with almost inaudible _thuds_ where they sagged and collapsed on themselves. Deciding that, why the Blast not, she fell backwards onto the bed, arms outstretched above her head. _Man, this thing could probably fit a giant... Okay, but an Orc then_.

The material was sooooo soft and cushioning.

Maybe, this wasn't such a bad idea after all. She'd still need to find Brelyna and Onmund, but for now her best bet to do that would be to help Duncan and his Grey Wardens. Even if it would mean becoming a member, there was nothing they could do to stop her from high-tailing it back to Tamriel at the first given opportunity, was there? She hadn't seen anything suggesting Duncan was capable of draining magica, or he'd have probably used it on her flame atronach before she told him it was harmless.

And, if she was going to help Duncan, what better way to do that than to give Aedan a reason to want to join the Wardens? This night could end up being one she remembered with amusement, or just satisfaction, depending on how events transpired.

* * *

**Oh yes, yes, yes, we're going through not just the human magi origin with Talia, but also the Human Noble origin with Aedan (yes, I know. Unimaginative name) Still, I do enjoy writing strong female characters.**

**Also, something I should have mentioned in chapter 2: I do not dislike Wynne. She is probably one of the coolest characters in DA because she is an old lady who kicks ass... kinda like Anna Fisher, but I digress. I just showed her through Talia's eyes.**

**Please review, and try guessing what will happen in the next chapter ;)**


	4. Come Hell or Highever

**Not... a whole lot of response to chapter 3, but I suppose it depends on what people like to read. I did get one review though, and the image of Zevran with his balls lit on fire is now stuck in my mind. XD**

* * *

With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.  
It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.

_-Transfigurations 1:5_

* * *

**Come Hell or Highever**

* * *

Aedan was exhilarated. He was also slightly terrified. Both had the same cause, which was weird, and unusual because normally one would make the other impossible, right? So, why was he feeling like his heart was going to beat straight out of his chest?

Maybe, it was because a more or less foreign, beautiful girl was waiting for him, in his room, right now? Nah, that couldn't be it. _Maker, what am I supposed to- I mean, what does she even want? Or, what- does she expect me to take the initiative, or maybe she just wants to talk? What if I make the wrong move and offend her or-_

"Aedan, you're up late." He snapped up at the voice. Nan was looking at him with an expectant stare, waiting for him to come up with an excuse that wasn't going to involve 'I have a beautiful girl in my room'. It would be easier to just say he was double-hungry, which could be supported by him wearing just his fine clothes. He'd dumped the armor in his room.

"Hi Nan… I ehm… just got a bit hungry." He tried, resisting the urge to nervously scratch his neck. One reason being it would make him drop the tray of food he was holding. Nan didn't seem convinced. She picked up one of the flagons on the tray and sniffed;

"And that is why you have _two_ flagons of our finest ale with you? Aedan, are you planning something_ untoward_?" Nan demanded. Andraste's knickers, she was worse than his mother! "I have seen you waltzing around with that mage-girl, young man."

"I…I-I…" His voice caught in his throat as his face heated up. This was just about the last thing he needed now, for Nan to start berating him for making friends with Talia. Because, she only wanted to be his friend, right? That was all. Nan just shook her old head;

"Maker knows it was high time you actually took an interest in someone." Nan said. Her change in tone caught Aedan completely by surprise; "Just don't break down when she leaves us again. The Wardens are needed down south, along with your brother. She's likely going to leave soon."

"I _know_." He hadn't even planned on sounding so annoyed. It just came out because he knew she was right. Nan usually was. It was how she stayed on top of just about every situation. Unless it was Turk getting into the larder. Then she would raise hell and probably scare off whatever demons were lurking in the closest sleeping minds too. Nan put the flagon back on his tray, giving the food a once-over;

"You won't get far with just the ale and bread." Nan said, pulling open a closet on the wall. She extracted a wheel of yellow cheese, dumping it on his tray; "There. Makes up for you missing dinner, I suppose. Now, off with you."

Aedan hurried off before whatever kind spirit possessing Nan decided to leave again. He ended up walking the darkening outdoors corridors, his mind adrift in the dimming skies above. _Won't get far…won't get far with what? What did Nan…Nah, it's not like she knows my mind or… damn, she probably does. Wouldn't surprise me, even._

But, what _was_ on his mind?

The answer was pretty simple: Talia. Aedan sighed, thinking about the striking redhead in his room. How her hair seemed to change color in the lights, going between orange and blood-red colors, in such contrast to her skin. He knew, he _knew_ he didn't even really know her, but… he _could_ get to know her, couldn't he? No one said she was leaving _tomorrow_, although there seemed to be a risk for just that to happen. Maybe, if he hid away Ser Gilmore, she'd be forced to stay? _No… no she wouldn't. They'd just leave without either of us._

_Maker,_ why was this so hard?

Something had stirred in Aedan when Talia looked at him in the library. It was… it was like she had been evaluating him, like a predator. He wanted to laugh at the notion, that Talia had been examining him, like she had been… _planning,_ what went on. Women didn't just plan those things, did they? Men were the ones to take charge and everything, that was what dad had told him.

And yet, Aedan had ended up more than willing to completely subject to Talia's behavior earlier. She had done something in the corridors, something _no one_ else had ever even _dared_ to do. She had grabbed him and given him a verbal what-for, if that was even what it could be called. No one had ever even tried that before, and Aedan suddenly found that he didn't really blame her. There had been something in her eyes, like a spark of determination when she told him how the tower had killed her friend. And then, she'd just broken down on him.

Aedan had never been to the Circle. He wasn't a mage, so why should he? Mother Mallol had taught him what went on in the towers, how magically gifted children would grow up there, safe from the outside world while they learned how to control their powers. Templars, as she had explained, would provide protection from demons, though the Mother had never gone beyond that to explain just how they did it.

Was Talia right? Were the templars there to murder those mages who took too long to wake up, and wake up from what trial? It all hurt to think about, that the very same templars patrolling the towns and roads for maleficar and apostates would also kill those mages already living in the towers. _The world really is going the wrong way these days… Blights begin, Grey Wardens turn up, mages are killed for failing a test or a trial… Maker, what is going on in this land?_

Aedan shook his head of the thoughts, uncomfortable as they were. He had to focus now. Talia was from a strange, new land, and she likely didn't know a whole lot about Ferelden. There should be plenty to talk about, and Aedan really liked it when Talia just talked, short time as he might have known her. There was just something… _magical_ about it. Aedan grinned a little at the unintended pun.

It probably didn't help that just seeing her face in his mind aroused him. It was a new feeling, and he wasn't even remotely certain what he was supposed to do with it. Father had often told him, in secret so that mother didn't hear, about the people, and women, he himself had known in his youth. Aedan wondered if something similar would happen tonight. He wouldn't _mind_ if it did.

Stopping by his closed door, Aedan carefully pushed it open with a long, creaking sound. He poked his head in first, careful not to drop the tray in his hands. Inside, Talia was lying face-up on his bed, staring at the ceiling while her ghostly dog was on the floor. Two-Sock looked at Aedan with eyes frightfully intelligent. Maybe as intelligent as a Mabari. The familiar blinked and yawned, but remained silent. _Thanks. Good… ehm, dog?_

Talia still hadn't noticed him when he stepped into the room, and Aedan hazarded a long look at her. From this angle, her perky nose was more prominent, and her red hair was spread across the covers. She looked both wild and peaceful at the same time, an odd combination, but one he found to be almost intoxicating. True, he was scared. He wasn't sure _what_ exactly he was scared of, but something about having the beautiful mage on his bed was setting alarms off in his mind. Maybe it was the newness of it all, he thought.

Aedan breathed a silent sigh of appreciation when Talia closed her eyes, obviously relaxing. It was a good sign, even he knew that. There was some part of him regretting to have never joined the knights and lesser nobles when they visited the brothels. Then at least he would have some sort of experience with this sort of thing. Now, he felt like he was standing at the edge of some huge cliff. She hadn't noticed him yet, or maybe she had and just felt relaxed in his presence. That would be even better if she had. _Maker…_

Talia yawned, scratching her side with a lazy movement. It was so utterly undignified, and yet it simply added to what Aedan already perceived of her. He knew things about her, things he was supposed to have told the Chantry. She was not of the Andrastian faith. She had foreign gods. He had been raised to revere only the Maker and his bride. So… why hadn't he told Mother Mallol yet?

He knew the answer, and yet he didn't. Talia was something new, something so completely different, and Aedan was utterly fascinated with her person, intoxicated by her beauty and enraptured by her way of moving, behaving and speaking. He wanted… he wasn't sure how to put it in civilized terms, but he wanted her. He wanted to understand her, her origins, her person. He wanted… he just _wanted_ _her_.

Still, the way she scratched her side was so adorable that he couldn't help an amused chuckle.

* * *

Talia didn't hear the door creaking open, and noticed nothing before someone was standing above her, an amused chuckle alerting her to the fact that Aedan had entered without she even paid it any attention. _Blast and- Had that been Ancano back home, he could have made me a thrall before I even screamed._

But the bed was _sooooo_ comfortable.

"When I invited you in here, I didn't mean for you to fall asleep before I came back, you know?" Aedan mused. His hands were occupied, holding a tray of food from the pantry. Talia jumped up, eyes wide and cheeks red from embarrassment. Why was she so embarrassed? She'd been with plenty of the male servants back home, and that hadn't been-_ Okay, shut up brain! We're _not_ doing anything!_

"Right. Sorry, I- is that cheese?" She stopped herself midsentence as her eyes locked on to the wheel of yellow cheese sitting at the center of the tray. With everyone being friendly, the beds being perfect and cheese, fresh cheese, being an option, Talia was starting to have the nagging fear that this was the same sort of dream she had been through at the tower.

"I… think so?" Aedan offered as he placed the tray on the bed. When he stopped before sitting down _on his own bed_, Talia knew more or less what was going on in his mind. It _had_ been more or less going through _hers_ for the better part of the day. She sighed, fell back on the bed and looked into the ceiling;

"Sit your noble butt down, I don't bite." She was _very_ tempted to add a 'yet', but didn't. It might as well be her own imagination that she knew what Aedan was thinking about, and there really was no need to do anything that would scare him off, or offend him.

"Right. Right." He said, doing as she demanded. Ah, but to order handsome men around. It was one of the things Talia missed about High Rock. She let a small laugh escape her lips before sitting back up, crossing her legs before her as she started examining the tray of food. With her hood down, her boots off and the outer layers of her apprentice robes off, she was _very_ well aware of what Aedan was looking at. It wasn't the food.

She decided to pretend she didn't notice. Running a hand through her long, red hair, Talia grabbed a knife and started cutting up the cheese. A mischievous idea sprung up in her mind. Instead of just cutting the cheese and bread, she pretended to let the host do the cutting. A noble, after all, was supposed to be a gentleman.

"So, if I can ask, you mentioned you came here with two other friends who escaped before the templars caught you?" Aedan asked as he carved out the cheese. Talia accepted it, suddenly feeling a bit guilty that her friends were lost in the wilds, and she was sitting on a soft bed, eating cheese and contemplating enjoying a handsome man. _Aedra, what is wrong with me?_

"Brelyna and J'zargo." She nodded ;"Brelyna is a Dark Elf from Morrowind, from the House Telvanni. She's the bookish sort, really sweet and has a knack for conjuration magic. If you think Two-Sock is impressive, you should have seen what she pulled out in class." A small grin played on her lips as she remembered J'zargo moping at Brelyna's Frost atronach standing like a silent force of nature in the Hall of Elements. She could tell from Aedan's expression that he had no idea what she meant by 'Dark Elf' and 'Morrowind'. Still, she persisted;

"J'zargo is a Khajiit. I don't actually know _where_ he is from, come to think of it. Elsweyr, most likely. He's always going on about how he's going to be the greatest mage ever." She mused, her gaze idly wandering to where she'd received a nasty burn while testing out the cat's scrolls. It was a funnier memory than it had been an experience; "He's the talking cat, I mentioned earlier."

"Sounds like your homeland is a bit crazy, if you don't mind me saying." Aedan mused. Talia took a bite of the cheese, making an effort to make the bite as slow and sensual as possible. She once more pretended not to notice Aedan's eyes on her. This might not count the right way on her path to becoming a better person, but by Dibella's priestesses, it was entertaining.

"Oh, High Rock is normal enough. Every man and his sister is a mage of varying degree, and we have practically no history of famine or epidemics because of that. Skyrim though…" She said, taking a new bite. She let her lips play around the cheese before letting it disappear within. She could feel how the room became a bit more heated up. And, she could _hear_ Aedan's breathing; "…is in the middle of a civil war. The Empire on one side, the super-racists on the other."

"Super racists?" Aedan asked. It was clear his full attention was on her lips, but only half his attention was on her actual words. This was getting more and more entertaining. Talia took a new piece;

"Mmm. Ulfric Stormcloak hates Elves, Argonians, Khajiit, Orcs… everyone not a Nord, basically. Sad, really."

"There are elves in Skyrim?" This just stressed that his attention was somewhere else than her words, or he would remember she had mentioned Dark Elves.

"There are elves everywhere. Just different types." Talia explained, chewing on some roast meat. It was _too_ good to waste time on playing with; "The Bosmer are Wood elves. Decent enough people, but don't get killed by them, they're said to eat their enemies. There's the Dunmer, like Brelyna. I suppose they are fine too, unless you piss them off. Then, there's the real assholes of Tamriel."

"The Stormcloaks?"

"No, not… well, they _are_ assholes too. No, I'm talking about the High Elves, or the Thalmor." She said, eating another piece of the glorious meat he gave her. _That… could be misunderstood._

"_High_ elves? Funny, here the elves are usually like big children." Aedan mused. Talia grinned, imagining Ancano the height of Oren. Now thát, would be magic worthy of a book. I would be generally interesting to see if the elves of Ferelden were anything like those from Tamriel. Would they be snobbish, cannibalistic or sensitive to mentions of the cataclysmic disaster that struck their homeland? The last one really did require there to be Nords too, so she didn't give that one much chance.

"I'd like to see that at some point. Aside from the Thalmor, I really like elves." Talia smiled, locking eyes on the beverage Aedan had brought with him as well. It wasn't mead, she could smell that much. It smelled a lot more like…like ale. Aedan seemed to notice her shift in attention, or maybe he was just so focused on her eyes that he would see it instantly when she looked at something.

"I could show you, you know?" Aedan mused as he handed her a flagon, complete with a small lid on top; "We have some elven servants here on the castle, I'm sure they wouldn't mind some _positive_ attention for a change. What's so wrong about the Thalmor anyway?"

Talia took the flagon and did a small scoot towards Aedan. Just enough that it placed her closer. _Not _enough to be seen as a move of any sort; "I'll have to take you up on that offer, Aedan."

"So… ehm, the, the Thalmor?" Aedan said to remind her. It was adorable how he got visibly nervous when she was like this, on his bed and comfortable. Talia felt the warm, buzzing sensation build in her chest, and she could feel the start of lust, or something like it, mounting in her as she took a sip from the ale. _Damn… they could do business in Whiterun with this stuff._

"It all ties down to history, if that won't bore you?" She asked, slowly wiping some of the ale-foam from her lips. She pointedly allowed just a small bit to remain. She knew this game well. Aedan looked somewhere between uncomfortable and very, very comfortable. An odd combination, but not unusual in this situation.

Aedan's eyes were clearly struggling to avoid focusing on the bit of foam on her lips. It was highly amusing, and the longing she could see in his eyes was… appreciated. She hadn't thought it would be, but now she found that it was nice being seen as something other than a powerful mage with the ability to burn a man to a crisp in seven different ways, discounting the use of the environment and electricity. In the end, the handsome young man seemed to find his words again;

"I doubt you could bore me if you tried." He said, that _Mara-be-damned_ charming smile on his lips. The sincerity in his voice made something flutter in Talia's abdomen, and spread to a tingling sensation between her legs. Talia noticed the beginnings of a beard around those lips of his, darks outcroppings appearing. It made him look more masculine, if less cultivated. His eyes were still constantly going back to the foam on her lips; "You ehm… you have something."

Oh, how she loved this game.

"Huh?" She asked with as innocent an expression as she could muster. It was hard, not breaking into a grin.

"On your lips." Aedan said, vaguely pointing at her mouth. Talia did her best to seem confused. Two things could happen now, one of them would. Either he would try removing it, (and that would definitely be fun) or he would simply say where the foam was. Either way, she would enjoy this.

"What's on my lips?"

"You've got a bit of foam on your lips, Talia…" His voice was strained to remain calm and polite. Aedan was so polite and handsome and adorable, Talia wanted to just skip the whole 'playing with him' part. But no, the hunt was part of the prize, and the prize was important. So, hunt it was.

Even if the deer had practically dropped before her still-notched arrow.

"Where?" She tried licking where she _knew_ there wasn't anything. Aedan's eyes widened just a little; "I really don't feel anything."

"A bit higher." Oh, how his voice was starting to become husky. Talia knew _exactly_ what was going on in his mind, so now the hunt was all about making him think she wasn't aware in the slightest. So far, the night was looking to be _very_ promising. Her tongue went higher, but still not where the foam was. In the end, she knew he would catch on if she kept on missing.

And that would be too easy.

Talia ended the small game by simply letting her tongue travel in a slow, alluring circle on her lips. She managed to sweep away the foam, grinning as if she had just won a small victory. In a way, judging by Aedan's heavy breathing, she just had.

"There, got it." She smiled at him, propping herself up a bit closer. She could almost feel the warmth from his breath now, even though it was obvious he did his best to conceal it. She tried hiding a snicker when Aedan went so far as to hold his breath for a few seconds. Oh, how she enjoyed the reversal of sexual roles. She was the hunter, Aedan the hunted.

She wondered if he even realized this.

"Now, where was I?" She asked, looking into Aedan's warm eyes. They were the nicest shade of brown, she noticed, something she rarely saw in the Nords and Bretons she'd grown up with. Most there had blue or green eyes. Aedan blinked, seemingly at a loss for words while his brain caught up. Talia blew a huff of amusement. Aedan had the age, but he really was more boy than man. An extremely cute, hot and handsome boy.

"Thalmor?"

"Right." She mused; "See, it all started when the Empire of Tiber Septim was founded by Tiber Septim himself. Most of us call him Tiber Septim, but since he was a Nord, the Nords call him by his birth-name, which is Talos. When he died, the empire found it fitting that he was uplifted to the gods. That meant the Imperial pantheon went from eight to nine Divines."

"You can just uplift people into godhood?" Aedan sounded a bit taken aback, or maybe just confused. Either way, he had a good point.

"That's what happened, and Talos was officially the Imperial God of Warfare until the Thalmor invaded the Empire. When they did, the Emperor was forced to sign the White-Gold Concordat. It meant the survival of the Empire, but at the cost of worshipping Tiber Septim becoming outlawed."

"I can't imagine everyone just accepted _that_ one." Aedan mused, lying down on the bed as well. The food was apparently forgotten, in favor of relaxing on the bed. Talia enjoyed the relaxed attitude in him. Seeing Aedan on the bed as well, all focused on her, made warmth spread through her. There was an _urge_, like she wanted to just pounce on him. _Patience. Calm down, girl._

"Not really, no. A lot of people protested, but none as fiercely as the Nords." She smiled, almost giggled at how right Aedan was. There was just something _nice_ about being near him. She wanted to reach out and touch his muscled arms, but bit her lip and focused back on the story instead; "After the Forsworn in Skyrim, the province we come from, took the city of Markarth, Ulfric took it back with his private army of Stormcloaks and was in turn promised by the Jarl that he could continue worshipping Talos."

She half expected a comment from Aedan here. Instead, she found he was listening intently, eyes focused on her with such an intensity, it made her shiver with delight. She blew a strand of hair away, idly toying with her braid before continuing;

"Then, of course the Empire found out and by extension the Thalmor found out. The result was that the dung-heads sent their Justiciars to Skyrim." Talia muttered with barely suppressed annoyance. While she herself didn't worship Talos and saw no reason to do it, she despised the idea of arrogant elves running around Skyrim, taking people from their homes in the middle of their night. It wasn't peace, it was occupation.

"Justiciars?" Aedan frowned at the annoyed tone to her voice. At least it meant he was paying attention.

"Members of the Aldmeri Dominion who hunt down the people worshipping Talos. I've seen their patrols on the roads, once. Usually it's a few bodyguards and a Justiciar." Talia still remembered the smug bastard who'd come to the College, demanding Onmund overturned. Arch-mage Aren had more or less physically kicked the bastard the entire way across the bridge.

Faralda had made sure the rest of his bodyguards followed suit more or less willingly.

"So, they hunt what they see as heretics?" Aedan asked. Talia sighed, rolling onto her back. She wiggled her toes in the air, considering a response while noticing the way Aedan's eyes behaved when she moved.

"I guess. Still, they behave more like occupants than some sort of policing force. Pretty much everyone hates them, and I heard a rumor that the Dragonborn hunts their patrols." Oh, _that_ had caused much laughter in the dormitory. No one at the College knew who the Dragonborn actually _was_, but the rumor was the news of the day.

"What's _'the Dragonborn'?"_ Aedan asked with curiosity. Oh right, Aedan had no idea what a Dragonborn was. Probably didn't even know what a Dragon was. Talia bit her lip in thought;

"Well… you know what a Dragon is?" She asked, resting her head on her folded hands. She liked this. She had actually just seen this go the way of seducing Aedan, but he was a surprisingly pleasant partner in a conversation too. Handsome and intelligent was a mix that was far too rare.

"I do, yeah, of course. I've never seen one, of course, but thirty years ago there was a sighting of a High Dragon. That's when the current age started." Talia blinked a few times at what he'd said. _Thirty years?_

"…Okay. That is… disturbing alright. But, all dragons are believed to be the children of Akatosh, the dragon god of time in Tamriel. Sometimes, when something really amazing or world-changing happens, like the return of dragons, a Dragonborn is discovered." Talia didn't like the implications that dragons had been around for at least thirty years in Ferelden. It meant they'd had a place to rest and gather forces before returning to Tamriel. At least those not dead; "The Dragonborn is a mortal with the soul of a dragon. He's essentially the strongest warrior possible, because his soul and body is augmented by each dragon he kills."

Aedan blinked in confusion, then rubbed his forehead;

"My brain hurts…" He groaned. Talia giggled and ruffled his hair. It was spontaneous and not even planned. Still, she liked the feel of his hair in her hand; "You're…you're saying people can have the souls of dragons?"

She kept playing with his hair, completely enraptured by the way it seemed to stand against her touch, like it was alive. It was a dark mess of prickly strands, and yet she couldn't remove her hair even if she tried.

"Too much?" She mused, meaning both the 'Dragonborn' thing, and her hair on his head. Aedan removed his own hand from his forehead and looked at her. Talia could feel the heavy beating of her heart, desire mounting within her from the intensity his gaze. She felt her mouth go dry.

"…Talia?" Aedan whispered, almost as if he was afraid to speak too loudly. She focused her attention on him fully, blue eyes locked on his own brown ones.

"…Aedan?" She said back, her voice starting to grow husky as well. _Oh, just get on with it, you adorable bastard. _She wanted to pounce on him, to eat him alive. The way he looked at her, the way his breathing grew heavy and ragged, something she knew was due to her presence was utterly intoxicating.

Aedan didn't speak. Talia raised a brow as one of his hands gently rested on the back of her head, running through her red hair with a care almost as if he was afraid of breaking something. _So, he figured it out. Good._

"Talia, I…" Aedan tried, even as his hand caressed her cheek. Talia could feel her skin heat to his touch, wanting him to continue. No one had showed her this kind of affection for years. She had missed it. She planted a finger on his lips, bringing him to silence.

"Aedan?" She breathed. Her heart was beating fast, her skin tingling with desire for the man whose bed she was in; "Do you want to continue the history-lesson?" She asked while a hungry grin spread over her lips. Aedan breathed harder, moving a little closer. He was close enough now, that Talia could feel the warmth of his breath. She propped herself up on an elbow, coming face to face with Aedan. She could see the small droplets of sweat running down his cheek, and see the lust in his eyes, as well as the nervousness.

"…I… I don't know if…Talia…" He stuttered hoarsely. Talia smiled warmly, feeling his breath on her face, tasting it by licking her lips. A low groan rose in his breathing, and she knew he was lost. Utterly, completely lost.

"Aedan… do you like me?" She whispered, lips so close to his she could have touched them with the tip of her tongue. The mounting desire in her body made her feel strangely weak, unable to fully control her own body. She could already feel the way her abdomen seemed to yearn for him. It was unsettling, in a way, how Aedan could affect her like this.

"I… I think…I…I do." He replied. Talia giggled and leaned forward, pressing her soft lips against his.

The reaction was sudden, but not altogether hard to understand. When she kissed him, Talia could feel the groan of rising desire in her body, screaming to be unleashed in a storm. Aedan's lips were dry, and her own tongue shot forward the moment he responded to her kiss, caressing his lips. When she opened her eyes, she saw Aedan's were both still wide-open and full of surprise and desire. She wanted to engulf him, to fully enjoy the man now with her.

Turk jumped from his basket, barking even before he reached the door.

* * *

**I decided to split this chapter into two chapters instead. This was just a scene I felt needed to stand alone.**


	5. Talia's oath

**So, seems like Turk thingy-blocked the two of them, eh?**

**Regardless, let us press on and see what transpires on Castle Cousland. When we last left off, Talia had just managed to start... _persuading_ Aedan to join the Grey Wardens, when Turk started barking. The night can only go well, right? I mean, what on Nirn could go wrong on a castle with guards and a visiting arl and all that? It's not like Duncan brings death whereever he goes, is it? *checks origins of all Wardens***

**...oh. Well, so maybe he does. Still, a night to remember, no?**

* * *

Let the blade pass through the flesh,

Let my blood touch the ground,

Let my cries touch their hearts.

Let mine be the last sacrifice.

_Andraste 7:12_

* * *

**Talia's oath**

* * *

The sudden noise from the Mabari caused the two on the bed to snap about, Aedan's eyes still filled with the desire Talia wanted from him. Needed from him. She glared at the dog, promising to incinerate the beast for disrupting them.

Two-Sock joined Turk, growing and barking at the door. That was when Talia's eyes widened with something else than lust and desire. She didn't know anything about how intelligent Mabari-hounds were, but she knew Two-Sock's intelligence was on par with that of humans. Two-Sock _never_ made noise inside unless something was wrong.

And now he was snarling and growling at the door.

She was out of the bed in an instant, ignoring the cold of the stone-floor beneath her bare feet. Unknowingly mirroring Aedan, she kneeled by her four-legged companion, grabbing him firmly in the loose skin behind his ears.

"What is it, what's wrong boy?" Talia looked from Two-Sock's eyes to the door. Now that her senses were no longer obscured by the beating of her own heart and desire for the opposite sex, Talia could hear noise from outside the room.

"Something's wrong." Aedan said. Talia glanced at him the same moment he looked at her. His eyes were alert and something akin to panic was emerging in them. Someone screamed out in the hallway, and the sound of metal on metal and metal on wood, furniture crashing, could be heard.

They were the sounds of fighting.

"Shit!" Talia exclaimed, fishing out her boots. Fighting meant running, and the time she spent hauling on her boots would be well-spent if it meant staying out of reach of swords; "Aedan, get your armor on, people are fighting out there!"

At the same moment, there was heavy knocking on the door. Talia was at the door before Aedan could move more than a foot towards it. Not even stopping to think, Talia ripped the door open. Her eyes widened in fear.

She was face to face with a crossbow. The man holding it was glaring at her, a bolt already notched in the weapon. Talia didn't even think, instead moving low and beneath the point of the weapon even as it was fired. The bolt flew through her flurrying hair, even as her palms caught fire and she poured flames into the armor of the soldier. Behind her, Aedan yelled in surprise as the bolt barely missed his arm.

The man caught fire and screamed, running away from the door while desperately trying to put out the flames. Meanwhile, another soldier was charging towards her, sword and shield ready to strike her down. Talia's eyes widened in fear.

She was roughly yanked back by Aedan, who tackled the attacking soldier with an armored shoulder. The man dropped his sword as the wind got knocked out of him, which only made it all the easier for Aedan to send his broadsword down through the soldier's armored shoulder, splitting him open from the weak joint.

"Maker in Heaven…" Aedan breathed as Two-Sock pounced on the still burning soldier, now writhing on the ground. Then, his eyes widened; "Oh Andraste! Oren and Oriana!"

Talia followed where he looked, and saw the door to Aedan's nephew and sister-in-law wide open. By the time she had recognized the fact that no sound came from within, Aedan had already sped past her and entered the room. Before she could react, Aedan stumbled backwards out of the room, his face white as a sheet. _Oh gods, oh gods, not again!_

She rushed to where he fell on the floor, pointedly _not_ looking into the room. Instead she pushed the door closed with her foot and knelt beside Aedan. He was trembling, his breathing ragged and his eyes wide and disbelieving from fear. Before she could speak, Aedan vomited on the floor before him.

"More over there!" Whatever words she would have said to console Aedan were interrupted when more soldiers with drawn sword, splattered in fresh blood, came running through an open doorway. Talia snapped a glance at Aedan._ He's in shock. Damn it all, I have- _we_ have to get out of here!_

"Where is the Teyrn? Tell us!"

"Shit, it's that Warden recruit." One of the soldiers said to his comrade.

"She's a witness. Kill her." the leader of the soldiers ordered. Talia could feel her entire body shake with anger and indignation. These men, no, not men- _beasts -_ had murdered Oren and Oriana. The sweet little boy who wanted to pet Two-Sock and own a '_sward'_. Brutally murdered by soldiers. And just where had they even come from?

_Doesn't matter. They DIE!_

She could never bring back Onmund. She couldn't bring Oren or Oriana back to life, much as she wanted to. She couldn't turn back time, and she couldn't save her friends in the wilderness. But by every single pantheon, she could kill these murderous _pigs_.

As the first soldier ran forward, she unleashed her powers against him. Both palms spread outwards, she hit him with fire and lightning. The flames cooked the man in his armor, even as the lightning arched and jumped between the sacks of water and metal standing behind him. All screamed as magic overwhelmed them with raw pain and agony. Even as flesh fell from the first man in singed chunks of tissue, and those behind him writhed in pain on the ground, Talia made sure to stand between _it_ and Aedan. She wanted to kill, _kill_ and _maim_ and _hurt,_ but she wanted to spare him as well.

The men on the floor were begging for a release. Begging for mercy, be it death or no. But Talia was cold to their begging, and as she helped Aedan stand and walk, she stepped on those she could, making sure their last moments would be as tormented as possible. Child murderers deserved _nothing_ less.

As they rounded the same open doorway the soldiers had come through, Talia and Aedan saw more soldiers trying to break through the door leading to the Teyrn's chambers. Aedan stiffened as the soldiers turned to draw their blades at them. _His parents might be in there._

Aedan surged forward, his sword and shield raised to deliver a killing blow to the first man. Talia was forced to shift her attention when the soldier's comrade went for her instead. She leapt back, gasping as the blade ripped through her clothing and her skin. The pain was sharp, but the wound wasn't deep. She still grimaced in pain, clutching her side while casting flames at the man before her. As opposed to the others, he protected himself with his shield, pressing forward even as Talia could feel her magical reserves starting to run low.

Aedan's Mabari came to her rescue, pouncing on the soldier from behind. The man was brought crashing to the floor, his groan of pain swiftly changing into howls and screams of panic and agony as Turk ripped his throat open from behind, covering the tiles with blood and fragments of bone. Talia snapped to search for Aedan. The young Cousland was busy putting his sword through his opponent, foot planted on the man's chest as he turned the blade through the soldier's innards.

The door before them ripped open, revealing Aedan's mother, Eleanor Cousland, in a set of armor much like the ones worn by the soldiers, only distinctly female in design. Her eyes widened immediately at the sight of her son covered in human blood;

"Aedan! I heard fighting and screams and I feared the worst! Are you hurt?" She seemed almost afraid and desperate to touch her son at the same time. Talia winced, trying not to think about what the woman would say, how she would react when she found Oren and Oriana. Instead, she turned her eyes away from Aedan and his mother, and examined her wound. Both the robe and skin on her upper waist had been cut, and blood ran in a thin trickle from the straight wound. Talia found the strange gratefulness in that the swine before her on the ground had at least used a decent weapon.

"We need to check on Oren and Oriana!" the Teyrna exclaimed. She was already moving towards the now-shut door when Talia took her shoulder. She wanted to spare the woman the horror seeing her grandchild and daughter-in-law dead would bring.

"Teyrna…they…" she began. The words died in her throat as she tried to speak them. How could she even word them? To say that those soldiers had slaughtered innocent women and children, Talia herself wanted to believe it a cruel joke and a lie.

"Howe's men killed them." Aedan's voice was clipped short and dry, like he was about to break if he said too much. Eleanor ripped free of Talia's hand, running for the door to Oren's room. Talia, instead of trying to stop the woman, looked at Aedan. He was trembling, his mouth open in some word that had died before spoken. Talia wanted to do something, anything to make this all a lie, but nothing was done before they heard the Teyrna scream. _She's seen them._

"NO! My little Oren!" the woman fell to her knees; "What manner of fiends slaughters innocents?!"

"We need to find father and get out of here." Aedan's voice was dry and bereft of emotions, yet betraying the fact that he was on the verge of breaking down as well. Talia turned to him while helping him get his mother back on her feet. The woman's eyes were streaming with tears, but she didn't make a sound apart from the single outburst.

"Who is attacking, I thought there were plenty of soldiers here!" Talia exclaimed, looking at Aedan. He squared his jaw, cheeks reddening with anger;

_"Howe!_ Arl Howe, that _bastard!_ He waited for our troops to leave before betraying us all!" Anger, _wrath_ of the kind Aedan was radiating, was scary to be around. Talia let go of his mother and conjured Two-Sock back to her. He'd been slain at some point during the first fights.

"Find the Teyrn, find him!" Talia yelled to the Familiar. Two-Sock whined and angled his head before barking, sprinting towards the closed door leading to the rest of the Castle, Turk only a tail's length behind him.

Without waiting for anyone to actually open the door, Turk rammed it, his massive, muscled built throwing the wooden door outwards. It fell down the sloped entrance and stopped when it hit a dead Cousland guard. Now outside, Talia could hear fighting all around them, with barking dogs and the clashing of steel.

"Can you hear the fighting? Howe's men must be everywhere!" Eleanor exclaimed. Talia looked around them, and to the skies, seeing the bright red of fire painted on the dark night. _This place is going to fall if we're all that's left. Where the HELL is Duncan?!_

The small fear that he was dead, was quickly stomped out like a misbehaving flame.

"Mother, I don't want you in danger." Aedan exclaimed. Talia understood his intentions, and respected them, but if Howe's men were indeed everywhere, they would need to kill their way through to whatever victory or safety was to be found._ Gods I hate being the only one to think clearly!_

"My only grandchild is a ravaged corpse! I don't _care_ about danger!" Eleanor exclaimed. Talia looked at the woman and realized tears had never stopped flowing since she found her grandchild dead. Something had broken inside the Teyrna; "The front gates, that's where your father must be!"

"I'll _kill_ Howe for this!" Aedan growled, hands tightening on the grip of his sword. Eleanor put her hands on his shoulders, something even Talia noticed as a sign of desperation;

_"Listen,_ son. If we can't find your father at the front gates, you _must_ get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the Cousland line dies here!" The teyrna pleaded. Talia's heart ached at the pain and fear in Eleanor's voice; "If Howe's men are inside, they must already control the castle! Use the servants' entrance in the larder to escape. Do you hear me?"

"I- I do, but we're _not_ running without father." Aedan exclaimed, taking off. When he was a few meters ahead, Eleanor grabbed Talia with strength surprising for a woman her age.

"If Bryce and I die here, you _have_ to get my son to safety. I beg you, Talia, promise me you'll get him out alive." Talia was taken aback at the determination in her words. _She… she knows she's going to die here. She knows, and she… _Talia swallowed and nodded. If Duncan was dead, Talia would get Aedan out by herself.

"Thank you." Eleanor breathed, following Aedan around the corner. As they came down a slope towards a broader corridor, one of the servants came running past them. He noticed, and stopped;

"The castle has fallen! I'm getting out of here!" He yelled, his eyes wide in raw panic. No one seemed to notice that the servant was naked as the day he was born.

"Don't run you coward, stand and fight!" Aedan yelled, seemingly having failed to notice the fact that the servant was unarmed as well. It turned out not to make any difference in the end, as the servant's throat was pierced from behind by an arrow. The man fell to the ground, choking on his own blood as more of Howe's soldiers came from around the corner to the right.

"The Couslands will not fall to the likes of you!" the teyrna yelled, charging the enemy soldiers with her only weapons being a pair of long daggers. Aedan was right beside her, while Talia set Two-Sock loose from a distance and instead flung a spike of ice into the side of a Howe soldier. The magical ice speared through the man's splintmail armor, ravaging his guts and allowing the man's intestines to flow out before he even realized he was dead.

When the man fell, his comrades took notice, and two of them shifted to target Talia instead of the Couslands. To make it worse, more soldiers were now coming from behind Talia as well. _Shit and Piss! I didn't even check for more!_

Biting her lip in frustration, Talia turned on the spot, hoping someone else would take care of the soldiers now behind her before she was stabbed in the back. It felt good, in a way, being back in a situation where she was allowed to kill every person she saw. And yet, she was scared. The close encounter by the chambers had proven a point that she was just as vulnerable as anyone else, magic or not.

There were far too many of the soldiers for her to kill on her own, and she couldn't even look back to see how Aedan was doing. Losing concentration would kill her, she knew. Talia couldn't kill them, but by Magnus' wrath she could damn well slow them down. Onmund was always the better ice-mage, but she still knew how to do it.

Clenching her fists in frustration, Talia brought up what magica she had left, and flung it at the soldiers in the form of an ice-storm. It was far weaker than what Onmund could have made, she knew, but it still served its purpose in staggering the soldiers, and caused some to completely stop as their feet froze to the ground, or their entire bodies were encased in ice. More than a few remained able to move though, and resumed their run at her as soon as they seemed to shake the cold.

Her eyes wide with fear, Talia moved backwards, pouring what scraps of magic was left in her systems. She cursed the fact that she couldn't use Two-Sock to give her enough time to bottom-up a potion, and even more so that she didn't even _have_ a potion on her. The men still seemed to move slowly, but would catch her the moment she ran out of places to retreat to. Those of their comrades frozen only by their feet, were already hacking themselves free. _Oh no, no!_

"Get _away_ from me you bastards!" she yelled, trying to send electricity into them. Nothing but small sparks came from her hands, and Talia was forced to duck under the blade that would have otherwise looped her head from her shoulders. Instead, she was kicked in the chest by an armored boot and floored. Her vision came back almost instantly, just in time to see the soldier above her send his blade downwards.

It never connected. Two-Sock pounced on the man with barred teeth, ripping through the chainmail protecting his arm, then through the arm itself. The soldier screamed and fell backwards, his right arm a mangled mess, while Two-Sock placed itself between the soldiers and Talia, snarling with the hairs on his back standing. As Talia picked herself up, she thought about how scary a regular, snarling wolf was supposed to be. Now those soldiers faced an ethereal wolf half again as big as an actual wolf. There was grim humor to be found in the way the soldiers tried surrounding Two-Sock instead of risking him head-on.

An arrow caught one of the soldiers in the helm, knocking him forward as the tip went straight through, covered with blood and brains. The distraction was enough for Talia to leap away, even as Two-Sock pounced the closest soldier, ripping into the man before his comrades could process what had happened. Talia was confused too, as she hadn't seen neither Aedan nor his mother carry a bow.

The answer, as well as Aedan cutting through the soldiers alongside Two-Sock and Turk, came when Talia looked to where the first group of Howe soldiers had been. Eleanor was heading towards her, along with a pair of guards armored and marked with the sigil of Cousland. _Finally. Help._

As Aedan, Two-Sock, Turk and the guards made short work of the remaining soldiers, including the ones still frozen, Eleanor helped Talia to her feet. Talia didn't even bother processing the fact that the Teyrna was covered in blood and missing a finger. It all just flowed together due to the fact that Talia more or less likely was suffering from a concussion. It happened, she supposed, when one hit one's head against a wall of stone.

"Lady Teyrna, where's the Teyrn, does he live?" One of the guards asked as he returned from the business of killing those still frozen. Talia glanced over and saw Aedan impale one of the trapped soldiers through the stomach, spilling his blood and innards onto the ground. The man couldn't even scream, as the ice covered his face as well. There was only the silence as the man was drained, a corpse standing.

"I don't know. If he lives, he'll most likely be by the front gates. We should make our way there." Eleanor replied as she let go of Talia. Talia leaned against the wall, trying to make the world make sense again while spending what little magica she could recover on healing her head. She would be no good in a fight if she couldn't even walk a straight line. _I feel like J'zargo gave me something… strong. Only, I don't feel like that buzzing in my belly and… I need to clear up._

Shaking her head, Talia breathed and pushed what healing she could into her head. She chose to ignore what wounds and scrapes she had gotten in the fights, instead bathing her head in golden light. Eleanor and the guards glanced in surprise, but said nothing. A mage was anything but unwelcome now, Talia knew.

With the additional manpower, it was more doable to fight through Howe's forces. Aedan and the guards would take the brunt while his mother, who was remarkably quick on her feet, seemed to vanish and reappear behind the soldiers, sinking her blades into their exposed backs before suddenly being where she had been before. Talia attributed what she saw to the lingering concussion. She herself would stay back with Two-Sock, pelting whatever heads she could hit with spikes of ice or bolts of flame. Mostly those in the background though, she didn't want to risk hitting Eleanor or Aedan, nor any of the guards of course.

As it turned out, the two guards had fought their way out of the Cousland treasury, and had brought with them the artefacts of the Cousland line. As soon as the fighting seemed to die down, they overturned a sword and shield to Aedan. Talia was surprised at the speed with which he discarded his own weapons in favor of the new ones, but decided not to ask. Now wasn't the time.

Their progress towards the gates ended up blocked by a wall of flame and debris from one of the towers having collapsed. Talia wasn't sure how, and she wasn't about to waste time trying to make a way through.

"We need to go the main hall then. That's the only other way to the gates, and Bryce might be there." Eleanor stated, effectively ordering the group to turn around. Talia nodded, repressing the wince her injuries brought her. She would heal later, she thought. Right now, she needed to be able to kill the first man she came across not carrying the Cousland sigil.

The only entrance to the main hall, that didn't require they took a long detour around the building, was a locked door. Talia didn't even waste time thinking about _why_ the door was locked, before she blasted in the lock with a bolt of flame. Inside, was chaos.

Heavily armored guards were trying desperately to beat back the attacking Howe soldiers, even when they were heavily outnumbered. Talia's first impression of the fight was seeing a guard stick his sword in the chest of one soldier, where after three new soldiers jumped the guard and killed him. She then saw a redheaded man, the same who had poked his head into the library earlier, loop the head off one soldier before kicking another to the ground, then slam his shield into the face of a third.

"Teyrna! I am glad to see you still live!" He called, blocking an axe meant for his skull. It split his shield to bits, and lodged the axe in the shield's metallic handle.

"Ser Gilmore! Where is my husband?!" Eleanor yelled as she threw herself into the fight. Talia blinked twice, realizing that Ser Gilmore was the redheaded man, who had now yanked the axe out of the soldier's hands before splitting the man's skull with his own weapon. Talia was starting to see why Duncan had come for him as well. She decided to wait until _after_ the fight to make those comments, and instead started flinging magic at the soldiers trying to overwhelm Aedan. _They are _not_ getting you! Daedra take me, I will not have it!_

A soldier was about to cut down from behind Aedan, his sword lifted and ready to strike. Then, his hands were frozen into solid ice and shattered when Two-Sock pounced on him. Talia smirked, delighting in the chance to strike back and be free to kill those who betrayed and murdered innocents. And in the middle of a blasted war with evil itself? Who was the idiot commanding those people?

Right. Howe. That meant the purple, lesser noble she had seen upon arriving. Hard to imagine the guy being a dirty, traitorous… _actually...he would fit in well in High Rock._

The fight ended when Aedan beheaded the last of Howe's soldiers. Even as the body tumbled to the ground, Ser Gilmore ordered the surviving guards to the gates.

"Don't let those bastards through." He barked, out of breath. He then focused on Aedan and Eleanor; "Your lordship, my lady, you're both alive. I was certain Howe's men had gotten through."

Talia chose to ignore the fact that he had overlooked her. This was far too important to let personal pride come into the picture. Even if she had kicked ass. Because she had. Still…

"They _did_ get through." She muttered, kicking a dead soldier in the head.

"Have you seen my father?" Aedan demanded. His voice was wrecked with desperation and anger, something Talia could understand well. His home was being attacked and his father might be dead. He had every reason to be at his wits' end.

"He was looking for the two of you, told me to hold the hall as long as possible." Ser Gilmore said, wincing as an injury forced him to hold his side. Eleanor looked to her, and Talia could feel a pleading in her eyes.

"Ser Gilmore, you are _hurt_. Talia, can you do anything for him?" Talia's respect for the teyrna rose a notch. Even when her husband might be dead or dying, she still took care of the people serving her. Still, Talia was forced to do a helpless toss of her shoulders. She'd never been a healer;

"…I…don't know. I've never really healed _anyone_." Still, she could try; "But… hold still. I can try."

In theory, it should be easy enough. Healing another body just meant she had to transfer the life-energy into him via her hands, instead of letting it stay in her own body. It meant, she had to let the energy pass through her skin with no chance of getting the energy back. _Piss, I should actually have taken that bloody course._

She planted her hands on Ser Gilmore's most prominent wound, a gash across his chest, and focused. Magic was in her blood, in every vein and strand of tissue and muscle. It was as much a part of her as her skin or nails. Magic, _was_ her. And she controlled it. She willed the life-energies in her body to spread, warmth following through her arms, into the tips of her fingers. Then, it stopped. Talia grimaced, frustrated that she couldn't get the healing energy to leap the boundaries of bodies and heal Ser Gilmore. Meanwhile, the knight was debriefed by Aedan;

"Where is the other Grey Warden, Duncan?" Aedan asked. Talia felt a bit of regret, having barely thought of her de facto leader for the entire day. He could be dead, for all she knew.

"I've no idea. You don't think _he_ could be involved in all of this, do you? No offense intended, Warden Talia." Ser Gilmore bit out through a wince as his breathing seemed to trouble him. A broken rib, then. Talia chewed her cheek and huffed in frustration;

"None taken, Gilmore. Just stand still, for the love of-"

"Perhaps he… was sent to kill Bryce? Oh dear… have you seen him?" Eleanor exclaimed. Talia's frown grew in annoyance;

"Duncan is an old fart, but he isn't a murderer. I'd have known if he was here to assassinate someone." She stated. Because honestly, the words '_raised with nobles'_ really should tell them a few things. Talia bet if she'd had a chance to interact with Howe, she might have figured tha bastard out somehow. Still, no use crying over spilt mead. Things were as they were.

"When I last saw the Teyrn, he'd been badly wounded." Gilmore said; "I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen, I assume he expected to find you by the servants' exit in the larder." Gilmore pointed at the door, unwittingly stretching his would which caused him to wince in pain.

"Stand _still_, I said. Do people in these lands know nothing of how to stand still? It's pretty damn easy." Talia grunted as she started forcing the energy out through the tips of her fingers. This would have been _so_ much easier to do had she had a spellbook to go through.

"I apologize, my lady. I will endeavor to _not_ moving." Gilmore said, the dry humor escaping through clenched teeth.

"Who'd have known you people possessed gallows-humor…" Talia muttered to herself as she started forcing more and more healing energies through her fingers. She pointedly bit through the pain as the transferred life-force caused her skin to rupture at the tips. She just needed to heal this guy, then she could work out the kinks later.

"There. Done. It's about all I can do without falling over again. Don't go getting wounded straight away, it'd be an insult to my trying to learn healing." Talia said, dusting her hands off as she stepped back. Gilmore nodded, promising he would _endeavor _to obey her commands.

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore. Maker watch over you." Eleanor said. Talia caught the unsaid words in the Teyrna's prayer. That Gilmore would likely die soon. The way a battering ram was punishing the large door, Howe's men would breach the room soon, with our without Gilmore holding them back.

"Maker, watch over us all." The knight agreed, then turned and started for the large door. Talia grabbed him by the wrist.

"You'll die if you stay here." She muttered, even as the others probably wondered why she had stopped. Gilmore looked at her with sad eyes, causing pain to flare in her heart; "…and you know this?"

"If it will buy the time you need to escape, my death is not in vain." He said as she released his wrist. Men behind him were groaning in desperation, even as the wood started to creak and crack under the strain.

"You're a brave man, Ser Gilmore." Talia muttered with respect. She didn't intend for him to actually hear her words, as he was halfway back to the door, but he did. He turned and gave her a sad smile;

"And you are a good person, Warden Talia. Please, take care of them. Aedan in particular, I fear will soon-"

"Ser Gilmore! They are breaking through! We can't hold the sodding door alone!" A guard yelled at the door. Gilmore glanced at the guard, then back to Talia;

"Good luck." And he was off, making for the massive doors undoubtedly just waiting to break and allow Howe's men to pour through. Talia groaned even as Aedan kicked open the locked door leading outside to the corridors. The door flew off its hinges, hitting a Howe soldier in the face.

The impact broke the man's nose, sending him reeling backwards down the slope. One trip, and he was tumbling down until he hit the bottom with a clatter of armor. Neither Talia, nor any Cousland present wasted a moment, but moved down the slope towards the fallen attacker. Eleanor reached him first, plunging her blades into his spine. The man's screams lasted for a few seconds, then became hoarse gasps of pain. He was still alive when Eleanor got back up, and they left him like that.

They encountered no further Howe soldiers on their way to the kitchen, something Talia refused to see as a positive thing. It likely meant more were ready to attack Ser Gilmore. The man was brave, and loyal. There was no denying that, in Talia's eyes. That his loyalty bordered on madness wasn't demoting his bravery in any way. When they reached the kitchens, Talia was proven correct in that the lack of soldiers wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Maker, no!" Aedan fell to his knees, pushing the body of an older woman; "Please, Nan! Not you too…" When Eleanor placed her hand on his shoulder, Aedan wiped his tears away and stood. His home was burning around him, his friends dying and his apparent childhood nanny was dead before his feet. Talia had considered her own situation a plight and a tragedy, but it paled compared to what Aedan and his family was going through before her eyes.

Turk scratched the door to the larder. Talia picked up on that, as did the rest of the group. Eleanor was the first, forcing the door open with a desperate haste. Talia piled in as the last, having taken up something akin to the support of the group. She almost bumped into Aedan's back when he stopped abruptly, then broke into a run towards the other end of the room. When Talia entered, she saw the reason._ Divines…damn it all to Oblivion!_

"…wondering when you'd get here..." The Teyrn was on the ground, sitting in a pool of his own blood. The Teyrna and Aedan knelt next to him, the latter seemingly too shocked to speak. Talia knew a dying man when she saw one, and there was nothing she could do to help Bryce, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Maker's blood! You're bleeding, what happened?" Eleanor exclaimed, grabbing her husband by the shoulders.

"Howe's men…" the Teyrn coughed; "…found me first. Almost… did me in, right here."

"We need to get you out of here." Talia said. She knew the Teyrn was most likely minutes from death, but she had promised Ser Gilmore that she would protect Aedan and his family. She had to try. The teyrn offered her a weak groan before speaking;

"I… won't survive the standing, I think…" The Teyrn's voice was on the verge of tears. Aedan seemed to be utterly lost;

"That's not true! You'll be fine!" He yelled, tears flowing from his eyes. Talia wanted to hug him. Not an hour ago, she had wanted to mount him, but now her heart was bleeding for him, for what he was now going to lose. Talia had never known the pain of losing family. Onmund was the only one close to her to have ever died, and while she would have vengeance for his death, it could never compare to this.

"Oh, my dear boy… If only will could make it so…" The teyrn now cried, his wife holding him joining in the tears. Talia could only watch as Aedan's world collapsed around him.

"Howe's men will soon breach the gates. They will find us, we must go." Eleanor said. It was clear in her voice that she wanted her husband with them.

"Someone… must reach Fergus… Tell him what happened." The Teyrn seemed to be at his last straws. Talia knew she couldn't save him. She knew, in a few minutes the man would be too weak to talk. Moving around the horrified Aedan and his mother, Talia tried finding the most serious wounds. She might be able to stall the bleeding, somehow. Bryce, out of nowhere in Talia's mind, pushed her hands away with what strength he had left; "No… don't waste… it on me."

He knew too, then.

"You can tell him yourself!" Aedan snapped, moving to haul his dad to his feet. Talia found herself being the one who stopped him, while the Teyrn spoke;

"I wish… I could." He groaned. Blood poured from his lips in a single, thin line. Lungs too, then. Talia's fist clenched in frustration at not being able to save Aedan's father. She could heal cuts, maybe even a broken bone if given time. But a broken lung, it was too much for her to handle.

"Bryce no! The servants' tunnel is right here. We can flee together, find you more healing magic!" Eleanor pleaded. Talia wanted to step back and let them be alone, but she also wanted to hug them all and make the pain go away. Had she really come to care for people she hadn't even known for a full day?

The pain in her heart told her yes.

"The castle… is surrounded. I cannot make it." Bryce pressed out, even as the stream of blood over his lips grew a little thicker with each breath. Talia, standing the closest to the door, was the first to hear the sound of armored boots walking towards them. She snapped around, one hand lit with fire, the other shining with ice, when she saw…

"Duncan?" Her hands fell to her sides as the Warden-Commander entered the room, sheeting his swords. The man was covered in blood and scrapes, and Talia had never been more glad to see him in their short time together.

"I am glad to see you are unharmed, Talia, but I am afraid the Teyrn is correct. Howe's men have not yet discovered this exit, but they surround the castle. Getting past will be difficult." Duncan said, kneeling next to the Couslands. Talia remained standing next to him, wanting Duncan to just take charge and make everything better. Eleanor turned to look at him;

"You are… Duncan, then. The other Grey Warden?"

"Yes, your ladyship." Duncan said; "The Teyrn and I tried to reach you sooner."

"My son and Talia helped me get here, Maker be praised." Talia almost felt like she was mocking Eleanor's god by being praised, but said nothing. Now wasn't a time for words of any kind she could muster. Duncan looked between the two of them. There was a small, relieved smile on his lips when he regarded Talia;

"I am not surprised." The way he said it held pride. Talia wasn't entire sure what he was proud of, or whom, but didn't really care at this point. She wanted everyone to survive, even if she knew in her heart that everyone wouldn't.

"Duncan, I beg of you… Save my wife and son. Get them out of here!" The teyrn begged, even as he coughed out blood. A droplet hit Aedan's face, but he didn't even seem to react to it.

"I will, your lordship. But… I fear I must ask something in return." Duncan said. There was something heavy in his voice, like he loathed the words escaping his mouth. Talia hadn't heard that before.

"Anything!"

"What is happening here pales in comparison to the evil now loose in this world." Duncan started. Talia could see on Eleanor's greying face that she too had realized what Duncan meant to say; "I came to your castle seeking a recruit. The Darkspawn threat _demands_ I leave with one."

"I… I understand." Bryce said, his voice so weak that Talia had to strain her hearing to understand him. Aedan looked like he was going to throw up again, but held his mouth and spoke, if in stutters;

"Wha- what about Ser Gilmore?"

"Truthfully, _you_ were always my first choice." Duncan said. Talia would have wanted to revel in knowing she had figured Duncan out, if it hadn't been for everything that had happened; "I will take the teyrna and your son to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the King what happened. Then, your son will join the Grey Wardens."

So, this was the recruiting part then? It seemed unfair, to Talia, that Duncan would bargain like this, demand Aedan as a Grey Warden in return for his and his mother's lives. Talia bit her lip and remained silent, even though she didn't like what was going to happen, it wasn't something she could change. Bryce Cousland was dying, there was no way around that. Now, all they could do was to get Aedan and Eleanor to Ostagar and his brother, fight the Blight and come back to kill Howe in terrible ways. Talia was glad she had refused to look into Oren and Oriana's room, but she still had the image of Aedan's pale face, and Eleanor's screams seared into her mind.

"So long as justice comes to Howe… I agree." Bryce spoke in a renewed strength of voice, which caused him to cough up more blood. Duncan turned to a pale, shaking Aedan;

"Then I offer you a place among the Grey Wardens. Fight with us."

"But what if Fergus is dead?" Aedan choked out.

"We will inform the king, and _he_ will punish Howe." Duncan said. There was a tone to his voice, something Talia couldn't put her finger on; "I am sorry, but Grey Wardens' duties take precedence even over vengeance."

"Howe thinks he'll use the chaos… and advance himself. Make him_ wrong_, Pup. See that justice is done. Our family…" Bryce coughed up more blood, his lips smeared with thick, red liquids. Talia winced and wanted to look away, but only ended up looking at the pale, trembling Aedan who was doing his best not to break down completely. _His life is in ruins, and we're taking advantage of it…_

The thought left a disgusting bile in her mouth, and Turk whined next to his master.

"…We always do our duty first." Bryce continued; "The Darkspawn _must_ be defeated. You must go, for your own sake, and Ferelden's."

"I… I _can't_ leave you here!" Aedan cried. He was breaking down, Talia could see it, and knew Duncan could as well; "Please, dad!"

"We must leave quickly, Aedan. Howe's men will breach the gates soon, and we will not be safe here." Duncan said, trying no doubt to calm Aedan down. He might as well have attempted to tame an Ice wolf, Talia bit down on her own bitterness. This wasn't how anything humane or decent was supposed to go. She cursed whatever Daedra or Divine was playing its hand in this, forcing Aedan to leave his father to die.

"You must not die of Howe's treachery, Aedan. You are my son, you are my bel…belo…" Talia watched in silent horror as Aedan's father succumbed to another bloody cough. Eleanor wiped the blood from his face before he gathered enough breath to speak; "My beloved son. You _will_ escape, you _must_ live, and make your mark on the world."

Talia could feel tears pressing behind her eyes, but forced them down. She had no right to cry now, when Aedan was managing to keep his tears silent. This was _his_ family, not hers. Her own family was warm and safe in High Rock, not bleeding out on a cold stone floor. This would be the lowest point yet in her stay in Ferelden, it seemed. Watching a mother and son being forced to leave behind their husband and father.

Of course, it seemed the world could always top itself in cruelty.

"Darling, go with them." Eleanor said. The world seemed to freeze around her, as Talia processed the words and what they meant. No, no she couldn't be serious. Could she? Eleanor couldn't mean to actually leave her son to remain with her dying husband; "You will have a better chance of escaping without me."

"Eleanor…" Bryce coughed, seemingly just as horrified by the prospect of the teyrna staying behind as Aedan. This, was what seemed to be the last straw for the young man. Aedan collapsed on the ground, eyes swollen and streaming with tears as his mouth seemed unable to produce words.

"I won't abandon you, Love. I'll kill every bastard who sets foot through that door, but I won't abandon you." Eleanor declared, then grabbed her broken son by his shoulders and hugged him fiercely; "My place is with your father, at his side, to death and beyond. My dear son, you have to escape. Please, my heart would die if you remained to… to…"

"I'm… so sorry, it's… come to this, my love." Bryce wept, bleeding from his lips with every word. Eleanor embraced him, even as her fingers were coated in his blood, she didn't seem to notice;

"We had a good life, and did all we could. It's up to our children, now." Eleanor whispered, burrowing her face in Bryce's neck. Talia felt dizzy, the immense pain and chaos causing her world to become blurry. She steadied herself against one of the wooden beams supporting the room, trying to keep up with what happened. It tore her apart, more than she could have ever anticipated, to see Aedan's dead expression as his parents told him to leave them behind. The sound of breaking wood somewhere outside and above them caused her world to simmer back into place. She knew what the sound, and now the noise from fighting, meant.

"They've broken through the gates." Duncan urged; "We must go now!"

Talia stared at Duncan, even as he hauled Aedan to his feet. None of this seemed possible, and if she denied it and shut her eyes closed, it would all probably turn out to be a nightmare. It only became real when Duncan grabbed her wrist as well, hauling her after him into the hidden exit. Disgusted by the situation, Talia yanked her wrist free and turned to Bryce and Eleanor. She hadn't been able to save them in the end, however much she had wanted to and tried, and the knowledge of this made her want to throw up.

"I'll keep him safe." She said to Aedan's parents. She hadn't planned on saying anything, but the words came out still; "I promise."

Eleanor turned teary and swollen eyes towards her, a crushed, but relieved smile on her lips even as tears washed over them.

"Thank you. Maker bless you, Talia." The woman whispered. Talia could hear the fighting coming closer now. She offered the nobles, and they were the truest meaning of noble she had ever met, a final bow before she followed Duncan and a broken Aedan through the cramped tunnel. Locking the entrance behind her, Talia was able to make it almost ten seconds through the tunnel before she could hear the door to the Larder being broken in.

* * *

**Damn... so, thát happened.**

**I know some people disregard the Human Noble origin because it lacked some connections with the later stages of the game, a lack of Ser Jory reacting to the Warden, being one of them. I still do think it is one of the more powerful origins, namely because of the absolutely devastating ending to it. The young Cousland sees his parents being left to die, ****_he_**** is the one doing the leaving, for Mara's sake! That's gotta leave some serious emotional scars.**

**Anderson: "Every soldier has-"**

**Shhh! This isn't your universe, buzz of David!**

**But yeah, that's gotta leave a trauma ****_well_**** into his adult life. It's sad, really, that the day there was a chance for Aedan to finally become a man, seeing how he ****_is_**** old enough, his family is brutally slaughtered and his home taken over. I wonder if that's the Maker saying 'no-go' to pre-married sex? Meh, maybe not, but the Chantry would probably use it as an argument, sorta like some aspects of the church in America (and other places, I know) yell that God hates sex and gays and... dammit, I gotta stop these rantings because I always venture into politics!**

**Regardless, please review and tell me what you think of Talia's character and development. Other things too, of course, of course.**

**Later :D**


	6. The Road of Misery

**Here we are again, with another chapter.**

**There'll be a slow-down in the rate of updates, as Summer school is taking eight hours from my daily schedule. So, there's that. Well, no more dilly-dallying, time to go Hill-Vallying (that IS what they say in Doctor Who... right?) Ah sod it. Let's get this show on the road. **

* * *

_I left my home, burning. _

_I once though these people to be my friends, companions in life. __How can I ever think so again, now, __r__unning from the Stormcloaks because of my birth. __The skies were red, the color was my home, my life, burning. __But it gave me purpose. __I headed for Solitude. __I knew, this was where the Legion recruited. __"Vengeance" sang in my thoughts. - Kardlas Jorihle, Aldmeri Legate of the Imperial Legion._

* * *

**The Road of Misery**

* * *

Highever was behind them, nothing but a bright silhouette on the horizon. Flames licked against the night sky, portraying the towers and walls against the darkness of the night. The night was cold, chilling winds brushing against Talia's bare face. Her hood had been lost during the fights, ripped to shreds when a bolt had gone straight by her ear. She considered it a sign of luck, and had kept the tattered remains hanging from her shoulders.

That was about all the luck she could think about, though.

Aedan hadn't said a word since they left the castle behind, walking as if in a trance. Talia didn't know if he had heard the same things she had, the sounds of the larder being breached, the screams of dying men briefly echoing through the tunnel before stopping altogether. When they had come through the tunnel, Talia had wanted to comfort Aedan somehow. He was broken, an empty shell who had just left his parents to die. She couldn't even start to understand how he was feeling, and trying would be an insult, she thought.

When they reached the town closest to the castle, Duncan had ordered them to stay out of sight. There was, he'd said, the very real risk of Howe's men being in the town as well. Talia didn't know if he'd been right, but she had made sure to stay out of sight with Aedan, waiting for Duncan in the outskirts of the forest bordering the town.

That was almost two hours ago. They were both sitting on the ground near the trees, Aedan seemingly asleep while Talia scouted for Duncan to return. She had no idea what the man had needed to do in the town, but being left alone with Aedan gave her time to think about the horrors that had taken place that night.

"Gods, I messed it up…" She muttered to herself. She had promised Ser Gilmore, who was by now probably dead as well, that she would protect Aedan's family. And what did she have to show for it? Aedan's parents were dead and he himself was a traumatized shell of a person. She felt disgust, mostly with herself, knowing that her attempts at seducing him had probably meant none of them had heard Oren and Oriana being murdered. If she hadn't done that… if she had just been quiet, they could have saved more people. They could have saved the innocent little boy, his mother…She could have saved the Teyrn too, if she'd just been stronger, faster… "Arkay… I really screwed up."

She looked back at Aedan, in what dim light was left. There was a morbid tone to the fact that what light was illuminating his face came from the burning castle. His breathing was steady, calm. So he was asleep. Talia chewed her cheek, not daring to imagine the nightmares likely haunting his mind. She dared not stop watching the town, out of paranoia that Howe's men would pursue them when she wasn't looking. But at the same time, she wanted more than anything else to sit down next to Aedan and hold him close. _Do I even deserve his presence? He lost his…everything, because I wasn't good enough._

She held up her hands, glaring at the small ruptures on each fingertip. They were there, because she had never bothered training healing. Her own arrogance came back to haunt her, the old assurance that there would always be a healer or a potion-maker nearby. Now, because she had never bothered to learn healing when destruction was so much more exciting, she hadn't been able to help anyone. She'd only superficially healed Gilmore, and she had been completely unable to do anything for the Teyrn. Her own parents were safely back in High Rock, but now Aedan was an orphan because she hadn't been a more capable healer. _I can't save anyone… Onmund trusted me, and now he is dead. Aedan's family trusted me, and now they are dead too. I can't help people, I can only bring death._

A small, sardonic and self-loathing chuckle rose in her throat at that thought._ And even thát, I turned out to suck at..._

She'd been arrogant. She always thought that just because she could kill a robber without too much effort that there was no reason to get even better. Her reserves were a joke, even Brelyna's were better. Then again, Talia had never _needed_ to enhance her reserves. Gods, she wanted to go back in time and beat herself senseless with a stick for being so careless.

"I hate this country…" She muttered into her arms. It wasn't the first time she'd said it, and likely wouldn't even be the last one either. To be frank, she hated the entire continent as well. People like Howe were probably everywhere, decadent and treacherous.

"…me too." Talia almost jumped when she heard Aedan's hoarse whisper. She whipped around to see him awake, looking at her with a weak expression of defeat on his face. The young man she had walked with in the corridors was gone, replaced by a broken soul. Talia didn't know what to do. She looked at him, and he looked at her. There was nothing of the warmth or energy she had seen earlier in his eyes. Now there was just bereft, sorrow and grief.

"…Aedan, I…" She started, but trailed off as she realized nothing she said would make it better. Nothing _anyone_ said could make this better. She bit her lip and looked at her feet, unable to meet his eyes. How _could_ she meet them, after all that had happened?

"I always thought that… people were good. Inside." Aedan muttered. His voice was almost completely gone, replaced with a hoarse whisper from the way he had cried when they escaped the castle. It was scary, because he hadn't even screamed or yelled, simply cried as Duncan more or less hauled him away from the exit. Talia was silent; "I thought… I thought people you called 'friend' were supposed to… to be good. My father knew… Howe, for more than twenty years."

She didn't speak. Instead, Talia merely listened. She wanted to scoot closer to Aedan. She wanted to hold him close, to protect him. The feelings that welled up when she saw him in this state, reminded her more of feelings towards her younger brother back home, than a man she would have made love to. It was disconcerting, but she ignored her own worries now. Aedan was broken, and Talia felt she had to do something to help repair him, even if she couldn't.

"I suppose it just… shows that even those you would trust with your life… I don't even know what." It ripped and tugged at Talia's heart to hear his voice, broken and shattered as it was. She swallowed one of many hard lumps of guilt stuck in her throat;

"Aedan…"

"My parents are dead. I know. I know, and I'm not even trying to run away to avenge them…" Aedan's words made Talia's eyes widen in shock. She had known this was a risk, but hoped Aedan would blame her or Duncan instead. Now, she could only listen in horror to Aedan's next words; "I wasn't fast enough. If I'd come sooner, dad would still be alive, or if I'd just… just killed Howe when I saw him the first time. I should have stayed, I could have done _something_. Anything. But… I didn't. I ran. I _ran_ while Howe murdered my parents!"

"There was nothing you could have done." Talia said, trying to sound like she was certain. She _was_, but her words came out weak and wavering.

"Don't you think I _know_ that?! I would have died if we stayed, I _know_ that!" Aedan yelled. He remained slumped against the tree, but his eyes were locked on her. Talia felt herself waver beneath his glare. It was so different, his gaze, from the way he had looked at her earlier. She knew she probably deserved it. She'd had time to think everything over, cursing herself whenever she found a place where she could have acted differently. She could have summoned the atronach instead of Two-Sock, had something stronger than her familiar to fight Howe's men. She could have left it with Ser Gilmore, to provide support; "So why do I still feel like I betrayed my parents?"

His voice had broken, each word carrying the immense grief he felt. Talia got up from her seat on the ground and sat down next to Aedan. She ignored the way he looked at her; confused, frightened, exhausted, angry.

"Aedan… if anyone aside from Howe betrayed your parents tonight… it was me." She didn't know how else to put it. She had been a guest in their home, and how had she repaid them? She'd tried seducing Aedan, completely missing the sounds from Oren and Oriana's room. If she had just avoided Aedan completely, he would have been able to hear the fighting earlier, and Oren and Oriana would be alive. And Talia still knew they wouldn't have made it in the end. Oren was a child, Oriana a no-doubt strong, but defenseless mother. Howe's men hadn't discriminated between their victims.

"What are you talking about?" He said, his voice low, angry and desperate. He was probably still clinging to the hope that this was all just a nightmare. Talia glanced at him before looking away. She'd never planned for anything like this. But her own embarrassment was nothing compared to the guilt she carried.

"Oren and Oriana, your brother's wife and child…Howe's men killed them while we…I, was… while I just wanted to…" She couldn't say it. She couldn't say the words that would tell Aedan that she had just wanted to use him for a fun night. It was demeaning, cruel and outright shaming what she had done, she realized that now. In a way, she'd always known, but carried on regardless.

Aedan didn't say anything. He just lowered his head and looked at the ground between his knees. Talia wanted to die. Knowingly or not, she'd caused him so much pain just for her own pleasure. She felt dirty.

"I should have stopped. I just…" She sighed, groaning as her head was bumped against the trunk behind her; "I just… I don't know."

"You didn't know…"Aedan breathed. He didn't sound like he put any emotion at all into his own words, like they were just empty sounds. Talia wanted to wrap her arms around him and hug him until the sun rose. But she knew she couldn't. She was one of the reasons why Oren and Oriana were now dead, something she knew she could never make up for. A small part of her almost wanted Fergus to strike her down if he wasn't already dead too.

Duncan arrived soon after, riding a stocky horse while two others followed in leashes behind him. Talia was the first to hear him, or rather the sound of hooves on the stony ground. She didn't say anything as she got up, neither did Aedan.

"We'll be riding from here to Ostagar by the Imperial highway." Duncan explained. Talia didn't bother arguing. She hated riding, one of the reasons she used carriages to get across Skyrim. It was the fact that she would be putting her trust in an animal she couldn't communicate with that unnerved her.

Aedan mounted without a word or hint of trouble, leaving Talia to struggle her way into the saddle. She sat awkwardly in the saddle at first, trying to adjust her legs to better fit the seating. Riding while wearing robes wasn't a pleasant experience, and already she could feel the material straining. Groaning in frustration, she pulled the robes all the way up to her upper thighs. Her underclothing wasn't meant for the stress riding would cause, but was better than nothing. Turk, the Mabari seemingly impossible to separate from Aedan, was trotting along next to Aedan's horse. It seemed blissfully unaware of its master's mood, and Talia envied the dog its ignorance.

Regardless of what she felt, she knew there was one thing she could do. She had sworn to Aedan's parents that she would keep him safe. She didn't know if she could keep him out of harm's way, but she would make sure nothing happened to him. He was the only person in this land who had seemed to understand her. He had listened to her, and he hadn't told anyone that she had other gods. _He _had kept his word and remained honest and truthful. And what had she done? She'd tried to seduce him, seen him as a plaything, as a person she could exploit like the servants back home. She'd wanted him, and hadn't seen a reason not to take him. What kind of person did that make her?

For the next many hours, she rode in silence with that one question filling her mind.

* * *

"We make camp here for the night." Duncan said, raising a hand against the darkening sky.

Talia had no idea how far they had ridden, but found she didn't particularly care either. The day had been miserable, with the cold sun blinding them in its waning hours. There hadn't been any warmth in it, just as the people on whom it shone. She watched with weary eyes as Duncan dismounted and started leading his horse into the trees. Aedan followed him, each of his steps seemingly forced from an inner struggle that kept him going.

Talia did the same, not even caring that her heel knocked the horse over its back when she jumped down. The blasted creature could whiney and protest all it wanted, she didn't care. She grabbed the reins and roughly pulled the animal with her into the forest. Normally, she would have enjoyed the feeling of soft ground and moss beneath her feet, but nothing was enjoyable today. She knew she had no real right to be so depressed, except that she didn't care. She _was_ depressed, because people who had treated her with only respect and kindness were now dead, and Talia had failed to protect those who welcomed her into their house. At least this made a choice easy enough, namely that she now no longer had to worry about returning home to High Rock. Father would disown her if and when he learned how she had failed the obligations of the guest. That she had fled while her hosts were slaughtered.

Duncan was already in the process of collecting firewood, something Talia had never really needed. Her family carried a long line of fire-mages, and generally didn't have a problem with the cold of the night, even in Skyrim. Here though, she understood the reason, and helped gather branches and sticks. _It's the only thing I can do right, it seems…_

"Talia?" Duncan asked. Talia picked up on his voice, noticing that she'd been idly staring at the pile of twigs Duncan had already placed. Heaving a sigh, she dropped her own bundle of wood and set it alight with a mere wave of her hand. The flames from her hand caught onto the collected wood and started eating away. Aedan dumped his own bundle by the fire and stared into the flames.

Talia noticed Duncan gestured for her to move a bit away from the fire. She followed him until he stopped, hopefully out of hearing distance from Aedan. Talia glanced back, seeing him still standing by the fire. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked back at Duncan. She wasn't sure what to say.

"How are you feeling?" Duncan asked, sparing her the trouble of initiating a conversation. She briefly considered lying, but dismissed it. There wasn't anything to be gained from lying to Duncan, and he would likely be able to tell, which would only serve to worsen their working-relationship. She didn't need that now. Talia still felt a small amount of disgust that Duncan exploited what happened in Highever to get Aedan on board.

"Not good." She sighed; "Mostly, it's because…because I can't help feel like I could have done _something_. Aedan lost his family, and I couldn't do anything to save them."

"None of us saw Howe's treason coming, Talia." Duncan stated. From the black marks under his eyes, Talia could see he was exhausted as well. It had been more than a day since any of them had slept the last time; "While it is true that Aedan has been robbed of everything he once knew, this is where we as Grey Wardens must become his new family."

"…Duncan." Talia sighed, rubbing her closed eyes; "I'm not… I don't know if I deserve being in your order."

"I am not sure I understand, Talia." Duncan said, concern in his eyes. Talia winced at the sign that he worried about her. Currently, she didn't feel like she deserved it; "There is no 'deserve' in being a Grey Warden. We pick from skill, not the moral compass when we recruit."

"I spent most of the evening… before we found out, I spent most of the evening trying to…We were in Aedan's room, and I thought… I don't know what I thought, but I wanted him to come with us, so I…" She stopped, pulling in a deep breath. Just talking about it felt like she was spitting on Aedan's family, as well as her own and her friends.

"You feel guilty because you think your presence prevented Aedan from noticing the attack before it was too late." Duncan couldn't know the details, about Oren and Oriana, but he had hit the head on the nail regardless. Talia hugged herself, then dropped her hands in defeat and nodded;

"If I hadn't occupied him, maybe Fergus' son and wife would still be alive." There. She'd said it. She'd known since the escape that she couldn't have saved the Teyrn or the Teyrna, but she could have saved Fergus' family. Dammit, she _knew_ she could have saved them.

Duncan was silent for so long, Talia almost took it as a sign that he was done talking. As she turned to leave though, Duncan continued; "Has he said anything yet?"

"…He blames himself…" she muttered. She knew Aedan probably wouldn't want her to tell Duncan this, but if it would somehow help in the end, she knew she had to. Duncan sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with an armored glove.

"I see." Duncan said in a low voice; "Talia… we need to keep an eye on him."

Talia shook her head at the concern. She knew what he meant, even if he hadn't said anything concrete; "Aedan isn't stupid, Duncan. He knows that he'd never even get close to Howe. I think he just wants to see Howe brought to justice, even if he can't swing the axe himself."

"I know, but… grief can do things to the mind. You yourself were ready to die if it meant killing Irving, as I recall." Duncan didn't seem to take the least bit pleasure in being right, even though he was. Talia realized that, looking back. When she'd been told Onmund was dead, she'd wanted nothing more than a suicide-run on Irving. She'd have attacked, possibly killed the man, and then been killed herself.

"Fine." She muttered, then looked at where Aedan still stood, looking into the fire. He sat down, almost as if he knew she looked at him. But his eyes never left the fire; "But I don't like seeing… I _hate_ seeing Aedan going through this."

"As do I. Bryce and Eleanor were good people, and Aedan never deserved any of this. Until we get to Ostagar, do your best to keep him with us. I know it sounds like I am leaving my responsibilities with you, Talia, but…" Duncan sighed, regret in his voice as he spoke next; "Aedan would be more likely to open up to you than to the man who dragged him from his family."

"You didn't. You saved his life, saved mine too." Talia insisted. Duncan was one of the better people she had met in this land, and he should be above blaming himself for something not his fault. That he had conscripted Aedan was only because of the immense threat to the land. A threat that, Talia realized, she knew little about.

"And yet, I suspect you would have despised me for taking you from the tower if you'd grown up with it as your only home. Understand, Talia, that a recruit cannot leave once drafted into the Wardens." Duncan said, giving her a look she couldn't identify; "I know you planned on escaping me since the moment we left the tower." Talia was forced to huff in annoyance at that, as well as slightly ashamed.

"I was _that_ obvious, was I?" she muttered.

"There were signs, yes. Still, we should make sure Aedan recovers from this, uncaring as my words may sound." Duncan said, bringing her mind back to what was at hand. She looked at Aedan, who was still sitting by the fire; "I will take the first watch tonight. We will be at Ostagar in two days, if all goes as planned."

"Nothing ever does." Talia muttered. Considering the conversation over, she walked back to the fire and slumped against a stone covered with thick mosses. Pulling her robes around her like a cloak, she looked at Aedan as he still sat unmoving by the flames.

Had she ruined his life by entering it, or merely ended up softening the blow he had been dealt by fate? She didn't know anymore, not after Duncan's words. Her heart still ached at seeing Aedan like this.

"Aedan... You should try to get some sleep."

"…I'm not tired." He stated, not looking away from the fire. His one move consisted of placing a new log on the flames. Turk was on the ground next to him, looking at his master with deep, sad eyes. Talia believed she knew what went through the Mabari's mind. They both looked at Aedan and saw the ruins of a person. They both wanted to help him, and both seemed unable to do anything to that effect. It felt like the butt of some cruel joke.

"You _need_ to sleep. Aedan…" She said softly, suppressing the tones of guilt and shame in her voice. He didn't need to hear those now. He just needed to recover.

"Why? Why should I? Why do you even care?" He muttered darkly, still not looking at her. Talia felt like he had hit her in the face. Mostly because he had good reason not to trust her. She had more or less admitted that she'd only been at his room, with him, because she was in it for herself, not because she cared about him.

Except she did.

Talia _did_ care about Aedan, if only not in the romantic way he might have thought. She hadn't even cared much about him in any way, back then. But seeing the way he acted, the way he reacted to what happened, the way he was destroyed as a person in the larder, she'd come to care for him more than she thought she could. She couldn't even explain it, but she saw in him… she didn't know _what_ she saw, but she _needed_ to be there for him.

"Aedan…" She pleaded; "Hate me, if you want. I understand that you do. But don't punish yourself by refusing to sleep."

"…I don't… hate you, Talia." He said after what felt like an eternity of uncomfortable silence. The words brought a small measure of relief, but nothing to help them now. They didn't change the fact that he had been robbed of his home and family; "I… just don't understand. There is so much I don't understand, and I thought, when we were in my room, that… that I finally understood_ some_ things…but, I didn't in the end, did I?"

"I don't know." She admitted; "I never planned for any of this. To be honest… I just wanted… I didn't want not to bring you with us when we left the castle."

"'Could've just asked." He muttered, looking at the ground between them; "Why didn't you just ask?"

"I've… never been good at that sort of… thing. People used to say I was abrasive, rash, unpleasant to be around because of how I did things." She mused bitterly; "Chased the boys, for one… I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"I know. I thought it was too good to be true, too." Aedan sighed as he lay down in his armor, looking at the skies above them. The stars looking down between the trees weren't the same Talia remembered from Skyrim or High Rock, which meant they were far enough down _south_ that they passed the equator. She'd thought they were somewhere up north still. Figures. Not that it mattered anymore though.

"Some _was_ true, you know…" Talia muttered to herself. It was low enough that Aedan likely didn't hear it. She didn't dare _let_ him hear it, not after what had happened. When none of them spoke after that, Talia instead rested her head back and looked at the skies above the trees. Secunda was up already, marginally smaller than Masser. She couldn't see the bigger moon yet, likely because it was hidden behind the trees.

She hadn't managed to close an eye when Duncan came to leave the watch to her.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Two days later, Talia rode behind Duncan and Aedan as their horses carried them onwards on the Imperial highway. She'd grown so accustomed to the sound of hooves on cobblestone, tile and brick that she almost fell off her horse in surprise when no more sounds came. For a moment, she thought her horse had stumbled. Then she felt the next thud of a hoof on the ground, and relaxed.

Aedan hadn't said much more since their conversation by the fire, if that could even be called a conversation. He was bitter, that much was evident. The pain was obviously still raw and fresh, the emotional wound still too gaping and infected. Both she and Duncan had made attempts at drawing him from his shell, but gave up after he more or less shut them out. Talia felt like she would have been grateful if he would just shout at them, her or Duncan. It didn't matter, she just felt desperate for him to show emotions. Howe might not have killed Aedan, but he had emotionally damaged the man. And Talia hurt every time she saw the pained look in his eyes.

Spires rose in the distance, like claws sticking from the ground. Actually, they were quite straight and seemed artificial. Talia bit her lips in thought. She hadn't seen those things before, and the only time she'd seen something similar had to be in the book showing a picture of Cyrodiil.

"Duncan, what are those?" She asked, riding up next to the older man. She tried getting a look at Aedan, to see if there was a reaction to her riding up. She prayed and wished there was, but he just looked at her, then back to looking forward, still with the pained, ruined look in his eyes.

"The Tower of Ishal. We are nearing Ostagar, so keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary." Duncan said, his hands remaining on the reins despite Talia sensing he wanted to touch the hilt of his blades;

"Meaning?"

"Two major battles have already been won against the Darkspawn here. I would not be surprised if they were scattered throughout the Wilds as well." When Duncan spoke, Talia swallowed a lump. They were so near the destination that now there was a threat of these "Darkspawns" attacking them out of the blue. It would be a welcome break from the uncomfortable silence of their ride.

"Fergus is there." Aedan said, speaking for the first time of the day. Talia's brows went up, looking between Duncan and Aedan. True, that was what Aedan's parents had said, to find his brother at Ostagar. This meant Aedan at least wasn't without all his family. His brother was alive, at least.

"That's good, right?" She asked, hoping against hope to see some actual emotion on Aedan's face. There actually was a change, though not the kind she had hoped for;

"He doesn't know. I'll have to tell him. About mother, father… Oren and Oriana." Aedan choked out, his voice hoarse as if he had been crying for days. He hadn't, Talia had checked. And yet, his throat sounded absolutely destroyed from grief. _Oh gods… he's going to kill himself when he hears it, isn't he?_

She couldn't voice those thoughts. Instead, she said with a gentle, concerned tone; "How are you going to tell him?" Aedan didn't speak for a whole minute, and Talia thought he hadn't heard her.

"Just… tell him, I guess…" He muttered, heaving a long sigh; "I'm _scared,_ of telling him."

"Aedan, if you wish, I can relay the message for you." Duncan offered, giving the young noble a concerned look; "I'll say I didn't allow you to leave your duties, and your brother can vent what understandable grief he will have on me, instead of you."

Talia turned to look at Duncan, her respect for the man rising. There was nothing for Duncan to gain from doing something like that, and at worst, Fergus might kill him for relaying the message. She'd heard losing one's child could do horrible things to a man's mind. And Fergus had lost his wife as well, something which pained Talia as well. Oriana, from what little she knew of the woman, had been a good person, a loving mother and not even distrusting of a mage. In hindsight, Talia supposed it _had_ all been too good to be true.

"No. I should be the one to tell him. Fergus left his family in my care, they were my responsibility, Duncan." Aedan bit back, his tone unusually bitter. Then again, his tone was an unusual thing to even _hear_ since Highever.

"If that is what you want." Duncan replied, nodding to Aedan before shielding his eyes from the sun as he gazed at the tower; "When we arrive, I'll have to leave the two of you on your own. Find Alistair, he will be the senior Warden in charge of your group."

"Group?" Talia asked. "Group" normally meant somewhere above three, which had her confused. Duncan nodded, as they started meeting tiles instead of dirt under their horses.

"Two other recruits are waiting. You, in particular I think will find them interesting, Talia." The Commander said. Talia looked at him, wanting him to say more. Instead, the man fell silent as they neared Ostagar. Soldiers began appearing around them, busy with tents, drilling, tending to injuries and other things usually affiliated with soldiery things.

"The king has already won two large battles against the Darkspawn." Duncan explained further as they dismounted, gave their horses to the stable-boy and walked into an arched corridor. It was a ruin, so what had once no-doubt been tall windows were now gaps in the stonework, if pretty gaps. Talia gazed out from the gaps, seeing nothing but forests for as long as the eye went. Amazing, that a place still had forests this large. Most places in the northern Tamriel had cut down just about everything to the size of the forests outside Riften. Not that Talia had ever been there, but Arniel Gane had; "We have yet to meet the bulk of the Horde though. I fear that the coming battle will be the most difficult to win."

Talia was about to ask what he meant, and how he could know that, when she noticed someone approaching them from the other side of the palisaded gate protecting their side of Ostagar.


	7. Ostagar

**Yep, your eyes aren't playing tricks. A new chapter is right up. I as always ask that you share your thoughts on ever chapter, because it gives me something to read, enjoy and learn from while writing, or when not writing.**

**Anyway, let's get this show on the road, yes? :)**

* * *

_The Dwemer, who were they? _

_Where did they go?_

_Why are we left with such wonders, left behind as if for a break_

_yet now we know only the ruins, the houses, _

_not the builders, nor the residents._

_\- Scholar Arrentus of the Cynod_

* * *

**Ostagar**

* * *

Talia was about to ask what Duncan meant, and how he could know that, when she noticed someone approaching them from the other side of the palisaded gate protecting their side of Ostagar. In reality, it was just a doorway with a fenced barricade though. The man approaching them was, and here she blinked to make sure her eyes were intact, wearing armor made from _gold_. _Who by Zenithar makes armor from gold?_

"Ho there, Duncan." The man hollered. His head was the only part of him not shielded by the _massive_ armor, and long blonde hair flowed down his neck. Talia idly noted that it was longer than hers. His face was lit in a huge, almost childlike smile upon seeing Duncan. Odd, maybe he was another Warden? Duncan's nephew could be a valid guess too, what with the man's obvious youth and happiness.

"King Cailan?" Duncan replied respectfully, if surprised, taking the man's outstretched hand. Talia felt like her jaw and hands were ready to drop straight off. _This is the KING?! He's a child, by Akatosh!_; "I wasn't expecting a-"

"A royal welcome? I needed to welcome back the Warden-Commander, of course. Also, Loghain is dragging on with his tactics. The Darkspawn will be here, and it will be _glorious._ Facing evil side by side with the Wardens. Just like the heroes of legend." Talia resisted the urge to groan. The king was not only a young, naïve man, he was also apparently going to fight on the front with the Grey Wardens. All that added up to one conclusion in her mind. _We… we're kinda screwed._

"Your uncle sends his regards, your majesty. The forces of Redcliffe can be here within the week, if you are willing to wait." Duncan said as he repositioned himself after the somewhat awkward stand-by-Cailan he'd been pulled into. While Talia found it a bit funny, Aedan didn't seem to notice. Though, the king seemed to notice him.

"Eamon just wants in on all the glory. We've beaten back the horde before, and we'll do so again." Cailan said, then turned a smile at Aedan. A smile that wasn't returned; "You there, you are Bryce's youngest, are you not? I was surprised when he didn't arrive with the Highever forces."

"Are you not… even aware that my parents are dead?" Aedan asked in disbelief. Cailan's face went from happy, bypassed disbelieving and went straight to utter horror.

"Dead? What? Whe- how?" The king exclaimed. Duncan saved Aedan from further words by stepping in himself;

"I am afraid we bring dire news as well, your majesty. Arl Howe has overtaken the Teyrnir of Highever, and murdered Bryce and Eleanor Cousland. We barely escaped with our lives." Duncan was indeed a better man to talk to the king. Talia looked at Aedan, and saw the fresh hints of pain emerging at the mentioning of his parents' murder. She wanted, not for the first time, to hug him until things were made better by it.

"What could he possibly hope to gain from-" Cailan cursed under his breath, then snapped back up to look at Aedan; "You have my word, Aedan Cousland, that as soon as we have won our victory here, I will turn my army on Highever and bring Howe to justice. He will _hang_ for this!"

"Fergus, my brother?" The reply seemed to have at least removed the dead look from Aedan's eyes, though the pain was still there. Cailan nodded;

"Fergus arrived safely with the Highever forces. Currently though, he is out scouting and won't be able to return before _after_ the battle. I am sorry, but there is nothing more I can do." Cailan said. He looked like he genuinely wanted to march whatever soldiers he had, out to find Fergus and bring him back. _He might be a fool… but his heart at least seems to be in the right place. Likely, he is a better warrior than a ruler._

"Thank you." Aedan's reply was clipped, but at least as polite as a royal person might require. Cailan seemed satisfied, in the end, and excused himself. When the three were left alone, Talia looked at Duncan for a few moments, trying to figure out the best way to voice her thoughts.

"Your king… is sorta _weird."_ She settled with in the end. Duncan seemed to have expected the comment, but still wasn't exactly pleased with it.

"So, this is not even a Blight?" Aedan muttered, looking at the king as he, and a good score of guards, returned to the camp. It was difficult for Talia to figure out what was going on in his mind at that moment, and she wasn't sure she even wanted to know. The question held both accusation, confusion and relief.

"What the king says _is_ true. They haven't seen an Arch Demon so far, so I don't blame him for believing it merely a large Darkspawn raid." Duncan explained as the two young ones looked at him. Aedan with something that seemed like disinterest, while Talia was somewhere between relief and annoyed that she hadn't a clue what an Arch demon was.

"Arch Demon?" She said in mild disbelief. Duncan nodded;

"In the past Blights, there has always been one of the old tainted gods leading the Darkspawn horde. It takes the form of a tainted Dragon, as the old gods of the Tevinter Imperium were worshipped in the form of dragons." Talia sighed and rubbed her eyelids at that one. It was frustrating how there were similarities in stupidity between this "Thedas" continent, and Tamriel. For some reason, morons seemed to climb each others corpses to worship dragons.

"Did that result in a cataclysmic series of events and battles known as the Dragon War where the sons of the Dragon god of Time were killed or banished into time?" Talia asked, keeping a straight face while Duncan's went from surprised to utterly confused. For almost an entire second, the man's face was one big 'What?'. Even Aedan seemed to actually display some surprise.

"I'm sorry… what?" Duncan was the first to speak.

"Oh, right. You don't know, do you?" Talia allowed herself a smile at seeing Aedan seemingly forgetting his grief from the sheer curiosity in his face. Good, she wanted to keep it that way. Turk was the only one who seemed to have his mood undisturbed by her small revelation. The Mabari simply lolled his tongue and looked between them; "Never mind then. So, those Blights?"

"…Right." Duncan muttered, taking a moment to regain his posture; "The Blights Thedas has faced before have all been led by an Arch Demon. As far as we know, the Arch Demons are the Old Gods of the Tevinter Imperium, tainted by the Darkspawn upon discovery."

"So… because no one has spotted an undead Dragon yet, you all assume this isn't a Blight?" Aedan asked. It seemed that somehow, Talia had managed to haul him from his depressed mood. Not that she blamed him in the least. If her own family died, much as she loathed what they wanted for her, Talia knew she would probably be inconsolable as well.

"True. But I know in my heart that an Arch Demon is behind this."

"Then why not just tell your king? An undead dragon should be enough to have him take this seriously. He's too much of a child the way he acts right now." Talia huffed as they walked. There was a huge ravine separating them from the rest of the camp, and the only way across was a stone bridge lined with statues. They seemed very familiar for some reason.

"I can't have the king act solely on my feeling, much as I like. Cailan does come across a bit… eager, I admit. But that is why we look to Teyrn Loghain to win the battle."

"There are more Teyrns?" Talia asked, stopping her walking as she looked at Duncan. The long travel had left her with blisters on her heels, so each opportunity to stop was welcomed. She hoped this "Alistair" they were supposed to find wouldn't be some sort of ridged arse who demanded them to stand all the time. She needed to sit down and perform some _serious_ healing on her poor, poor, aching feet.

"Two. Loghain is the second, and…The Highever Teyrns. So far, Loghain's strategies have worked well against the Darkspawn. We look to him to win the battle." Whoever this Loghain was, he sounded a bit like that General Tulius people always credited with victories. Talia had never seen the man, so she really wouldn't know. Or care.

"Well, problem solved then. We'll all just find some soft chairs and watch Loghain kick butt. Or, cut it, if he's using swords. Could be funny if he kicked the butt too, though." Talia mused. She wanted to get a grin out of Aedan, but the befuddled look on his face was, she supposed, just as good.

"I don't think the good general kicks the Darkspawns, no." Duncan sighed. It was only that much better to make the man, respectable as he was, exasperated. There just was a certain humor to it; "Regardless, I will have to leave the two of you for now. I suggest you go meet with Alistair, and find the other recruits at camp. To that length, I'd suggest not bringing your Mabari with you, Aedan. Not everyone at camp is comfortable around war hounds."

_"Horker,_ Duncan. A child was just fine around Two-Sock, so people supposed to fight the armies of Darkness should be able to handle a dog. Seriously." And Talia really did call Horker on that one. _She'd_ never seen a Mabari before Turk, and she wasn't the least scared of the slobbering beast.

"I suppose. In that case, do make sure he doesn't scare off the elven messengers at camp. Mabari's are much more frightening when you are just the size of a child." Duncan said, nodded to the both of them and then headed across the bridge. Talia looked at the man's back until she couldn't see him anymore, then turned to Aedan who'd been silent since his question about the Arch Demon.

"It's… different than I thought." She offered when he seemed unable to initiate a conversation; "More… big, I suppose."

"You've never seen an army at camp?" Aedan asked, raising a brow as he looked at her. His eyes were ringed with bags and red from silent crying, but at least there was some humanity back in them. It was a start, but Talia still felt uncomfortable having Aedan near a steep drop. She shrugged to ward off the anxiousness as they started walking as well;

"I've come across a single legion camp. It's not really that big though, because they mostly travel in patrols so it's only some ten-twenty people and a legate." She explained, then focused on the statues as they passed; "That thing… the statue…"

"Andraste?" Aedan asked, looking at the apparently weeping woman with a raised brow; "What's with her?"

"I've seen that statue before… in the forests." Talia muttered; "Of course, this is in much better shape and not covered with moss and ruins and… stuff."

"I'm guessing there are statues of her spread all over Ferelden and beyond. Even in the middle of forests, people seemed to build statues in her honor." Aedan explained as they passed a small group of archers in the middle of a game of cards.

"It's just that… when we arrived in Ferelden, when that shitty scroll went wrong, I was almost dropped on top of that woman's head in some marsh." At his disbelieving expression, Talia added; "First time teleporting. I didn't really know what to do..."

"I suppose. Still, good thing you didn't actually land on her head. It'd be kinda blasphemic, I think." Aedan muttered, though his lip seemed to see a small, almost invisible creasing. Or, it might be her eyes messing with her again.

"Blasphemic?"

"The people worshiping her would be a little pissed that your ass ended up on Andraste's head." Aedan said. Talia stopped and turned, examining the nearest statue closely.

"I thought you worshipped your Maker? Where does Andraste enter the picture?" She said, giving Aedan a look like he'd gone mad. Or stupid. Probably both, because she was pretty damn confused now. So, maybe they had _two_ gods, but then why would Duncan had lied?

"Andraste is the Maker's bride." Aedan said as if that explained everything. Talia made it clear, by looking at him stupidly, that it _didn't_ make everything clear. Aedan sighed, likely due to the prospects of a long explanation; "The Chantry says that the Maker abandoned his children when he saw our evil and unworthy ways and… other things. Then, a woman's voice reached him in Heaven, and he fell in love with her."

"So… your god fell in love with a mortal woman, who was then made a goddess? But you said to me people _couldn't_ be made gods back in Highever!" Talia exclaimed, but wanted to take her words back when she saw Aedan flinch at the mention of Highever. _Piss._

"It's… difficult to explain. Andraste was the prophet of the Maker, not a goddess. She is at his side though, I think. She's the one who spread the Andrastian faith." Aedan explained. Talia furrowed her brows in confusion as something was suddenly made clear to her;

"So… Andraste is like Talos? Only, not a _man_ or a god of war, but still. Same thing." Aedan smacked a hand over his forehead, muttering something about wishing something called a 'Mallol' was there to save him. Talia had no idea what he meant.

"Let's just… go find those other people." He muttered and passed by a guard manning the fenced gate leading into the camp proper. It was all apparently located in the ruined grand hall of whatever the place had been once, and Talia saw people use the ruins for very different purposes than they were meant for. Pillars, for example, were likely never meant for latrines. Turk didn't seem to mind though, and trotted along with the same dog-ish dog-smile on his face. Talia wished she could call up Two-Sock for some intelligent and non-moody company combined in one "person", but knew some people were probably going to be pissed at seeing a Familiar. Or scared. Proabably scared.

"Look. That's the Circle's part of the camp." Aedan pointed out, gesturing at where mages and templars were occupying a rather large section of the camp. Talia noticed she'd started grounding her teeth when he said the words, and stopped with an effort. She still looked, though, and saw that a good part of the are was dedicated to templars guarding some sort of ritual. Mages, inside some purple barrier, were weaving their arms through the air like they were being chased by bees.

The image was a rather amusing one.

Talia's amusement vanished though, when she recognized a person resting by one of the trees at the mages' camp. An unconscious twitch made Talia look like she was smiling before she got in under control and looked at Aedan with a fake smile plastered on her face;

"Will you wait here? I won't be long, just… gotta see a friend." While "friend" was definitely an overstatement and far too friendly a term, she managed to get the words out without _obviously_ lying. She didn't even wait for Aedan's reply either, and made a furious beeline towards the mage-camp. Her eyes were locked on a single person. A single, inconspicuously looking woman. Said woman now seemed to have seen her as well.

"Appren- Warden recruit Talia. I am glad to see you are still with Duncan." The old lady said. Talia still didn't know her name, but wasn't bothered by it. There was no need to. Instead, she pointed an annoyed finger at the older mage.

"I still don't like you. And Irving stole my book. And your Circle is wrong, and Irving is a murderous _cunt._ And your templars are stupid." It really was a shame that she couldn't come up with more fitting insults now that she finally had the chance. The old woman didn't seem the least surprised by her words. Only slight annoyed, judging by her deepened wrinkles and brows;

"Young lady, your opinion of me is irrelevant at this time, with all that is at stake, as are your views of the Circle and Irving. Regarding your book, however, it was found to have been dropped from your satchel while in Irving's custody." The woman said, pulling a purple book with an Oblivion-gate on its cover from her own pack; "The First Enchanter hoped I would meet you here, so that you could have-"

Talia snatched the book, giving the old mage a wary look.

"- your belongings returned to you." The old woman finished. She looked like she wanted to reprimand Talia, but didn't. Good, Talia didn't need another lecture on how the mages were best served with being locked up in a tower until a sick ritual would either kill them or leave them imprisoned for the rest of their lives.

"Thanks. But, I still don't like you. And I still want Irving to eat a giant's toenail. And then catch fire. Hopefully while inside your tower so it burns down." She said, glaring at first the woman, then the templars only a few meters away; "And I hope all the templars will be in there too."

She turned, and left while both mage and templars seemed to still be considering how to respond. When she reached Aedan, he was looking at her with a deeply confused expression. Talia just waved her purple book in front of him, a smirk on her face.

"What?"

"I_ knew_ Irving had snatched my book. Now he sent it back with that old lady over there. I bet he's hoping I'm not coming back to burn his tower to the ground now." Talia thumbed at the old lady by the tree; "Like hell I'm going to let him get off."

"...Irving?" Aedan asked as they started going around the camp. Neither had any idea what this Alistair looked like, so finding him would be a bit of a chore. Talia huffed, annoyed by the mere use of Irving's name unless it was spoken with contempt.

"The leader of Kinloch Hold, the place where they imprisoned me and Onmund." She muttered, tucking the book into her satchel. Aedan nodded slowly, apparently remembering her words about Onmund and the tower.

"I see."

"Yeah… So… Duncan mentioned there being elven messengers running around, right?" Talia said, rubbing her hands with fire. It was frigging cold this far south, and the weather didn't help much. The large bonfire in the middle of the camp looked _very_ appealing. Aedan looked at her hands with badly disguised envy, but didn't remark on it.

"I guess. Are you still that eager to see an elf?" He said, eying the camp from where they were.

"Just wanna see if there's a huge difference." Talia defended herself at Aedan's 'you're like a child' tone. Still, she followed his eyes as he seemed to spot something.

"See that person running over there?" Aedan asked, pointing at a tall child running between stands of armor. Talia nodded, not entirely sure what a child would be doing there, unless it was a squire. Those tended to be kids, right?

"I… do?" she said. As Aedan didn't say anything more, Talia looked at the child again. There _was_ something off about him, because she could see it was a boy alright; "Wait… _that's _an elf?!"

"It is." Aedan nodded. Talia looked at the elf again, trying to figure out how elves could be so different from Tamriel to Thedas. The Thalmor would probably laugh their butts off (in haughty laughter of course) if they ever saw the elves of Thedas;

_"Julianos,_ that's disappointing." Talia muttered. It was a major let-down, considering the elves she knew had been all tall and magical and sometimes mocking. These ones were probably frail and scared in turn. Figures. In that case, the Dwemer were probably cave dwellers here.

"What are elves like in Tamriel then?" Aedan asked as they passed by soldiers guarding tents and receiving blessings from a priestess on a platform.

"Tall. Tall as humans, and the Thalmor are slightly taller. Then there's the Bosmer. They are mostly brown-skinned with these predatory eyes. Brelyna is a Dunmer, or a Dark-elf."

"Right. Dark skin." Aedan remembered; "I think the elves here will be a bit disappointing then, sorry."

But Talia wasn't saddened by the discoveries. Instead, she was happy that Aedan seemed to have finally snapped out of his depressed state of self-loathing and grief. It did wonders to his appearance when he didn't look like a candidate for suicide. It brought her no small amount of relief that he seemed to be alive again.

"So… Duncan mentioned other recruits, right?" Talia asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Yes, but I have no idea how to spot them." Aedan admitted, slumping his shoulders a little at the realization. Talia gave him a light punch on the shoulder;

"Hey, maybe they'll be waving banners saying 'Grey Warden recruit' for us to spot?" She suggested, grinning in the hope he would mirror it. He didn't, but his lips creased a little, so it was a start; "Or, we could ask someone for directions?"

"As long as it isn't someone from the Circle, right?" Aedan mused. Talia gave him a sideways look, trying to figure out if he was being considerate or if he had actually regained enough humanity to make a joke. It seemed to be the former, for which she felt glad but would have preferred him to have regained his sense of humor. She'd only had half a day to find out about it at Highever before… those things happened.

"If we can avoid them… how about that guy over there?" Talia said, pointing at a soldier obviously trying (and obviously failing) to charm a female soldier. The woman didn't seem to think much of the guy, even when he argued that 'tonight might be their last night alive'. Talia fought against the laugh threatening to burst out when the soldier simply scoffed and left the man in the dust.

"Oh well, dunno what she's missing out on." The man said, shrugging as he turned to notice Talia and Aedan looking at him; "Well what dayaknow, the camp seems full of beautiful young women today."

"Are you sure we shouldn't just run?" Talia whispered to Aedan as the man, archer by the looks of his equipment, sauntered towards them. Before Aedan could reply, the archer spoke again;

"Name's Daveth. Archer extraordinaire, Warden Recruit and appreciator of the wonders of Thedas, hereby meant lovely ladies and good food. And who might the two of you be, to approach me?" Daveth said, his jovial tone and easy smile doing a good job of making up for Talia's initial slight repulsion at his chamber-talk. Her expression became a worried frown as she processed his words;

"Wait- _You_ are a Warden Recruit?" She exclaimed, trying to justify Duncan recruiting this guy. Maybe he really _was_ an extraordinary archer, but other than that, she couldn't see it.

"Indeed I am, fair lady. I almost take it by you obviously being a mage without ties to the Circle that, if I may say so, you are as well? I don't believe I caught your name, by the way." Daveth smiled again. Talia found herself in the odd position that she was unsure if Daveth was flirting with _her_ or Aedan. He definitely seemed to throw enough gazes both ways. _Ferelden is messed up…_

"Talia Aulus."

"Aedan Cousland. Are you one of the two other recruits here?" Aedan asked. Talia herself was still somehow hoping this guy wasn't a recruit, as Grey Wardens were supposed be… more 'Warden'-ish. Daveth looked like a criminal from the streets.

"Cousland? Aren't you bugger the high 'n mighty folks in Highever? How'd Duncan ever talk them into sending you here?" Daveth's friendly grin faded as he seemed to notice the pained expression on Aedan's face; "Hey… ehm, listen if it's because they dumped some third-born or…"

"My parents are dead. I'm one of the last Couslands alive, thank you for asking." Aedan bit out. Daveth seemed to almost blanch, if only because he actually didn't seem capable of being horrified.

"Shite…I… I'm sorry, I won't bring it up again." Daveth muttered. Talia sighed and stood between the two boys before something happened; "If you're looking for Dela or Alistair, I think I saw them heading for one of them mages from the tower, up there."

Talia and Aedan nodded and started off for Daveth's directions, before Talia took a step back and whispered to the archer;

"Thanks Daveth. Listen, it's not your fault, just… don't talk too much to Aedan right now." She said. Daveth nodded and winked at her;

"Gotcha, Talia. Nice meeting the two of you, 'spite the shit with the Couslands." Talia nodded and ran to catch up with Aedan as he headed up a ramp, past an armorer.

They found a meeting to be taking place in one of the ruined circles, with an older mage talking to a soldier with wild, short red-blond hair.

"What is it now? Haven't the Grey Wardens asked enough of the Circle?" The mage said in a clearly exasperated and annoyed tone. The soldier just smiled politely;

"I merely came to deliver a message from revered mother, Ser mage. She desires your presence." He said, obviously doing his best to keep a straight face. Aedan's hand stopped Talia from interrupting. Looking at his face, Talia could see he was just as curious as she.

"What her Reverence _desires_ is of no concern to me. I am busy helping the Wardens -on the king's order, I might add." The grumpy mage stated. The young soldier smiled. Clearly, he was close to cracking a laugh.

"Should I have asked her to write a note?" Talia's mouth started moving, trying to ask herself out loud if the young soldier had just joked around with his religious leaders. The expression on Aedan's face revealed he thought much the same.

"Tell her, I will _not_ be harassed in this manner!" The mage exclaimed, seemingly trying to waft away a fly with his hand.

"Yes. I was harassing you by delivering a message."

"Your glibness does you no credit."

"Here I thought we were getting along so well…" The young soldier said in a mock-hurt tone. Talia's hand went to her mouth to stop the laugh trying to escape; "I was even going to name one of my children after you… the grumpy one."

Aedan coughed in shock and sucked in his breath when the mage sent a discarding glare at them both. Talia did much the same and rolled her eyes when the mage almost threw a fit;

"Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must. But do not think this is forgotten, Warden." The mage turned and stomped towards Talia and Aedan, showing no signs of waiting for them to move; "Get out of my way, fools."

They obliged, though Talia managed to trip the mage as he stormed past them, causing him to stumble and flail all the way down the ramp before stopping himself by grapping an eerily calm mage standing by the tents. He sent a glare towards them, but scoffed and moved on. _So. Worth it._

The Warden, and now both knew this was Alistair, noticed them and smiled friendly as he walked towards them. Talia couldn't help but notice his nose. It was_ very_ special, in the way it almost seemed to resemble a beak, like an eagle. Just… not so much 'tear through flesh'-ish.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." Alistair said with a witty smile. Talia's 'lunatic' sense was slightly heightened when a man described an army of Darkness as a good way of bringing people together.

"Sorry… what?"

"It's like a party. We could all stand circle and hold hands. _That_ would give the Darkspawn something to think about." Alistair grinned, then seemed to finally regain sense and sensibility; "Wait… we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose the two of you are mages?"

"Ehm…" Aedan muttered, looking between himself and Talia. Talia returned the wondering glance he sent her, shrugging before letting _him_ handle the maybe-crazy Alistair; "Well, Talia is… I'm not."

"Really? You don't look like a mage?" Alistair said; "I mean… ehm, how… how interesting."

"The whole 'robes' thing didn't give me away?" Talia mused, sensing Alistair's awkwardness. It was oddly entertaining.

"Oh, I _do_ know who you are. Duncan's recruits from the north, right? One Circle-mage and…" Alistair trailed off at Aedan; "Knight from Highever? Sir Gilmore, was it?"

Talia managed to stop herself from palming her face, though Aedan clearly didn't have that kind of restraint. It wasn't nearly as funny though, when she saw the pained expression in his eyes. Apparently, Gilmore had been a friend to Aedan. She decided to speak before he started a fight with Alistair;

"Talia Aulus, and Aedan Cousland. You're Alistair, right?" Alistair's eyes seemed to light up at Aedan's name;

"Oh, so Duncan recruited the Teyrn's son. I bet this means we can have twice the cheese, what with your noble discounts and all. They still count, right?" Talia breathed a sigh as Aedan muttered a long string of prayers for strength under his breath;

"You're a very strange man, Alistair." She said, trying to see if it would cause a reaction. Alistair just nodded and smiled;

"Mmmm, that's what they tell me. Well, as the Junior member of the Order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

"The Joining?" Aedan asked, eyebrows lifted in curiosity. Alistair did a small shake of his head;

"Sorry, can't tell you about it. Warden hush-hush and all."

"Ah…" Aedan muttered.

"So I'm curious. Have you ever actually encountered Darkspawn before?" Alistair asked. Aedan shook his head while Talia made a small frown;

"Does fighting the undead warriors of your friend's ancestors count?" She asked with an innocent, curious expression. Time to see if she could get under Alistair's skin as well. He _did_ look slightly surprised, and took a moment to reply;

"I…don't think so, no…Why would your friend's ancestors try to kill you?" to which Talia merely shrugged;

"Long story... So, have _you_ ever encountered Darkspawn?" Here, Alistair grew serious. The playful light vanished from his eyes;

"I have. When I first fought one, I wasn't prepared for just how monstrous it was. I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering another..." Alistair said, then took a breath before returning to a bit less moody demeanor; "Anyhow, let's get back to Duncan. I'm sure he's eager to get things started."

"Wait, we were supposed to meet another recruit. Dela, I think it was." Aedan said. Blast, that one had slipped her mind. Alistair nodded;

"She's a bit of a one-of-a-kind, if you ask me. She's from Orzammar, Casteless, so… don't ask too much about her past. Tends to get uncomfortable. Also, don't ask about the tattoos." Talia frowned at that last one. She glanced at Aedan's tattoos, even as he did the same. _What's wrong with tattoos? Aedan's look good. Or, he looks good and they… Piss._

Regardless of the fact that she still found Aedan very attractive, Talia felt she had no right to do anything about it. She was part of the reason Oriana and Oren were dead, she felt. Even if it wasn't true, the feeling was hard to let go of. And Aedan probably wanted nothing to do with her on thát personal a level. Not after that night.

"A dwarf then? Huh… I imagined the other recruit was some burly swordsman. Then again, what swordsman would be named 'Dela'?" Aedan mused as they walked towards the bonfire. Duncan was there, waiting with a low-cut person. Talia, who had been too deep in thought to hear what Aedan said, frowned in confusion when she saw the small, armored form. _Okay, so maybe elves look like kids here… but thát is definitely not an adult._

Duncan looked up and greeted them when the trio, joined by Daveth who had come out of _nowhere,_ stopped at the bonfire. Talia outright stared at the small woman, because it _bloody was_ a woman, and didn't even realize that she did it in plain view.

"Talia?" Duncan asked. She snapped up and looked around, suddenly aware that everyone was looking at her.

"Why's that girl looking at me like that? Never seen a Duster before?" The armored, (and small, Talia couldn't leave out small) woman asked. It looked like someone had put armor on a goblin. Of course, the woman was much less ugly than a goblin. Dark braids covered most of her head, leaving just the face free, as well as a strange tattoo on her cheek.

"I…what's a Duster?" Talia blurted out. She could hear Daveth smack his forehead behind her. She knew it was him, because he started cursing with a city-ish string of words she was more or less sure neither Alistair nor Aedan knew. Or, she _hoped _neither knew.

_"Casteless_ dwarf, genius. Hey, I'm Dela. You two new faces gotta be the poor nugs Duncan went north for. Circle mage and…warrior-something, right?" Dela pondered as she obviously examined Talia and Aedan; "No… probably not Circle. Your clothes don't look like you're getting ready for a Noble party."

"I'm not sure if that was a complement or…Wait, _you're_ a _DWARF_? As in a _Dwemer!?"_ Talia exclaimed as the pieces fell together. Dela looked confused and surprised, and stared at Talia for a moment before examining her hands, both clad in heavy gauntlets of some black metal;

"I… think so. Dwarf at least. Never heard you humans call us "Dwemer" before. Slur or something?"

"But… but… _but_ you're so…" Talia struggled with the words. There was no way in Stendarr's arse this woman's people could have built Mzulft and the other Dwarven ruins beneath Tamriel.

"Female?" Dela suggested. It was clear she was too confused to be snarky. Which was good, because the rest of the party seemed more or less ready to smack their faces in exasperation; "Gorgeous? Lacking a beard?"

_"…small."_ Talia managed to breathe out after being all red in the face for an entire minute through Dela's suggestions. The dwarf seemed to lose her air as the obvious was pointed out.

"Hence the name 'Dwarf', I'd say." Daveth chuckled. Talia didn't even bother sending him a glare.

"What, you expected me to be ten six feet, girl?" Dela mused. At Talia's numb nod, Dela's mouth formed a small; "…oh."

* * *

**Yep, I replaced Ser Jory. Never really got the guy, what with his whole "I am afraid of Darkspawn" one moment, then the next "I only fear what I cannot engage with my blade." Still, I suppose he was honorable enough, just unlucky that Duncan picked him. **


	8. Into the Wilds

_And so is the Golden City blackened_

_With each step you take in my Hall._

_Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting._

_You have brought Sin to Heaven_

_And doom upon all the world._

-Threnodies 8:13

* * *

**Into the Wilds**

* * *

"Wait, what?" Alistair said, probably unsure he had even caught Talia's words. Talia wasn't paying attention to him though, as her entire mental capacity was boggled with trying to figure out if Duncan had her on or something. There was no way _that_ woman, Dela, was a _Dwemer._

"I'm what?" Dela exclaimed, her expression back from stunned. Now it was closer to annoyed than anything. Talia still hardly noticed. Dwemer were supposed to be clad in armor of Dwarven metal, directing automatons or constructing gigantic cities of metal and stone beneath the ground. Not… _Not this!_

_"…Are_ you even a Dwemer?" Talia more or less pleaded. On one hand, she was desperate to meet a Dwemer, a real,_ live_ Dwemer. It would be the absolute culmination on everything she had ever worked on that didn't involve magic. Every book she had ever read in her free time had been about the Dwemer, and Duncan had said this place had Dwarves. If it wasn't because Dela herself had used the word "dwarf", maybe Talia wouldn't be at her wits' end.

As things stood though, Dela had indeed described herself as a "Casteless _Dwarf",_ which meant that either two _continents_ had their own uses of the word 'dwarf', or history had been severely pulled by its leg considering the impressions Talia had gotten as to how Dwemer looked.

"…No?" Dela tried, looking for help between the rest of the human in the group. Seeing none, the Duster looked back at Talia, who was by now pulling her braids out of frustration; "What's a Dwemer?"

"…I hate you, Duncan. You're a mean man." Talia muttered to the Warden-Commander, then looked back at Dela; "Listen, it… I was wrong. Just, where I come from, Dwemer and Dwarf means a long-gone civilization of great architects and engineers." _So they probably do live in caves after all. _

"...Well, if we can move past this rather awkward start…" Duncan said, running a hand through his beard; "I assume, now that you are all here, that you're quite ready to begin preparations for your Joining."

"Which I still wanna know what is." Talia huffed, taking a step away from Dela. Probably best to get some distance after _that_ screw-up.

"Of course, only if Alistair is finished riling up the mages?" Duncan's words were pointed at the poor man standing next to him. He just got an easy smile in return;

"What can I say? The Revered mother ambushed me. The way she wields guilt, they should stick her in the army."

"Is she a healer?" Talia asked. Most priests and priestesses she knew of were capable of healing, so it wasn't even a dumb question. Of course, it didn't seem like that sentiment was shared;

"Not really, no." Daveth mused.

"You will have two tasks, for your initiation." Duncan started; "You'll be heading into the Kokari Wilds, where you'll need to fill four vials of Darkspawn blood. One for each recruit. Then, you'll also need to find an old Warden archive in the Wilds. It has recently come to my attention, that when the archive was abandoned, important scrolls were left behind."

Talia picked up on the 'scrolls' part, but her excitement died when she processed Duncan's words. There was no way an old archive would hold the scrolls needed for them to return home. And besides, she wasn't going anywhere until she found Brelyna and J'zargo. Even if she had to travel across the damnable continent to track them down.

"The Kokari Wilds… why does that sound so damn familiar?" Talia muttered. There was _something_ about that name that rung a bell, but she just couldn't place it. Figures, she finally knew something, and her mentally challenged mind kept her from remembering.

"According to the First Enchanter, that is where the templars found your group, Talia." Duncan said. The mage almost fell on her ass at that. They were all the way back here? Had she really been hauled across the land twice now? Piss, if it wasn't annoying how people yanked her around without a damn map. Then again, Duncan knew she had wanted to escape, and she already sort of_ did_ have the horse-part down.

"So, that means there's a chance they'll be somewhere out there?" She asked, hopeful that her friends would turn out to be close. Then, came the tug at her heart. What was she even going to say when she found them? _Hey guys. Those men who caught us killed Onmund in a sick ritual while I was snoring on a bed? _

It would probably be less emotionally horrible to just jump off a cliff.

"I doubt it. If they did escape, they would be far away by now. If not…" Duncan trailed off. Him not saying more only added to the fear in Talia's heart. That her friends were dead. It was supposed to be impossible, she knew. J'zargo was an arrogant ass, but he was a _bad_ass when the chips were down. And Brelyna… who on Nirn would ever harm that girl? _Templars, obviously…_

"Alistair. I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can." Duncan said. Alistair nodded and looked to the rest of the group, while Duncan watched not unlike a tutor examining his pupil's behavior.

"Alright, everybody get that?" Alistair asked, looking at the group. Talia huffed and shifted her feet as she realized she was the only mage in the group. She'd hoped she wouldn't be, as her reserves were drained fairly quickly in constant use. And she had a nagging feeling that her abilities would soon see a lot of use. Still…

"What's so important about those scrolls?" Aedan asked, beating her to it. Again, she wasn't all too beat up about it, considering every word he said was a victory won over Howe's treason. It meant he was healing, if slowly.

"They are old treaties, compelling the other races of Ferelden to assist the Grey Wardens against a Blight. With the state of things now, we need them more than ever." Duncan explained. Ah, that _would_ make a lot of sense. And, it wouldn't really hurt to have a lot of races backing up the Grey Wardens.

"What's the blood for, though?" She asked. The fact that they would be draining their enemies of blood wasn't as unsettling as the fact that Duncan wanted them to bring it back. Some macabre token, maybe? Duncan's eyes went sad for just long enough that Talia caught it, then reverted back to his normal 'stoic and unbeatable' look;

"It's a vital part of the Joining. I'll tell you more when you return with the vials."

"Fine." Talia resigned, blowing away a strand of hair from her nose. Wrinkling at it would just be _too_ awkward when around Aedan. And a lot of others, of course; "Vials of blood and scrolls. Got it."

"Then watch over your charges, Alistair. I have full confidence you're going to fulfill your tasks." Duncan dismissed them. Alistair, being the leader, took point towards the exit leading towards the forests stretching beyond. As they passed the armorer, Talia stopped and looked at the man there.

Then, she hurried off towards him. Aedan was the only one to even notice she'd left, and had Alistair slow down. Talia, in the meantime, was bartering with the armorer to repair her hood. If he made armor, it should be evident he could fix her clothes too, right?

The armorer seemed annoyed at being disturbed. He was in the process of verbally chewing out an elven messenger, though Talia didn't know what for. Didn't matter, she wasn't there to play friend to every person she came across. Instead, she waited brushed past the elf and straight up to the man in charge.

"The hell do you want, can't you see I'm busy?" Yep. He was pissed. Still, Talia wasn't to blame, and as such she didn't care much more than that.

"My hood got ripped by an arrow. Can you fix it?" She said, holding out the piece of clothing for the man to inspect. He took a look at it, eyes narrowing in thought before he simply scoffed;

"Get out of here, girl. I'm not about to waste my time fixing your _clothes."_ Talia wanted to kick him between his legs for the tone, but kept up a friendly mask. Had to, or she'd end up hoodless. Instead, she plucked a Septim from her satchel and held it up;

"I can pay for it." At that, the man's eyes seemed to change. Likely, it was the promise of money that did it. Figures, greed was always easy to find in the world, no matter the country. Still, it would mean her hood was fixed, so moral wasn't important; "It's gold."

"The hell kind of coin is that? Not a Sovereign, I can tell that much."

"It's a Septim, it's- Listen, it's pissing _gold_, alright?"

"I don't care what it is. I don't have the tools to melt down gold, and I can't use that there in shops. Keep your shiny coin, and your hood." He said in a very not-kind tone; "Now get the hell out of my store, I have business to attend to."

"What was that all about?" Aedan asked as she resumed her place with the group. Talia bristled and briefly considered snapping at Aedan, then thought better of it and sighed;

"My hood got ripped back in Highever. I wanted it fixed because the enchantment only really works when it's intact and on my head." She said. There was no way in Oblivion she was having some mage help her with it, because that would mean having to return to the Circle's people. Something she'd rather pet a Skeever than do. Still, she was proud of herself. She had completely refrained from planting her foot in the man's balls, however satisfying it would have been.

"I see." Aedan hummed, tapping a finger on the hilt of his sword, the very same sword he'd received from the guards back at the castle. They walked towards the exit in silence after that, the only interruption being when Turk started playing around with a small group of other Mabari near people known as "Ash warriors", though Talia didn't get an explanation for the name. Alistair seemed more or less determined to march them all off as quickly as possible, which could be blamed on the waning sunlight.

As the group neared the gate, Talia cursed. Something, which Aedan picked up on as the only one. Dela did too, but didn't seem to pay it any mind;

"Piss and Blast…"

"What?" Aedan said as Alistair marched them past the gate, and out into the start of the Wilds. Talia huffed, holding up her hands;

"I just remembered that I had a pair of enchanted gauntlets back at the College. _That'_s why my magic ran dry so quickly." She really felt like kicking her own shin at that realization. In fact, it should have come to her the moment she touched something with her naked fingers. _But of cooooooourse I had to be all 'oh, what is this place, oh, how_ good_ I didn't hit the statue. Piss…_

"Gauntlets?" Aedan seemed surprised. Talia didn't really blame him for it, since a lot of people didn't expect someone like her to play around with enchantments. Mainly because it required the soul of something alive to enchant weapons or assorted gear. _Wasn't there some rule that one could never steal the soul of a human or an elf because it's abhorrent? _

"Just because I'm a mage doesn't mean I just wear robes, you know… I had some gauntlets of steel, meant to help my regeneration of magica, but…" Talia sighed; "They are on my bed-side table, in the Hall of Attainment, back at the College…" Probably right next to the troll-skull. Why was that _thing_ even in the dormitory of an adolescent?

She owed steel-cuffed boots too, but they were stuffed away in the wardrobe. Probably. Talia hadn't really dressed to kill or be killed when Tolfdir called for an excursion. _Akatosh, next I'll forget my robes altogether._

But _gods_, it was annoying to be stuck without her proper gear. Why hadn't that even come to mind earlier? _Right… Onmund died, met handsome noble, treason…Those things._

"For some reason, I'm not all that surprised." Aedan mused as they walked the paths through the forests, his armored boots making heavy, soft thuds in the ground where they left deep footprints. Talia's own boots left comparably shallow imprints. Yet another thing her footwear wasn't meant for.

"That I forgot my gear back home before a scroll misfired and shot me across the… wherever Thedas actually is in relation to Tamriel?" She muttered, stuffing her hands inside the folds of her robes. When that didn't keep out the cold, she opted to simply rubbing her palms with fire. It worked, and helped her build some better reserves simply by using magic.

"Now that there's a neat trick." Daveth commented. His own hands were busy checking the end of an arrow as he walked. Aedan blew a puff, though he lacked the hair to make the gesture meaningful, like when Talia did it.

"Actually it's more the part with you wearing armor, that I'm not surprised at." Aedan admitted. He still hadn't really smiled, but sometimes Talia had gotten him close enough that his lips would crease. It was a start. She sighed in something akin to defeat, though she didn't really know why;

"Yeah… Oakflesh is about the only spell from Alteration I know how to cast, and it only goes so far to keep my skin intact." Talia said, rubbing her hands. The flames constantly streaming were starting to be felt in her reserves, but on the level she was making use of, it was little more than a prickle.

"Alteration? Like what?" Aedan said as they rounded a bend, and the path started taking a turn downwards, while also losing the dense trees all around them. Talia extinguished the flames and focused. It took some mind-bending, going from two almost opposite schools of magic. Still, she wasn't a newbie at this stuff.

Her hands flared briefly with the green energy, before it dissipated from her palms and instead coated her entire body beneath the robes. It was always the weirdest sensation, when her skin, like the name implied, practically went from soft human to hard tree. And yet, she kept the flexibility. Ah, magic. It really was awesome at times. Aedan just stared, most likely because she gained a faint, green glow when the spell took effect.

"You look… green?" He tried. Talia smiled, taking it as praise. And also as a funny reminder of Brelyna's more or less failed experiment a few months back. Though she had to admit, failed or not; being a horse certainly gave her a new insight on what went on inside those cretin's heads. Mainly, it was how uncomfortable the floor was beneath her, and how scary the blue well in the center of the dormitory suddenly became.

She reached a hand towards Aedan, suddenly feeling a little awkward about her actions;

"You can feel my skin, if… you want. I mean." She offered with a low voice, trying to avoid someone else from the group hearing her. Aedan touched the back of her wrist with his finger, tentatively at first. When he seemed to note the odd texture, his entire hand tried feeling for itself. There was very little in the way of her actually feeling his touch, awkward as it was, since her skin now had the strength of wood. _Wait… how did this…_

Talia was suddenly aware that Daveth was looking, and smirking, at them both, and thus she retracted the hand fast enough that Aedan almost fell in surprise. She hardly noticed his surprise though, as her mind was split between Daveth's intrusion, and figuring out why she had even started with the whole 'touch Aedan' thing. First thing first, though.

She sent the archer a mean glare.

She wanted to maybe kick him in the butt for making her feel awkward, but was interrupted when Alistair shouted in alarm, while also drawing his sword from its sheath. Aedan did the same and moved up next to him, probably even without being able to _see_ any threat. They could all _hear_ it though.

"Great… _wolves."_ Talia muttered. Snapping her palm open with the purple energies of Oblivion, she summoned Two-Sock out from his rest. She didn't even know if he _was_ resting when not with her, but that was so far besides the point that she didn't care for it.

"Mak- what is that?" Alistair yelped in a slightly undignified response to suddenly seeing the ethereal Familiar standing guard next to Talia. She just smirked in turn, enjoying the awkward reactions Two-Sock garnered. The wolf in question stood guard by her side the moment it was summoned, bristling with the hairs on its back standing.

"Two-Sock." Talia said quickly. She could hear other canines now, growling, howling and yelping somewhere up ahead. _That doesn't sound like just one of them…_

Alistair seemed like he would have wanted to inquire more, but the fact that Talia, from her spot at the back could now see the wolves as well, meant they were too close for him to lose focus. She counted at least ten of them, a rather large pack. If there was _one_ point in the recruit's favor though, it was that the sloping path was narrow, with a steep hill on one side, and a just as steep decline on the other. The wolves would have to come at them from only one direction.

"Daveth, take the hilltop!" Alistair called. Talia's eyes tried following Daveth as the archer seemed to shift through the group and onto the small outcropping on the left side of the slope, allowing him an advantage of height. That was about all the attention Talia offered him, as she instead started moving to the left as well, making use of the fact that where the path widened just before the slope, there was enough room for her to stand.

The pack of wolves running towards the recruits, teeth bared and black fur bristling in the wind, were struck before they even reached their goal.

One, the leader of the pack and the largest of the animals, found an arrow planted in its eyeball. The metallic tip and shaft bored through the delicate eye, penetrated the thin bone that was the socket, and pierced the animal's brain. It died before it even hit the ground, tumbling forward from the momentum it had built.

Behind it, the rest of the pack reacted to the kill with animalistic outrage, howling and snarling even more as they charged forward. Furry ears turned on the run, trying to figure out why the sound of fire was coming closer with far greater speed than they themselves were running.

Those contemplations, however intelligent they were for wolves, were interrupted when bolts of loose fire impacted two of the wolves closest to the edge. The unnatural flames immediately burned away the fur, then the skin of the animals before reaching the flesh beneath. Each animal howled and yelped and whined in agony as their bodies were set ablaze, fire eating through their flesh and organs with no stopping it. One mis-stepped in panic, and fell down the side of the slope.

It didn't get back up.

The other struck tumbled into its running packmate, spreading the fire before succumbing to the flames itself. As the nerves, and by extension its brain simply gave out from the pain, the animal gave a last, agonized whine before crashing to the ground, already with its ribs bared and boiling organs falling from their places.

"Two down!" Talia declared, already busy sending a fresh pair of flaming bolts at the animals.

Daveth only replied by shooting a wolf in its body, tumbling the animal in its tracks. After that, the pack reached the recruits. While Two-Sock was hesitant about leaving her side, Turk instantly took the opportunity for blood, and charged the front-most wolf with, his powerful jaws opened wide. Alistair was right next to the Mabari, as was Aedan, both swinging downwards, their blades cutting through the skin of the wolves. Though they did not kill as intended, the injured animals attempted to run away. Oddly enough, both found a dwarven dagger suddenly cutting tendons, then slicing throats.

As the pack thinned, it became clear to the animals that the fight would end badly. Those capable of doing so, ran, leaving their wounded to be killed. Which they were, as Turk tore the throat from the last one alive. His mouth came out bloody and with bits of fur stuck between his teeth, but with a lolling tongue despite it all.

Two-Sock was only better than that because he allowed the blood and bits to simply pass through deliberately, offering a proud bark that he had kept Talia safe. She rewarded him the only way one really could with a companion that required neither rest nor food; a scratching behind his ears. Two-Sock simply lolled his tongue and looked, sans the ethereality, like a completely normal, happy hound.

"Okay… so, can I ask what _this_ is?" Alistair said, stepping closer to Two-Sock. Talia huffed, having expected people to ask questions when they saw strange, new magic. Or just magic in general; "Because I am fairly sure I'm seeing a wolf-ghost getting a scratch. Or, did I just hit my head?"

Talia couldn't help but giggle, obscenely girly in her eyes, at his awkwardness and odd sense of humor. Alistair seemed a decent man, even if he was apparently goofy.

"Seems like Conjuration isn't really that known here in Ferelden, huh?" Talia asked instead of answering. Alistair looked briefly confused before he managed to process the words;

"Huh… Didn't realize there was a kind of magic like that. Funny, how things turn out. So… what exactly _is_ this… wolf?" Alistair didn't seem certain of his own words, and Talia smirked before she gave Two-Sock a final pat and allowed him to touch snouts with Turk. She didn't answer immediately, instead waiting until Alistair seemed to give up and lead the group down the slope.

"Not a wolf, per se." She started; "Two-Sock is my Familiar. You could say he's a part of my soul, yet also something I wrought from Oblivion."

"Oblivion sounds all ominous and dark." Daveth commented; "Never heard of it."

"I guess you haven't spent much time around Tamrielans then." Talia replied, smirking at her own little bit of mysterious air. Except for Dela and Aedan, the group stared at her in confusion. Aedan, because he already knew a bit, and Dela… Talia didn't know why Dela didn't seem to care. The small woman (and Talia still couldn't get herself to call her a dwarf. Dwarves were supposed to construct automatons and metal cities underground, not small, rouge-ish people) simply glanced at Two-Sock, shrugged and picked her blades clean for fur and blood.

"Riiiiight, because that made so much more sense." Alistair said sarcastically, sheathing his own blade. He still kept the shield though, and Talia noticed it seemed little more than wood with hide covering it, whereas Aedan's shield was iron. Funny, how people chose weapons; "Aedan, know anything about that?"

"I'm not telling on her, Ser Warden." Aedan said, offering a sincerely apologetic answer. Talia could still see the truth in his eyes though, that he was secretly enjoying the mysteriousness as well, and- when had she started knowing his thoughts? _Piss, I can't do that- be with him is- Just shut up, brain._

"Just 'Alistair' will be fine. Alright, time is running. Let's find ourselves some Darkspawn, shall we?" Their leader said, rolling his shoulders as they progressed across the marshy ground. For minutes, they walked through shallow waters and sunken ruins, many of them striking Talia as oddly familiar.

Her mind was trying to figure out what was the cause, when their group took a turn, and came upon what looked like a wrecked battlefield. Dead humans, as well as a horse lying with its belly cut open, "decorated" the only patch of land leading through the marshy waters. No one spoke, as each thought his and hers. It wasn't until Talia spotted one of the supposedly "dead" men moving, that her mind's gears started spinning again.

"Darkspawn, probably…" Alistair muttered, even as Talia knelt beside the wounded man. He had the same armor that all the other soldiers in the camp had, which meant he was one of the king's men. Why were they even out here?

"Help…Fi-finally…" The soldier groaned, clutching his side as he lay.

_Didn't matter_. He was bleeding, but most of it was from superficial injuries. Her hands felt over the man, uncaring if it looked odd. Talia wasn't a good healer, not even a mediocre one, but she could still feel and sense what injuries the man had. _Odd… I haven't seen this kind of infection before…not here at least…_

There was something in his blood, like a poison. Most of it seemed to stem from a nasty scratch he had acquired in the side, where his hand was clutching. Without bothering to ask permission, Talia pried his hand from the wound. _Well…Piss…_

The skin was torn beneath the mangled splintmail, and the wound itself was yellow and blue, swollen with infection. She'd only seen this type of wound once or twice before, when there were well-detailed pictures of wounds sustained from a confrontation with those damn Chaurus's. The poison went into the bloodstream and would start dissolving a person from the inside. But, there was more at work here. This, obviously, wasn't the work of a chaurus. There was the tint of magic there as well.

"What did this, and how?" She said, trying to make her voice as gentle as possible. There were dark rings beneath the man's eyes, and he was sweating profusely. He was running a high fever, that much was certain. _Piss that I'm out of anything I could make a potion from…_

It just seemed her luck.

"Darkspawn… big- big one. It ripped right through-gnh… my armor." This wasn't really anything she could do something about. Not long-term at least. But, she could seal the wounds, help the body fight whatever infection it was. _It'll have to do…_

"Lie still, and if you start yelling, I'll _hit_ you." The man nodded fervently, both panic and relief in his eyes. Really though, healing only hurt the healer, if anyone. And it was only because she sucked at it.

Talia closed her eyes, forcing her usually destructive energies to change into those of creation. Warmth spread through her body as the initial reaction was to heal herself. She forced it down, channeling it into her hands. She still had the ruptures from last time, when it had been Ser Gilmore, so the pain was less intense when the crossing energies ripped open her skin. _Still hurts like a bitch though…_

She ignored the surprised gasps or comments from the group as she closed the man's injuries, including the ones she couldn't even see. Being untrained, the energies pretty much washed over whatever part of the man needing healing, with the effect that the healing went slowly and slugish. Talia found it sort-of amusing that healing a few wounds tasked her far harder than killing a score of armored soldiers.

"There. Piss off back to camp now before you drop dead." She muttered, slumping down on the ground. Undignified or not, she needed to sit. The soldier, looking like he'd seen a Divine, or whatever these people saw as a protector aside from their Maker, got to his feet and started stumbling back the way their own party had come.

"That was…impressive." Dela mused; "Didn't take you for a healer." To which Talia just held up her bleeding fingers;

"Am _not._ Proper healers don't hurt themselves when healing. He's still dying, some sort of infection, but he should be able to make it back to camp on his own." She scoffed, panting; "Piss, that took more out of me than I thought."

"A bit harsh, wasn't it?" Aedan asked, looking after the soldier as he vanished around the bend of the path; "He's probably more scared of you than the Darkspawn now."

"You try ripping open your own fingers before pouring your life-energy into someone else, see how _you_ feel _then_." She bit out, washing the blood from her hands in the shallow waters. While Aedan seemed to consider her words, Talia healed up her own wounds. _That_ at least, she could do easily.

"I've seen a few mages in my time…Not meaning I'm _old_ or anything…" Alistair said; "But thát kind of healing right there… is new to me."

"Does make a pretty light-show, though." Daveth added, smiling. He seemed to be constantly in a good mood, even while cleaning his own arrows in the water. For some reason, it brought to mind the book Brelyna had been wanting to buy from Enthir, the "Art of summoned weapons" or something. It was all far above her own level, so the interest had never really been there.

"So…" Talia said as she stood; "what now?"

"Well, we're still only in the outskirts of the Wilds. We should see if we can't find a band of Darkspawn first." Alistair explained.

"You almost sound like they'll just waltz up to us." Dela quirked, cleaning a nail with the tip of her dagger. Alistair merely shrugged;

"Who knows, they might volunteer to donate blood and we can all go our separate ways happy."

"Yeah…" Aedan said, looking at the dead soldiers; "I don't really hold my breath on that one."

Again, Alistair merely shrugged as he took the lead, taking care to say a prayer for each dead soldier they came across. Talia didn't particularly _like_ horses, but the frothing covering the dead horse's face meant it had been alive while its guts were pulled out. She averted her eyes at the realization. _Bastards…_

The group marched on through the marches, encountering no life but a stray wolf, which made itself scarce when Talia hurled a bolt of lightning at its feet. The way it whimpered and ran with its tail between its legs made her proud that Two-Sock was infinitely more brave. And petable. Because he totally was, which was just all the more reason to take notice from him when the wolf suddenly stopped and growled.

Turk mirrored him almost instantly, revealing something that seemed to be a planned ambush. It failed now, obviously, as the dogs discovered the attackers, but what suddenly stormed from the bushes still caught Talia's breath in her throat. _By Namira! What the Piss are those?!_

Five humanoid creatures, at first almost looking like deceased orcs walking, were closing in on them, keeping their distance once close and instead opting to stare down the recruits. Talia's hands were ablaze before the creatures even came close, ready to kill them with fire. And plenty of it.

"Darkspawn. Keep calm, and be ready." Alistair said, his voice even and collected enough that Talia would have suspected he had somehow noticed the Darkspawn before Two-Sock, had she herself not been occupied with trying to avoid attacking out of instinct. Just was, usually when undead-looking things with swords were running at you, it meant bad news.

Only two seemed to appear human, with their figures being almost like a muscled man. The difference, and gods was there a difference, was that their eyes were orange slits, their skin rotten and their mouths filled with sharp teeth. _So, now… I think I get why Alistair didn't like fighting these guys. _

Still, Draugrs were _far_ more disgusting, not to mention scary. These looked more like undead thralls of humans and orcs, though the orc-ish ones were almost as tiny as Dela. "Genlocks" then? Seemed like it would be the only ones small enough to be.

The apparent leader took off towards the Wardens, and got a bolt of flame in his roaring mouth for the trouble. Surprisingly, it didn't kill him, as much as it threw him on his ass. Talia's violent thrill was short-lived though, as the leader, armored in something almost reminding her of a yellow Chaurus's chitins, jumped back on his feet. The rest of the Darkspawns engaged as well, with the smaller variants making use of bows instead. Figures, that they'd cheat. Still, Talia's attention was solely fixated on the leader, who was running at her with a brutalized face, hungry for blood. _Kill it with fire! Kill it with fire!_ Her mind screamed, even as the freak came too close for her bolts to be effective.

Two-Sock leapt at it, his fangs chewing into the creature's throat. The Familiar brought it down, though he was thrown off when the leader instead punched the wolf in the snout with a spiked gauntlet. Two-Sock dematerialized with a whimper, and Talia's eyes burned with rage.

_"BASTARD! NO_ _ONE_ HITS MY HOUND!" She screamed, pouring fire as she ran. It didn't even occur to her that she was just a second away from being impaled, instead simply grounding her teeth as she kicked the abominable bastard in the leg, just where the knee-joint was. Supernatural monster or not, bone was bone, and bone snapped out of place when kicked sideways. The Darkspawn snarled in anger, swiping at her with the long, serrated blade in its hand. Talia punched downwards, stunning its wrist with a hit to the upper arm. It didn't make the monster drop its blade, or even stop, but it did cause it to miss her head, instead bashing her face with its thick, muscled arm.

She kicked again, snapping the other knee out of place, effectively forcing the creature to its knees. Again, she kicked and threw it to the ground. She didn't even feel the claws racking the back of her leg, simply ignoring the pain over the wrath. The fight ended when she punched the Darkspawn in the face, grabbed it and released the flames up close. Skin, fat and even bone was burned away at the sheer intensity, leaving the headless Darkspawn dead on the ground.

* * *

**I think I'm falling in love with Talia's character. She's so much fun to write, especially when keeping people in the dark on purpose.**


	9. Foreign Magic

Those who had sought to claim  
Heaven by violence destroyed it. What was  
Golden and pure turned black.  
Those who had once been mage-lords,  
The brightest of their age,  
Were no longer men, but monsters

_-Threnodies 12:1_

* * *

**Foreign Magic**

* * *

Odd. The skies had moved a lot closer than before. Also, the skies now seemed to be made of wood and hanging clothes. That was even more odd. Of course, nothing could really measure up in oddity to the fact that they had been picked up by a giant bird. Why were there giant birds in Cyrodiil?

Brelyna didn't understand a whole lot of what was going on now, what with the headache still plaguing her mind. It wasn't nice, not even close actually. Still, someone had at least put her in a bed, and there was a nice sheet covering her as well. So, she was with nice people, or maybe they were at an inn, and she had just forgotten about it all. Strange. Really strange.

Though it probably meant Talia was somewhere nearby, getting drunk. Likely with one of the boys.

With a groan she didn't bother hiding, Brelyna sat up in the bed and looked around. The first thing she saw was that she was alone in the room. Or, actually that wasn't true. She heard him before she saw J'zargo, sleeping in a bed just next to hers. Why hadn't she noticed him before? He was missing his robes, at least the ones covering his chest, where instead thick bandages covered most of what she could see. Had it been Onmund, Brelyna admitted to herself, she might have blushed at seeing her classmate uncovered. Dunmer were a lot less liberal with how and when they loosened their clothes. As a result, before she even managed to ponder over how cute and fuzzy her usually brash and slightly arrogant classmate was (because he just looked like a sleeping pet-able fur-thing) Brelyna then noticed something else, quite to her horror.

She herself was in a state of more or less undress. Her robes were all but removed, leaving only her thinnest, grey garments covering her smallclothes. She suppressed the 'eep' of panic, but didn't waste a second's hesitation or thought before diving beneath the rough spun covers already hiding most of her body. _Azura! Why am- where are my clothes?!_

Where on Nirn was she, that people had seen fit to remove her clothes, and _who_ had even done it? She couldn't imagine Talia having done it. She liked the Breton, but sometimes the older girl really seemed afraid of touching others. Brelyna briefly contemplated if maybe Onmund had done it, and blushed until her skin turned almost purple, before she remembered that J'zargo had grabbed her when some strange soldiers attacked them. He hadn't… J'zargo _hadn't _seen her without- The thought alone almost made her want to die. But it _did_ make her want to crawl into a hole. Or maybe just give the Khajiit a what-for.

"So, you are awake at last, girl." A voice said. It was a woman, Brelyna could tell that much before she even saw her. There was something _strange_ to her accent, like she spoke slowly on purpose. When Brelyna saw her, it was as if her own state of undress was more or less made irrelevant.

"Wh- where? What?" The girl, or woman, the age was hard to tell, was leaning against one of the beams by the wall, her chest covered almost only by a piece of crimson fabric hanging from her neck. Brelyna tore her eyes from the sight, enrapturing as it unsettlingly so was.

"Fear not I suppose, since you likely do. You and your cat-friend are safe, and in no danger of being left for the Templars." And why was she speaking so odd? It was like she reversed her own words before talking. Strange. And what was 'templars'?

"Ehm… Hello?" Brelyna tried meekly. Her head was spinning and even keeping her eyes open was proving more difficult than it should have been.

"You are what they call a Dunmer, are you not?" The older girl asked. She had something of the same glint in her eyes that Brelyna remembered seeing in Talia's eyes from time to time. It almost seemed like this girl, sans skin-coloration and obviously different origin, could have been related to the Breton girl.

"Yes, my name is Brelyna Maryon… Where are we?"

"T'is my bed, which you are sleeping in, thus this, is my home. You are a long way from home, Maryon." There was an air of detachment around the girl as well, now that Brelyna thought about it. Still, with their location somewhat disclosed, she had more pressing issues on mind before anything else.

"What happened to J'zargo?" She asked, looking at where the Khajiit was sleeping. Luckily, there didn't seem to be any blood on the bandages, but their presence alone was enough to unsettle her.

"Mother found you both passed out, right next to a dead bear. What happened, I know not, but _his_ claws were bloodied. One would almost think he fought the bear, idiotic as the notion is." The girl said. Brelyna wished she knew her name, but the surprise at what she had been told took her too much aback to process her own ignorance on the older girl. J'zargo had fought a _bear_?

She knew the Khajiit was nearly fearless, plus he was arrogant, boisterous and didn't want to accept help in any form when it would require him to admit to it. But to have fought an actual bear? Surely there had to be another way things had happened. J'zargo could easily outrun a bear, she knew that. So why by the House would he have endangered himself against a bear? It didn't make sense.

"Who… who are you?" She asked after a minute of silence, most of it spent trying to figure out if J'zargo really had his ego so far up his behind that he would take on a bear.

"My name is Morrigan. That is all you need to know for now." So, she wasn't the most friendly then? Pity, Brelyna liked meeting new people, and their probable savior should be one of them.

"Morrigan? Do you know what happened to my other two friends? Talia and Onmund?" She asked meekly, afraid that she was going to be told the most horrible news. Morrigan's expression was merely curious;

"Mother only returned with the two of you, so I do not know. Were they mages as well?"

"Yes. Though I doubt you could find two more different people." Brelyna admitted. She did feel a little victorious as well, though. She'd managed to make Morrigan interested; "Onmund is kind and he's always so calm and in control of what he's doing. Talia is… a bit less so."

"What are you doing so far from Tamriel?" Morrigan's question made Brelyna's mind flare into alarm. _So far from… Where are we?!_

"What do you mean?" She demanded, a tone people rarely heard from her. That didn't matter anymore. J'zargo was injured and now this Morrigan-woman said they were _away_ from Tamriel? Had she landed them as far away as the Summerset Isles? _Oh Azura…_

"I only mean that Thedas would seem an odd destination for mages. The authorities here do not share your homeland's look on magic." Morrigan seemed amused at the contemplation. Brelyna was less so; "T'is slightly less… amiable, one could say."

Brelyna resisted the urge curse. She _never_ cursed. Cursing was for people who preferred to employ violence over smarts, or people who just liked violence as a solution. On that note: What had happened to Talia and Onmund?

She hoped they were okay.

* * *

"NO ONE!"

She kicked the dead body of the Darkspawn;

"_Fucks_!"

She kicked it again, even as adrenaline was starting to wear off.

"With my Familiar!"

She kicked it one last time, then slumped to the ground. She didn't even care to take notice of her surroundings, instead just glaring at the dead creature before her. _That's a rule now: "Don't. Fuck. With Talia." or Two-Sock, for that matter, but that's the same thing here._

As the adrenaline faded, she started noticing something warm on her left leg. She winced when touching it, and her hand came back slick with blood. Talia's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in confusion as she pulled up her robes around her leg. A large, nasty gash was breaking the skin behind her shin, leaving multiple, thin streams of blood running down her leg and into her boot. _Piss, when did _this_ happen?_

"Well, that was fun." Daveth commented, accepting an empty vial from Alistair. Aedan got one as well, before the Junior Warden turned to Talia. She ignored the startled look on his face when he saw the blood. It was nothing but a gash, even she could heal that on her own person.

"Talia, are you injured?" Alistair said, his voice carrying just a note of worry. She scoffed at his dumb question;

"No, I am just checking my blood-pressure." She mocked, dipping her finger in the thin stream of liquid; "Yep, seems my heart works just fine, and no blockage in my veins."

"Talia?" Aedan said, his voice much more concerned than Alistair's. In a way, she liked hearing that, though she knew it was a dirty reasoning. And morally wrong, too; "What happened?"

"Bastard hurt Two-Sock." She said shortly, turning her attention back to the gash. It seemed to be infected, though she wasn't quite sure how. Still, all infections she had ever suffered had one thing in common, and a thing that her family in particular had never had issues with: they could be staunched by fire.

Aedan knelt next to her, looking at the wound, then the dead Darkspawn. Its head was spread open like a macabre flower, something Talia hadn't notice until now;

"I meant, what happened to _you_?" He clarified, his tone more than a little impatient. And worried. There was definitely worry there too.

"I killed him, but he cut my leg. Or scratched it. Didn't really notice what happened..." She explained, then added at his worried expression; "Please, I've healed myself before, and from way worse injuries."

"Might wanna cauterize it first, you know." Dela cut in, more or less invading Talia's private space; "I've heard what happens to people cut by the Darkspawn. Usually, it takes a full day or so, but the taint seems to spread from any injury you get."

Talia frowned at that. So, the blade was poisoned with the same stuff she had sensed in the soldier before? In a way, it made sense, though she had thought the danger was in the creature's claws, what with how the man's wounds were clearly from claws and not a blade. _Piss…typical, really. Sure, there's not a poisonous animal around, so let's all make up for it by sticking both weapons and hands in poison._

She blew a waft ofhair away from her face, flickering a small candlelight to life on the tip of her finger. This was probably going to hurt;

"If I scream, _none_ of you tell people back at camp. _Got it_?" She growled. She didn't wait for them to nod, though, and went straight ahead with the disinfection.

Gods, it was painful. Mage or not, fire was fire. And burning herself on purpose was not something Talia often did, so she was unaccustomed to the pain. The small flame licked her wound, causing the blood and puss from the infected wound to hiss as it evaporated.

"AKATOSH ON THE FUCK-!" Tali started to yell, but was stopped when Aedan's hand clambered over her mouth. It stopped her noise, but in the pain, she instinctively bit down into his palm. Lot of good that did her, considering his gauntlet's leathery palms. He didn't relent though, and his other hand instead took her burning finger, guiding it across her injury while her own senses started blurring from the pain.

"Easy. Easy…" He said, trying to hush her. Talia pressed her eyes shut, tears spilling out as she screamed in her mind. _FUCKING EASY FOR YOU TO SAY!_

"Ffpphiing eaay oouuaayyy!" She yelled into his gauntlet. Still, she was conscious enough to keep the small flame burning until Aedan lifted her hand away. The pain throbbed and burned, but started waning after a minute or so, leaving Talia panting, sweat running down her forehead as she leaned on Aedan.

He held her gently, giving her the time she needed to rest. It probably helped that his was a comforting presence to be held by, even if his armor was covered in black blood. Talia's own robes weren't much better. Plus, her robe-leg was sort of torn. And there was the rift in her robes where one of Howe's men had cut her. Honestly, at this pace she might as well invest in thread and needle. Seemed like she would need it.

"…_ow_." She muttered after biting down the urge to yell and curse. She lifted herself off Aedan and started bathing herself in the golden light. _Gods... so much better._

"Mages. You people are freaking weird sometimes. Or maybe it's just a human thing." Dela muttered, cleaning her blades by scraping them against the dead monster, one of the Genlocks.

"Not a human thing." Talia argued as she finished healing herself; "I know Khajiit are much more messed up in the head. Or, it's really just J'zargo." She admitted, sighing at the reminder. She wondered, where by Nirn the cat was. And just as much, where Brelyna was.

"Riiiiight, because that made sense to all of us." Alistair mused, tapping the pommel of his sword; "Anyway, why don't you fill your vial?"

"My what?" Talia asked, confused until she saw the small glass-vial in Alistair's hand, then the ones held by the others, already filled with black blood; "Right, the blood-thing."

She accepted the vial and looked at the dead Darkspawn. Killing something was one thing, but then having to take its blood was… strange. It felt wrong, even when it was something looking so inherently evil. Still, she bit down and poked the vial into the bleeding flesh. It was unnaturally cold for something only just dead, and the sensation sent a shiver down her spine. This was just plain disgusting. It was almost like draining the bone marrow from a Draugr, something she had never been capable of making herself do. It just seemed so wrong to take the dead's substance. Dead humans, at least.

Vial filled with black ichor, she plugged the small opening and handed it back to Alistair. He turned it away, explaining that each recruit should carry his or her own vial.

"Fine…" but she hated putting the foul-smelling vial down between her belongings in the satchel. Hopefully, the lavenders would help on the smell a little; "Where to now?"

"Well…" Alistair said, scratching his short-haired head; "Just a mile that way, uphill."

"Just like that? You're not even looking at a map." Dela said, looking in the direction Alistair was pointing. Talia noticed the (not)Dwarf woman was right, and that Alistair hadn't even looked at a map for the entire time they were in the forest. _Maybe Grey Wardens are more than meets the eye?_

"Well, Grey Wardens just know stuff like that. Handy, huh?" He said, giving the woman an easy smile. Talia looked at Dela, trying to figure out the small "Duster's" personality. Both Aedan and Daveth had been easy to discern, and Alistair was obviously an honest, if naïve and brave sort. Dela though, gave her pause.

Instead of commenting, Talia merely followed suit as Alistair led them north through the marsh. More and more ruins decorated the marsh, and eventually the land started becoming strangely familiar again. It wasn't until they were heading more uphill, that Talia's eyes widened and locked onto a large, broken dome of stone halfway buried in the marsh.

She stopped with a suddenness that made Daveth bump into her, causing the archer to nearly choke on his whistling. How people could be so calm and easygoing usually baffled her, but now Talia's mind was otherwise occupied.

"_That_ Dome!" She exclaimed, pointing at the ruin with enough force that small sparks were visible, playing around her fingertip; "I have _seen_ that dome before."

Alistair stopped the group, since they seemed to be in no real hurry, and looked at the ruined dome as well. He scratched his head and looked at Talia, then the dome, and then to Aedan for an explanation. When the young noble shrugged, the Junior Warden looked back at Talia;

"Ah, yeah… wait, you have?" He asked, disbelief just evident in his voice; "When? I'm pretty sure Duncan didn't take _this_ route back to Ostagar, and there sure isn't a Circle tower around here, unless I'm missing something. Usually am, so it's possible."

"Talia? Is this where…" Aedan started, trailing off as she looked him in the eye. At least _someone_ had been paying attention, she huffed at the thought. She knew damn well that Aedan was the only one around to have even _heard_ her story, so the annoyance was illogical. Instead, she nodded; "I never realized it was _these _ruins you meant."

"Well it is. Are. They _are_ the ruins. This means… that we arrived only _this_ short a distance from Ostagar? _Pissing_ Templars…"She growled, biting her lip. The rest of the party, sans Aedan, looked at her in confusion, though Dela seemed to be simply curious instead of actually interested.

"Hello, my name is Alistair. This is Dela, and Daveth. We're here too, kinda, so…" Alistair said, looking somewhere between offended and shy, though with the same humorous expression on his face. Talia just happened to not care. This was too important to waste time explaining.

"Look out for a statue, one of that woman married to your Maker." She ordered more than requested. Alistair frowned, seemingly uncertain of how to react. Good, keep him that way.

"Andraste?" He suggested. Ah, that was the name.

"Yes, her. The Maker's bride, right?" Talia said, not even caring that she was possibly (and quite probably) insulting Alistair by being so causal about his god, or was it in plural? She couldn't figure their pantheon out, not with a supposed "one" god, while they also worshipped a mortal woman. _Piss, this doesn't even matter. _

In truth, she wasn't really sure what she wanted with the stature. Confirmation, maybe? It would help, she thought, finding the place she started. Maybe bring some perspective?

"Riiiiight. I didn't realize they didn't teach this in the Circle. You know, about the Maker and Andraste?" Alistair sighed, rubbing his forehead. Talia huffed, while Dela seemed to find the whole scene more than just a little entertaining.

"Heh, never realized humans knew less about the whole Maker-thing than me." Talia sent the woman an evil glare, convening 'Suck a Horker' with her eyes. Dela only seemed to find _that_ even funnier. _Piss, this isn't a mission. It's a lethal trip with brainless fools. Well, and Aedan, I suppose…_

"Shut up…" She muttered, marching past the other recruits. Alistair had already pointed out the direction, so she saw no reason to stay idle. Finding the statue wouldn't make a difference, she knew, but it would still have been a way of tying up a loose end. Sort of.

The blast of flame impacting and exploding on the ground before her feet, carried Talia through the air before she hit the ground hard. The air was knocked out of her, and as she landed on her left shoulder, Talia could feel it dislocating. The pain was more or less numbed though, by the daze over her mind.

The skies were all she could see, even as she just registered the others running past her, towards more Darkspawn probably. Her back hurt, but the fact that she could feel it, and her feet, meant she wasn't paralyzed or anything. Good. She had no idea if she could heal being paralyzed.

"…Ow." She groaned as her breath returned to her, together with the pain in her shoulder; "Ow...ow, ow, OW! PISS!"

"Talia, you with us?" Daveth's voice came from somewhere above her, out of sight. She turned her head, suddenly seeing the archer as he was firing arrow after arrow at a rather impressive rate. He fired one last arrow, then knelt down and propped her up. Talia yelped in pain as the dislodged shoulder was disturbed, something Daveth picked up on; "You got banged up there, eh?"

She looked ahead as the archer propped her up. At the top of the hill, Aedan, Alistair and Dela were busy carving a path through a lot more Darkspawn than the small ambush they'd fought earlier. It seemed like they were handling themselves just fine, until one of the Darkspawns at the top of the hill threw a fireball at them. Talia's eyes widened in fear as she saw Alistair stumble backwards, but Aedan being completely thrown off his feet, tumbling down the hill. Dela suddenly was nowhere to be seen.

But her focus was on Aedan. _No, no no no no. Not another one. Not him._

Aedan came to a noisy stop a dozen feet away, and Talia, biting through the pain in her shoulder, hobbled to where he lay. Hobbled? Huh, seemed like her ankle was hurt as well, though she couldn't care less. She didn't _want_ to get to Aedan. She _needed_ to get to him. Onmund was dead. Brelyna and J'zargo were both lost and gone, maybe even dead as well, and if Aedan now died too, Talia didn't know what she would even do.

But it didn't matter worth shit. Because Aedan wasn't going to die. She wouldn't allow him to die. She forbid it, even as a small amount of relief found her. Aedan was getting back on his feet, if groggily, picking up his sword as she reached him.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, beating her to it. She wanted to hit him, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Didn't matter.

"Me? You just fell do- Are _you_ hurt?" Talia cut herself off, trying to gauge if his limbs were bending the wrong way, or if he was bleeding.

"No, I'm fine." He stated, taking off on a run towards the fight. Alistair was, amazingly, holding his own against three of the humanoid Darkspawn, managing to both parry and swipe at them without getting murdered. As Talia ran, she healed herself the best she could on the run, but achieved little more than numbing the pain in her ankle. Her left shoulder was still more or less useless.

"Great. That's good. Piss, Of_ course_ the cretins have mages. Even Draugrs do, so why not these guys?" She huffed in frustration as she skirted sideways instead of straight ahead.

Heads on would be dumb, seeing how a single arrow could find her then. Running, she snapped up her right hand and threw Two-Sock into existence. The Familiar came into being at a run, teeth bared as he leapt at the Darkspawn. Talia kept skirting, throwing out bolts of fire with her one working hand. She focused on the Darkspawn mage, standing out like a sore thumb due to its staff and feathered head-garments.

And the Darkspawn mage focused on her in turn, dispelling the flame bolt by whacking it away with its staff. Talia growled, spinning around to avoid the fast sphere of energy traveling towards her. It still hit her though, leaving a scorch mark on her robes. Talia silently thanked Magnus that the enchantments on her robes worked, as she really rather not fought naked.

She "cooked" the bolt in her hand before hurling it at the Darkspawn. Once more, it simply swatted her attack aside, snarling at her as they fought, sending attacks above the rest of the group. Talia wanted Two-Sock to take the mage's attention away, but the Familiar was keeping Aedan safe, taking down the Darkspawn getting to the noble's back. She didn't want to remove that net of safety. Still, the bolts of energy flung _at her_ hurt, enchanted robes or not. It felt like being hit with a cudgel every time a bolt connected, and every bolt did. _Piss, might as well try._

Forcing up her left arm, Talia called upon a spell she hadn't bothered using since Tolfdir's very first lesson with them. As with the other aspects of Restoration, she had never spent much time trying to get better at it, and as a result, the ward she threw up was flimsy at best.

It _did_ still block the next bolt, aimed at her chest, and allowed her to send out one last bolt of fire herself. Then, her reserves were just about done for, and the ward drained her remaining magica faster than she could end the spell.

The Darkspawn mage laughed, an _evil_ laugh, and swung its staff again, fire burning at the end of it. It was cut short though.

Most likely by the arrow sticking out of its forehead.

The mage groaned, then slumped to the ground. Dead as a toenail. Talia had never understood _that_ particular Nord expression, but it was what it was. Daveth had saved her ass. Probably. She could have found a way to beat the thing anyway. Still, Daveth _was_ indeed a skilled archer when he could make that kind of shot.

Talia panted, looking at the fight taking place. She was too exhausted, not to mention utterly drained, to even attempt joining the fight. Not that she had to, though. Aedan and Alistair, as well as the two canines with them and the not-Dwarf were cutting down the few remaining Darkspawn. Dela jumped onto the chest of one, burying both her daggers in its body before yanking a hatchet from Arkay knew where, splitting open the skull with a clean chop. She rode the Darkspawn to the ground, pulling free the axe as the momentum sent her running. Somehow, there was a new Darkspawn in her way, its back turned as it was battling Aedan.

Said back was then perforated with a pair of _new_ knives, before the spine was split with the hatchet. Alistair and Turk brought down the last of the creatures together, ending the fight.

It was odd, how silent everything was right after a fight. Just before, creatures had tried their best to kill her, and now all Talia could hear was the panting of her companions, the clatter of armor and the slowly returning birdsong.

"Well. Nothing like a brush with death..." She sighed, dispelling Two-Sock, after a good ear scratching of course, to conserve a bit of magica. It helped, but not much. Still, it was enough that she could start working on her ankle, which was still sprained. And hurt. The shoulder hurt too, but the ability to walk would take priority here.

"To make you not like death much?" Alistair suggested, smiling with a bit of pride as he looked at the group; "Gotta say, I'm impressed so far."

"What, because we're not dead?" Talia grunted as her tissue healed. The feeling was nowhere near as unpleasant as healing others, instead feeling a bit more like standing in the sun. Only, just with her foot. It was strange, yes, but if it felt strange, but worked, it wasn't strange. Colette's golden rule, that one.

"More because no one started screaming 'oh no, monsters' while we fought. Even hardened soldiers fear the Darkspawn, you know."

"So Students of Winterhold are more badass than your soldiers?" Talia smirked, but it turned into a frown of pain as she moved her shoulder. The sharp stab of pain made Aedan frown with obvious, and cute, concern; "Figures…need a moment."

"Talia? Are you hurt?" Aedan said, moving closer with clear worry. Talia just forced a smile out through her teeth. It _did_ hurt, but no reason for him to worry. He shouldn't have to in the first place. It was funny, in a way. Talia realized this now, when her body hurt and Aedan was concerned for her, that maybe she wasn't so much to blame in the end. For Highever, that was. True, if she had just been quiet, they might have heard the sounds of fighting earlier than they did, but… on the other hand. Had she never been there, Aedan might have been asleep and Howe's men would have killed _him_ too. _Aedra, I hate my mind sometimes._

"Please, I took on Draugrs beneath Saarthal. This…" Talia huffed, biting down on her lip as she instinctively moved her left arm. It hurt a lot; "Is nothing really. I'm fine."

Aedan looked like he wanted to speak, maybe speak against her claim, but he held his tongue and looked down instead. Talia knew what he was probably thinking, that he was sick of the way she played tough. Well, she _was_ tough, so he could stuff that line of thought.

"Hey Alistair?" Dela's voice came from somewhere up ahead. Alistair, who was still next to Aedan, Turk and Talia, turned to look at the woman. Talia groaned. _Okay, fine. Let's just call her a Dwarf._

"Yes, what?"

"Those scrolls, were they supposed to be in some sort of chest? I hope not, 'cause it's kinda broken and empty." The way Alistair's head spun, made Talia almost worry he would get a whiplash from it. Instead, the Warden ran towards the dwarf faster than a human should be capable of. Talia didn't really mind, not now at least. Her ankle was healed again, but the shoulder was a bit more difficult.

"Ready to walk?" Aedan asked in a low tone, still seemingly worried about her. Talia punched him on the shoulder, but regretted it immediately when she delivered the punch with her left fist. _Ow._

"Suppose. Let's see what's wrong." Talia got up and rolled her right shoulder, not stopping the flow of healing energy. It was starting to become unstable, as her reserves were drained, but her body wasn't going to deteriorate just because she stopped the healing. She wasn't even _bleeding_, for Mara's sake.

As it turned out, what was wrong was that Alistair and Dela, plus a more or less confused Daveth, were standing above the broken remains of an old chest. It almost looked like something had smashed the container with a club the size of what giants used. Then again, giants were peaceful, why'd they attack a chest?

It spoke of the mild delirium the pain was giving her, that Talia didn't even notice the almost naked girl at the top of a ramp in the corner of the ruin. To her credit though, she almost didn't flinch when the girl spoke;

"What have we here?" The girl asked, obviously amused; "Are you a vulture? A scavenger, poking amidst the bones of a corpse long-since picked clean?"

"Well…This is new." Talia muttered under her breath. She didn't fail to notice that those in the group who widened their eyes the most, were also the ones classified as 'male'. Figures, really. Men always thought with the little head, amazing as it was that mother had been right.

"Or are you merely an intruder? Coming into these Darkspawn-filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?"

"Wouldn't call them Darkspawn "easy"" Daveth commented, complete with air-quotations. Talia blew a huff of annoyance that their task was now going to be interrupted by some forest-living witch. Because it was fairly obvious that the girl was a witch. Not a mage, but a witch. There was a stark difference between the two, that most people didn't think extended further than one living indoors, the other in the forest.

"What are you, hmmm? Scavenger or intruder?"

"We're neither, you know. The Grey Wardens once owned this tower." Alistair said, stepping forward. The girl scoffed at his words;

"T'is a tower no longer. The Wilds have obviously claimed this desiccated corpse. I have watched your progress for quite some time now. 'Where do they go?' I wondered 'Why are they here?'" The girl said, walking through their group with little care for whom was in her way, until she stood on the debris, looking over the rest of the marshes; "And now, here you are, disturbing ashes left untouched for so long. Why is that?"

"Don't answer her, she looks Chasind. That means others could be nearby." Alistair said in a low voice.

"Oh, you fear barbarians may swoop down upon you?" The girl asked, obviously making fun of Alistair. Talia decided she didn't like the girl, but approved of her sense of humor. It was enough to make her lips crack a small grin.

"Yes… Swooping is bad."

"She's a witch of the Wilds, she is. She'll turn us into toads." Daveth hissed, for once seemingly frightened. Talia wanted to tell the man that there was no magic that could turn a person into a toad, though there were Daedric powers capable of doing so. Or, wait. Did Brelyna's experiment not do almost that exact thing with her?

"Witch of the Wilds?" The girl asked, in slow, patronizing tones; "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no mind of your own? You there, mage. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized."

It suddenly struck Talia that the girl was talking to her, and she snapped out of her self-healing attempt, instead looking at the witch. Would it be terribly dumb to tell the witch her name? By all rights, Talia knew of no magic that could ensnare you by only your name. Then again, she hadn't known of any simple spell to drain a mage of power with a simple clap. Ferelden had… many surprises.

"Talia." She said, deciding not to reveal her surnames. She'd given one name, and that would have to suffice. A flash of something passed over the other girl's face, though it vanished even quicker again.

"See? We can be civil, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan." Morrigan said, crossing her arms before her chest; "Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest. Something that is there no longer, hmm?"

"'There no longer'? Did you steal them? You _did_ steal them! You're some kind of… sneaky… witch thief." Alistair exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Morrigan. She merely snorted, and did it completely dignified too, before looking at the rest of the group;

"How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite _easily_, it seems." Alistair pressed, his voice hard as stone; "Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them."

Talia looked from Alistair to Morrigan, trying to figure out _where_ on Nirn she could be hiding them. If she even had them, that was. It wasn't as if a person living in the forests would have much use for treaties, and besides, there were _nowhere_ she could be hiding them, sans maybe…_No. Nope, nope, nope, Not going there. If she's hiding the scrolls down there, she can bleeding keep them._

"I will not, for it was no I who removed them. Invoke a name that has no meaning here any longer if you wish. I am not threatened." It wasn't all that hard to find out that just about every word Morrigan said to Alistair bore some level of mocking or contempt, though Talia wasn't entirely sure why. True, he accused her of stealing, but Morrigan hadn't really done a great job of appearing innocent. Talia though, was starting to feel a headache coming, and she wasn't interested in sticking around for the entire day.

"Then who _did_ remove them?" She groaned, rubbing her temples.

"T'was my mother, in fact."

"So… take us to her, maybe?" Talia suggested, trying her best not to sound pissy. Truth was, she _was_ pissy. Because she had a headache that just wouldn't go away. Probably something from the infection earlier she hadn't managed to clean out completely. Piss as it was, she'd just have to heal herself the best she could, then see if the healers back at camp actually were worth their salt.

"Now there's a sensible request. I like you." Morrigan said, her voice oddly _kind_ when she spoke. Talia felt slightly unnerved by the compliment. Something, it seemed, Alistair shared;

"I'd be careful if I were you." Alistair whispered; "First it's 'I like you', then _zap_, frog-time." To which Talia shrugged. She wasn't _that_ worried, mainly because she believed herself capable of freeing herself from something like that.

"Hey, I've already been a horse, a dog and a cow. Frog wouldn't be that big a change." She offered, giving the slightly(maybe) older man a confident smile. Alistair just blinked and started trying to form words. Nothing came though, and he seemed in the end to just decide upon being quiet.

"She'll put us all in a pot, she will. Just you see." Daveth panicked, though he seemed like he was trying to suppress it. Talia scoffed, a little annoyed at the archer's ignorance on that account;

"Daveth… human flesh has almost _no_ alchemic properties." She said. It wasn't true, as human flesh was said to be a good component in a magica-potion, but no need for him to know that; "I also don't think she's a cannibal. So calm your piss down."

"Follow me then, if it pleases you." Morrigan said. Without waiting for them to speak, she turned and started walking. Talia looked at the others, trying to figure out if they were going to follow or not. Her shoulder was no longer giving her an absolute hell, but at least her thrumming headache made up for it.

Yay

* * *

"We've been walking for _hours_ now. Do surfacers normally do this much walking?" Dela complained. With those short legs of hers, Talia could see the problem.

"We've only been walking for half 'n hour, Dela." Daveth said, adjusting his bow over his shoulder. Talia didn't really bother getting involved in the dwarf's complaining, so she let it be. Instead, she focused on healing her headache, which was still beating her temples like a drum on skin.

"You try walking in heavy armor with my short legs. See how you feel then."

"Which is why I stick to being light and nimble, you know?" Daveth grinned. The fright from earlier seemed to have evaporated at some point, and it honestly helped his behavior that he wasn't constantly scared of being turned into a toad. The idea of such a spell _was _tempting though, Talia had to admit that.

"Yeah, yeah. At least I don't have to run away when one of those Emissaries turn up. Immunity for the win, right here." Dela proclaimed, thumbing her chest. That _did_ make Talia curious though;

"Immunity to what?"

"Magic, of course. Dwarves have no connection with what you humans call the Fade, so we don't get to dream like you do. As a bonus, no demons ever come for us, and magic doesn't really do a much of a thing." Dela bragged. Talia hummed, unsure if she was ready to believe that Dela, just because she was a Dwarf and didn't dream (also, what the hell was sleeping anyway if you couldn't dream?), was immune to magic.

"Feel like proving that to me?" Talia inquired, igniting a bolt of fire in her left hand, now useable again. Dela smirked, but shook her head;

"Sorry girl, but now ain't really the time. Tell you what, you can try it out when we've tried that Joining-thing. Also… just so you know, the immunity is really just a saying. Just that_ most_ times, the spells don't work on us. Dunno why." Talia just smirked and nodded. She hadn't for a moment believed that there really was such a thing as a complete resistance to magic. Even the legendary Dragonskin of the Breton people wasn't perfect.

Her attention, as they walked through old, ruined gates, was drawn to a headless statue of Andraste, standing a silent guard near the marsh. As the group continued to walk, an old, and odd house came into view.

* * *

**I think we all know what's about to happen. Not sure it will be very pleasant for any involved mage, what with news and all, but then again, when has something ever been pleasant when dealing with a Blight?**


	10. The Blood that binds

The one who repents, who has faith,  
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,  
She shall know true peace.

_-Transfigurations 10:1_**  
**

* * *

**The Blood that Binds**

* * *

"Greetings, Mother. I bring before you five Grey Wardens." Morrigan said, extending her hand towards Talia and the others. Turk, who hadn't been mentioned, gave an indignant bark to make sure people knew he was there too. Talia narrowed her eyes as she looked at Morrigan's "Mother". Sure as Hell wasn't because there was a big similarity between the two witches.

"I see, child. Hmm… much as I expected." Morrigan's mother mused. Talia groaned, as did Alistair. She'd had more than enough of fortunetellers from her one visit to Whiterun with that Lilith-woman who claimed to know people's futures. Of course, she demanded an outrageous price and constantly bragged about how well standing she was. It had been about the only time Talia had wanted to punch an old lady in the face.

"Are we supposed to believe you expected us, now?" Alistair said.

"You are required to do nothing, boy, lets of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide. Either way, one's a fool" The old woman said. Talia pulled on her braids, trying to stop the groan from surfacing. _Just get the scrolls and let's get out of here before she turns out to be a Hagraven or something._

"She's a witch, I tell you. We shouldn't be talking to her." Daveth hissed, taking a step backwards before Dela punched him in the waist, the highest place she could reach, and made him stop.

"Shut it, Daveth. If she's really a witch, I don't see why you wanna piss her off." The dwarf said, hands idly touching her knives. Morrigan's mother chuckled. Or cackled. It really was more of a cackle;

"There's a smart girl. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decide. Believe what you will." Morrigan's mother, as of yet unnamed which annoyed Talia, said. Then, the old crow turned to Talia; "And what of you? Does your magical insight give you a different viewpoint, or do you believe as your comrades do?"

"I am not stupid, if that's what you're saying." Talia huffed. She might have come up with a better response, had her headache not decided to return almost as soon as it had been banished.

"Stupid, is refusing to accept new truths, or is it refusing to see the old ones? I can never remember." The old woman said, chuckling again; "So much about you is uncertain, Talia, and yet I believe. Do I? Why, yes I do."

"So… _this_ is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?" Alistair asked, amused from the sound of his voice. Talia didn't really care though, as she was trying to figure out how the old crone knew her name. She certainly hadn't told her, and Morrigan hadn't said it while they were there. A magical mind-link, maybe? Magic did seem to have different workings in Ferelden than in Tamriel, nigh-impossible as the thought was. J'zargo had once said that magic was the same everywhere, a statement Talia had believed true. But now? Now she wasn't so certain.

"Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that. She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon." Morrigan's mother said, finishing her sentence with a throaty cackle. Morrigan seemed more than a little embarrassed, and palmed her forehead;

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother."

"True. They came for their treaties, yes? And before you begin barking, your precious seals wore off long ago. I have protected them." Morrigan's mother said, almost proudly. Alistair seemed to be taken aback at that;

"You-!...Oh… you, protected them?"

"And why not? Take these to your Grey Wardens, and tell them this Blight is a bigger threat than they realize."

"And… just how do you know this?" Talia found herself asking. It wasn't on purpose, but the question was sound enough.

"Tell me, girl. Look at me. What do you see?" The question came so suddenly that Talia nearly ripped off her braid in surprise. She stuffed it behind her ear and looked at the old woman; "Not a Hagraven, I do hope."

"Funny, that was actually my-… Wait…" Talia's eyes widened. Morrigan's mother_ knew_ about Hagravens? Then, she knew about Tamriel? Was there actually a chance that the so far most batty old nut they'd come across would be the first person to have decent geographical knowledge? "How… do you know about… _How_ did you know my name?"

"Oh, do not look so alarmed, girl. Not all of us are so bound to the earth that we do not see what goes on beyond the ocean."

"Who _are_ you?" Talia gawked. Her mind was racing the speed of a Saber cat, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Morrigan's mother sure wasn't a normal woman, or even a normal witch, that was for certain.

"Oh yes, I have not introduced myself, have I? Why, it seems I haven't. The people of this land calls me by many names, names _you_ would not know. You may call me Flemeth, though, if you so desire." Flemeth mused, her wrinkled eyes shining with entertainment. The name didn't ring any bells.

"Sorry, doesn't ring any bells. But, how did you know my name?"

"Oh, a little bird sang." Flemeth mused; "Morrigan, child. Would you ask our guest to bring the scrolls out?"

Morrigan nodded, though she looked mildly annoyed at having been demoted to a messenger. Talia wasn't sure if she really cared that there were more witches around. She still wanted to know just how Flemeth knew what she did, since no one else in this blasted country seemed to know about Tamriel, or even the Divines. One would thing some of the Aedra would be a little annoyed at having been replaced with an omnipotent "Maker", but if so, they didn't seem to care enough to change things. Or, maybe this "Blight" was Namira's way of getting back on Thedas. _Do Divines "hire" each other for jobs?_

"The timid one, mother?" Morrigan said, hand on the door. Flemeth merely nodded, and Morrigan disappeared into the house. Talia turned back to Flemeth, many more questions on her mind.

"Flemeth, do you know what Tamriel is?" She tried. She honestly didn't really expect a yes, since everyone else in the blasted hole they called "Ferelden" seemed adamant nothing existed outside of their own continent. Instead, Flemeth cackled;

"Do I? Why, it seems I do know. I have spent some years there, after all." The old woman laughed. Talia was torn between taking a step back from the obviously half-mad woman, and taking a step forward to press her question. She ended up standing still. A compromise, of sorts.

"Do you know where it is? From here, I mean. I haven't been able to find a map, and no one…" She gestured vaguely at the group; "…seems to know _what_ it even is."

"Oh girl, you do know how to brighten an old woman's day. You yourself know where Tamriel is from here, you just don't know." Flemeth mused. Talia blinked, trying to figure out if she was developing a bad hearing, or if what Flemeth just said was utter gibberish. She decided on the latter. Before she managed to ask again though, the door to Morrigan and Flemeth's house opened.

And Talia's heart skipped a beat.

There. Right there, in the doorway. In all her red-eyed and grey-skinned glory and adorableness, with her hood down to display her own dark buns of hair, was Brelyna. The Dunmer stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Talia, and for what seemed an eternity, no one spoke. Then.

"…Talia?" Brelyna was the first to speak, sounding as if she was unsure what she saw. Whatever she was going to say after that didn't matter, as she didn't have a chance to say it. Talia abandoned any notion of dignity, and flung herself at her friend, ending up tackling her to the ground.

"Divines! Divines, thank you! Thank you!" Talia didn't care for appearances, and cried as she held Brelyna. The divines had actually _listened _to her prayers. They had _listened_! And now she had Brelyna. She had her best friend right here. Alive. Unharmed and perfectly safe.

"Talia. Talia! I can't- can't breathe. Please, you- are- crushing me!" Brelyna choked out. Talia realized she was clutching Brelyna far too fiercely, and relented a little. But, only a little. She couldn't speak. She couldn't say how relieved, how grateful to the Divines she was, that her friend was alive and safe.

"Well… this is unexpected." Alistair muttered from behind them. Talia didn't even bother acknowledging his presence at the moment though. She was holding Brelyna, and Brelyna was, more or less confused, holding her as well. Talia's eyes were wet with tears as she pressed herself against Brelyna. If the Dunmer had an issue with it, she didn't show it, and simply allowed Talia to rest her head on her shoulders.

Talia was probably making a fool of herself, but right now, she couldn't care less. It was only after a full minute of crying her eyes out, that she managed to regain the ability to think, and even then it took a while for her mouth and sore throat to work again.

"…_Where…_How?" Talia fumbled for the words. She noticed with a little shame that she'd managed to completely mess up Brelyna's hair. She wiped her eyes and sat up, not caring in the slightest that the ground was wet and dirtied her robes.

"I am… honestly not sure myself." Brelyna said, smiling even with her hair now in tangles and covering a bit of her face; "I lost consciousness after the attack, and woke up here."

"And… and J'zargo?" Talia's joy over seeing her friend-thought-lost, was now slightly replaced with dread. Had J'zargo been killed, or was he here too?

"He's asleep." Brelyna said, smiling; "Morrigan told me he fought a bear. Can you imagine?"

"Odd as… it sounds. Yeah. I can totally imagine him fighting a bear." Talia giggled. Gods, she hated her giggle, but now she didn't care _what_ she sounded like. Both J'zargo and Brelyna were alive. And here. She'd found them. She had actually _found_ them.

Brelyna glanced at the group behind them, most of them giving her odd looks. Talia caught her look, and knew what was to be asked. And said. All her joy turned into ashes in her mouth, and she waited for Brelyna to speak.

"Onmund… isn't with you?" Brelyna asked with a cautious, small voice. This was slowly breaking Talia's heart over again. The gods had a cruel sense of humor, that they let her find her friends, only to be the messenger of horrible news. She bit her lip and shook her head, feeling the tears press on again. This time though, they weren't tears of joy. Far from it.

"Is he… waiting somewhere else? Close by?" There was a hint of both fear and hopefulness in Brelyna's red eyes. Talia watched in agony as the fear started winning over; "…Talia?"

"…No. He… isn't close- Onmund…" The words tasted like slime on her tongue as she said them; "I lost him. I lost him, Brelyna…He's dead."

If she had ever seen Brelyna's eyes retract from the world, from reality, this was it. The girl's eyes widened in utter, raw horror, her mouth gaping in a silent scream. The corners of her eyes were already watering, and Talia did the only thing she could. She pulled Brelyna into her embrace, and held the girl as she started the grieving, Talia herself had screamed out in the Tower.

"Dead or alive, weeping surely serves no purpose here." Morrigan said. Talia's breath stuck in her throat, and she turned her face towards the witch, even as Brelyna weeping continued. The glare she sent Morrigan was enough to make the wild girl shrink back and be silent. Good. Shut her up if she could only spout cruelty.

Talia found herself in a position she wasn't used to be in. She had never been the one to hold and comfort people when they broke down. That had always been mother who did that. Now, now she herself was holding her trembling friend as she mourned Onmund. _The gods… I am not sure if they are cruel or good. I find my friend, but devastate her at the same time._

"Talia?" Aedan's voice pushed through her barrier towards the rest of the world. She looked up at him as he knelt beside her. There was no disbelief or fear in his eyes at the sight of Brelyna, a girl who had been labeled 'abomination' by those serving Ferelden's god. Instead, there was only sympathy in his brown eyes. She could see he wanted to help, but there wasn't anything he could do. Talia shook her head slowly, and Aedan nodded before returning to the group. Daveth was the only one still standing, likely because he was still nervous around the witches.

"How? How can he be dead?" Brelyna demanded, her voice hoarse already. Talia stroked Brelyna's hair, doing the best she could to comfort the girl. How could she even begin to explain what had happened?

"The soldiers… took us to a prison for mages. They… killed him there." Talia whispered, holding Brelyna as the girl's crying rose in volume, and the Dunmer screamed her grief into her robes. Talia just held on, allowing her friend to cry it out. Tears were flowing from her own eyes, but she refused to cry. The rest of the group simply watched in silence.

It took the next ten minutes for Brelyna to cry her throat and eyes out, and when Talia tried helping her to her feet, the girl wobbled and collapsed the moment she let go. Aedan, once more out of nowhere, stepped up and helped Talia get Brelyna to her feet. Gods, but she hated herself for this shit. She wanted to let Brelyna cry and curse and have the peace she needed, but knew it wasn't possible. There was a war going on, and the gods had now held their part of the bargain, meaning Talia had to hold her own.

Could she bring Brelyna back to the camp? She wanted to, she wanted so desperately to never leave Brelyna nor J'zargo on their own again. But at the same time, she knew she couldn't bring them. The templars had labelled them abominations instantly, and she had seen both Circle mages and templars at the camp. There was no way she could think of that would let her bring her friends back to the camp, and be able to promise them safety.

The world was a shithole when it presented the terms like this. But it was what she had.

"What… what happens now? How will we get home? I don't have any- I don't know what to do, Talia." Brelyna whispered. It was all she could, and her voice came out like her throat had been ripped open.

"I don't know. The people in this land will see you and J'zargo as monsters, and I can't bring you back with us to the camp, because there are more of the soldiers there." Talia muttered, though she could see that Brelyna, in her horror and grief, didn't understand what she meant; "I prayed, that if I bettered myself, if I helped people, that the gods would keep you and J'zargo safe. I promised to… to help fight a _war_ if it meant your safety."

"…what?"

"Stupid, I know." Talia muttered, trying her best to smile; "I was just so desperate, and it seemed the only thing I _could_ do."

"Then… then are you going to leave us? Here?" Brelyna's voice was small and scared, and it shredded Talia's heart to listen to it. Especially because that was _exactly _what would be safest for them, and exactly what she was planning to do. If J'zargo had fought a bear, he was likely injured. And Talia would rather leave him with witches than allow the mages from the Circle, or Arkay forbid, the templars from going near either of her friends.

"It's the safest thing." Talia bit her lip as she nodded. She hated herself, and the hatred was only intensified when she saw the bereft look in Brelyna's eyes. Once, she had thought it weird to have red eyes. But Brelyna… Talia didn't know how to even finish that line of thought. Instead, she hugged the girl again; "Please. Just… just stay here. I'll come find you later."

"But…But what will you do?" Brelyna's voice was pleading; "Are you going to fight in… in…"

"A battle, yes. But you know me, right?" Talia tried smiling; "I never back down. I'll be right back here. With you, and J'zargo." She said, releasing Brelyna from the fierce hug. The Dunmer girl looked absolutely destroyed, but managed to wipe her eyes and look at Talia;

"Just be careful, Talia. Don't promise to be back and then go die. I can't…" For a moment, it seemed Brelyna was about to start crying again. Instead, she hung her face down and whispered; "I couldn't take it. Not after…after Onmund."

"Hey. I know this is shit, but it's the best I can do. No one's going to say you're here. You'll be safe, at least." Talia said, doing her best to comfort her broken friend. She looked at Flemeth, not caring if the old woman was mad or not; "She can stay here, right?"

"Certainly, why not? I need some proper company, and my dear daughter lacks a sense of humor." Flemeth sounded amused.

"Thank you, mother." Morrigan muttered, annoyed, obviously. Talia just nodded her gratitude. Not just for letting Brelyna stay, but for her friends being alive in the first place. Now words could express her feelings, and as such, she simply kept quiet. She looked back at Brelyna, who had slumped against the wall;

"You'll… be back, right? _Promise_ me, Talia." Brelyna pleaded. Talia took her hands in her own palm, and held Brelyna's head with the other. Touching her forehead to Brelyna's, this was the only thing she could do;

"I promise. If a dragon got in my way, I'd still be back." With that promise, Talia left her friend behind at Morrigan's house, even as the witch led them back the way they'd come.

No one spoke on the walk, not even Dela complained at the distance. Talia kept looking back the way they'd come, somehow hoping that Brelyna defied her and followed. And at the same time fearing the very same thing. When the group reached the ruins of the archive, Morrigan slipped wordlessly away, leaving them where she had found them.

No one seemed ready to start the walk back to camp, even with both blood and documents secured. Instead, all eyes were on Talia, as if expecting an explanation for the previous encounter. They probably _did_ want an explanation, she knew. It tugged at her heart, knowing that she willingly departed from Brelyna, leaving the girl with complete strangers. And yet, it was the better alternative. After Morrigan was long-gone, Alistair seemed the first to speak;

"I… am not really sure how to ask this, so…if you don't mind me asking, Talia. Who was that girl?"

Talia huffed, looking at her feet. She was embarrassed. Why was she embarrassed? She should be happy, the gods had granted her prayer, so now she just had to fulfill her end of the deal, if one could even call it that. Even if it meant throwing herself against an army of those monsters, she would do it with a smile and fierceness, as long as it meant the safety of her friends.

The truth, she decided, was what she had to offer as a start to fulfilling that deal.

"Her name is Brelyna Maryon. We're both from the College of Winterhold, as is J'zargo, who was sleeping inside that house. We came here, accidentally, when a scroll misfired and sent us here, to the Wilds. Before we even knew what had really happened, templars from what you call the "Circle" tracked us down and attacked us. Onmund, our last classmate and friend, and I were caught, while Brelyna and J'zargo managed to flee. Until now, I… until now I thought they were both dead." Talia breathed, feeling the headache return. She was sweating too, now, and it bothered her that her healing couldn't stop it.

"I'm confused. I thought you came from that Circle at Kinloch Hold?" Daveth said, scratching his chin-hairs.

"No. I only met Duncan there because he happened to be meeting with that son of a dirty whore _Irving_. I would have murdered Irving, but Duncan recruited me for some reason, and I escaped."

"_First Enchanter_ Irving?" Alistair said, his voice holding mild disbelief; "Why would you want to kill him?"

Talia suppressed the snarl that came when people mentioned Irving in respectful tones. It took all her focus not to shout her next words out;

"Because he put Onmund and me through a sick ritual. Onmund was killed when he didn't wake up fast enough." She sneered; "That. Is why I wanted to, _want_ to kill that man."

"Damn, I'd pay to see something like that." Dela commented. Talia chose to ignore the dwarf, hard as it was with the almost carefree tone the woman had.

"So…Where_ do_ you come from?" Alistair continued. Talia chewed her cheek, looking at the ruin for no particular reason other than that she didn't really care to look at Alistair right now.

"I don't suppose you've ever heard of Tamriel." And of course they hadn't, seeing how everything she'd said after the first fight had confused them all, sans Aedan who knew a little about her origins; "It's the continent where I was born. I'm a Breton, in case you hadn't figured that one out already."

"So… wait, another _continent_? Maker…" Alistair breathed, rubbing his forehead; "Okay, I suppose that's possible… Thedas couldn't really be the only chunk of land out there. And you came here… why?"

"Not _why_. How. I already said that the pissing scroll misfired or something. We were supposed to have ended up in the imperial capital, Cyrodiil. Instead, _bam_, marsh-time." Talia bit out with a bit of mocking tone, more or less copying Alistair from his first impression of Morrigan; "Then, of course we get tracked down by what you call "templars", who attack us on the spot. Next thing I know, I wake up in a pissing cell in that tower, awaiting my "Harrowing." Not. Pleasant."

"So, wait you don't do the whole "harrowing" thing where you come from?" Alistair seemed baffled. This just decreased Tali's opinion of Thedas as a whole, as his question apparently meant the Harrowing was common practice for all "Towers", or Circles or whatever the hell they called themselves in plural.

"Of course not!" Talia barked indignantly; "It's a barbaric, sick and twisted ritual! Piss! Thee College allows freaking _necromancy_, but even thát pales in comparison to what you people pull off in your towers."

Alistair blanched at that. Apparently, he wasn't ready for the idea that necromancy was the lesser evil between itself and the Harrowing. Well it was. There was nothing wrong with raising dead thrall from a bandit or any person who'd tried to murder you, really. Talia herself had never really reached that level in conjuration, but the concept was fine with her.

"So… that was Brelyna, then. The girl the templars called an abomination?" Aedan asked instead, as Alistair started walking. The rest just followed. Talia nodded, to which Aedan blew a puff of air; "…I don't get it."

"Me neither. I mean, yes, she's a Dunmer, and yes, I thought her eyes were a bit strange at first too, but…" Talia said.

"But she wasn't weird. Just a girl…" Aedan sighed, looking like he wanted to do something, Talia wasn't quite sure what; "I mean, yes she looked different, but I wouldn't ever suspect her of being a… you know."

"She's mighty cute, she was. 'Cept for when you broke those news to her, I mean." Daveth said; "I mean, odd skin aside, she's not bad…sorry." He trailed off as Talia gave him a flat stare; "Just I don't really get it either."

"I didn't even realize elves could look like that." Dela said, catching up with them. Alistair walked ahead, in - maybe - contemplating silence; "I'm sorry about that friend of yours, by the way."

"Not your fault…" Talia sighed, running a hand through her hair. She was starting to get a few shivers, like from a cold, but suppressed the annoyance from it. She'd just soldier through it if she ended up with a pissing cold now, or sick from whatever infection she was running. Felt like a fever, kinda, but then not.

* * *

As the party approached Duncan, and the large bonfire, no one really spoke a word. The previous revelations and events didn't leave a lot of desire to chat, and Talia felt that what needed to be said, _had_ been said. At least she was confirmed now, that her friends really were safe and alive. Good. It allowed her to focus.

The Divines, whichever one had been behind it, had allowed her wish, and so now it was her turn to prove that she was worthy of the gift. She didn't even care if it was going to be hard, not at this point. She would help them win this battle, then find a way to get home.

Currently, that sounded like a pretty good plan.

Duncan turned to regard them, his face illuminated by the warm fire. Talia looked at it longingly, wanting to warm herself against the constant shivers she was going through. It was pissing annoying, but still, no reason to bother the others with it. She'd find a healer, when all this Joining-thing was done with.

In a way, she was often too proud for her own good. She'd never admit this, of course, as it would compare her to J'zargo.

"Good, you have returned. Were you successful in your endeavor?"

"We were, yes." Talia said, cutting off Alistair who would no-doubt mention meeting Brelyna and the witches. Duncan nodded;

"Good. I have had the Circle mages preparing. With the blood you have retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately." He said, a small note of satisfaction, as well as pride in his voice. The pride was likely meant for Alistair. Talia just wanted it all over with, but before she managed to speak, Alistair spoke up;

"There was a woman at the tower, and her mother had the scrolls. They were both very… odd."

"Were they Wilder folk?" Duncan asked with his usual patient voice. Alistair shook his head a little;

"I don't think so. They might be apostates though. Mages, hiding from the Chantry." His words made Talia's eyes narrow, ready to slap her hand over his mouth. Even if it would be seen as a physical attack, she didn't want him revealing Brelyna's location, not even to Duncan. With templars so close by, they could hear him and seek them out in the Wilds.

It was what Duncan said next, that shook Talia to her core;

"I know you were once a templar, Alistair. But the Chantry's business is not ours." Duncan's words shook Talia to the extent that she barely heard his next words. She had been running around with a _templar_ all that time? Alistair, was a templar? He _knew_ where Brelyna was, what if he told others?

"We're ready." Aedan said, breaking Talia's thoughts. His hand on her shoulder, though not easy to see in the flickering light, meant he had likely picked up on the same thing as her.

"Excellent. You will need that courage to face what comes next." Duncan continued. He didn't seem to have picked up on the change in Talia's expression, though that could just as well have been the light, or lack of same.

"Courage? How much danger are we in?" Daveth said. For once, his fright was justified. Talia herself was a bit off-put now, both by the revelation of Alistair's past connections, if they were indeed in the past, and the mention that the Joining was dangerous. The gears of her mind were shifting, processing what information she had. The headache just meant it all went at a sluggish pace.

"I will not lie. We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are…" Talia felt certain Duncan's eyes looked into hers, with a saddened expression; "Fate may decree that you pay the price now, rather than later."

That was all it took for the gears to lock into place, and the revelation was anything but pleasant as she spoke her mind;

"The Joining can _kill_ us?"

"It is a risk, yes. It is also why there are so few Grey Wardens, as the Joining takes… a certain character to survive. It is the only way to become what we are, though it may seem harsh."

"Fine, let's get this shit underway." Dela said, impatient from the sound of it.

"Then let us begin. Alistair, take them to the old temple." Duncan said, turning to Alistair. Talia couldn't help but glare at the Junior Warden. He had known all along that _she_ was a mage, but hadn't bothered to tell that _he_ was a templar? Oh, this did _not_ bode well for their working-relationship. Not at all.

As Alistair took them to the old temple, the very same place where Talia and Aedan had found him the first time, Talia tugged at Alistair's armored sleeve, causing him to look at her and frown in confusion. Before he managed a 'what' though, she beat him to it;

"You are a _templar_?" She hissed. Alistair held his hands up. Well, the one she wasn't forcing down anyway;

"_Was_ a templar. As in 'no longer'." He said; "Listen, I get that you on principle have a rather good reason for not liking templars, but I never even finished my training, much less did anything templar-ish." Talia let go of his arm;

"Fine… but I'll still keep an eye on you. Just to be sure you won't sell out my friends." She muttered. Alistair just sighed;

"Oh, the trust you have in me, it is truly humbling."

"I think I'm starting to get what that mage said about your wit and all…" Talia muttered, then walked a bit back to walk next to Daveth. The guy was nervous, even she could see that. Still, he soldiered on, just like she did.

"So…" Daveth started. He didn't sound all too happy; "Why do you think they keep testing us? I mean, we're already recruits and all, so why this here sudden 'do-or-die' thing?"

"Scared?" Talia asked, not unkindly. Daveth so far had proven a good, if smooth sort.

"A bit, yeah. Still, if it means risking my life to stop the Blight, I'd do it gladly." Daveth muttered, then looked at her; "You?"

Talia pondered for a moment before answering.

"You saw Brelyna back in the Wilds. I prayed to the gods that she would be safe, she and J'zargo. The gods now have their end of the deal hold." She hesitated before continuing; "Time for me to uphold mine."

"What was your part of this deal, then?" Aedan asked from behind her, a note of concern, as well as curiosity in his voice. Talia felt like laughing at herself at that point, considering she had completely disregarded that prayer when she was in Aedan's room. The headache currently bashing her skull in, made it a bit easier not to laugh though. Wiping a few drops of sweat from her cheek with a flat hand, she pulled a braid of red hair before answering.

"You'll think I'm pulling your legs." She told the boys, not really wanting to spill it out.

"No, come on. This is just getting good." Dela pleaded, appearing out of freaking nowhere. Talia didn't let her surprise show, though, seeing how she'd started to suspect such odd habits from the people of Fereldan. Oddly enough, it only seemed to be those armed with two weapons, who did it.

"I asked the gods, that if they ensured the safety of Brelyna and J'zargo until I found them again, I would…" She sighed at the way it would sound; "strive to be a better person. There. Happy?"

"Well shit. Beats why I joined the Wardens." Dela mused. Talia's curiosity, seeing how they were left waiting at a stone altar, was roused;

"Why?" She asked. Dela shrugged and grinned;

"There I was. I'd just won the Provings, you see, and everyone thought I was this noble-caste drunk. I beat the snot out of everyone I fought, right?"

"Right?" Daveth urged. Dela took the hint;

"So, all was fine, until suddenly, the sodding drunk comes stumbling into the arena, yelling about thievery and what-not. End of story was that the Carta locked me up, me and a friend."

"So, the Carta sent you here?" Aedan asked, amused apparently, if his tone was anything to go by. Talia would have smiled at his progress, had it not been for the way she was currently sweating curtains. Deciding to piss the extra attention, she started healing herself again. The glow made the others look, but she waved them off immediately;

"Go on, I'm just having a bit of a headache." She said. Dela nodded, though Aedan frowned before accepting her words;

"Nope. We escaped, of course. Then, I kicked the door in and shanked Berath in the process. Then the rest of Orzammar caught up, and _bam_, if Duncan wasn't right there to conscript me, I'd be deader than a boiled nug right now." Dela chucked at the last part; "So, that's pretty much my glorified origins."

"Well, we know you and Aedan now, don't we, so it's my turn I guess." Daveth mused, offering both a smile. Talia was glad, mostly for Aedan, that he didn't have to repeat the story from Highever; "I'm from Denerim, you see, and that's where Duncan found me too. Or, actually _I_ found _him_ first."

"How?" Aedan said. Alistair offered a small chuckle from where he was leaning on the wall.

"Duncan never wanted to tell me that one. Go on." He said. Daveth nodded, like a bard to his audience;

"Spotted him in a crowd. Not hard, the old bugger is taller than most. Well, I grabbed his purse, but he grabbed me at the same point. Got reflexes like a fox, that one. So, I ran, but Duncan ran after me. He's fast for an old bugger in armor 'n dress, that's for sure." Daveth seemed to enjoy the memory more than someone who'd been chased by Duncan should.

"Well he _is_ a Grey Warden. We tend to exceed people's expectations like that." Alistair mused.

"Well, he ran, but the town guard caught me first, right? Then they wanted to cut my hands off, for thievery and all, but Duncan stopped them and conscripted me on the spot." Daveth chuckled. His former anxiety seemingly gone; "Gave the town guard the finger as we left the gates behind."

"At last, we come to the Joining." Duncan had appeared so suddenly that Talia had completely failed to notice him. Then again, she was starting to have trouble seeing straight. She caught Alistair's eyes though, looking at her. He seemed concerned, but she shrugged it off. For now, he was back to being an unknown.

"The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight, when humanity stood on the verge of annihilation." Duncan said, placing a large, silvery goblet on the altar before he turned back to them; "So it was, that the first Grey Wardens drank of the Darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint."

"Wait what?" Talia coughed, out of both surprise and… why was she even coughing? Piss, that infection, or cold or whatever it was, had better keep itself in check, or it'd be annoying for sure.

"Drink… are you serious?" Dela exclaimed; "You want us to drink what comes out of a Darkspawn? I've seen what happened to dwarves who even _touched _the Darkspawns' blood. Sodding _ghouls_ is what they became."

"As the first Grey Wardens did before us. As we did before you. This is the source of our power, and our victory over the Darkspawn." Duncan explained. Talia was more or less certain she wasn't hearing straight due to her more and more frustrating condition. Had Duncan just said he wanted them to _drink_ the blood?

And people called _her_ disgusting when she ate spider-eggs.

"Those who survive the Joining become immune to the Taint. We can sense it in the Darkspawn, and use it to slay the Arch Demon." Alistair added. Duncan nodded, which only made Talia increasingly nervous. This didn't even make logical sense, did it? It wasn't as if she could be strong as a bear if she ate its toenails. Because she had done that. No bear-like powers yet.

Still, there was no going back on a deal made with the Divines. Especially not when they had already upheld their part of the deal. If she needed to be a Grey Warden to do that, she would be a Grey Warden, even if it apparently involved voluntary suicide by chance.

"Let's… get on with it then." She said.

"We only speak a few choice words prior to the Joining, but these words have always been said. Alistair, if you will join me?" Duncan said, looking to Alistair. Talia did too, and was surprised at the nearly religious look of seriousness on his face.

"Join us, Brothers and Sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn." Talia glanced at the goblet, sitting so innocently on the altar. The thought that she might die from drinking of it, was disconcerting, to say the very least; "And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you."

Duncan took the goblet and poured a vial of dark blood into it. He then turned and looked at the group;

"Daveth, step forward."

Talia's eyes were locked on Daveth as he obeyed. She swallowed the lump of fear that was settling in her, knowing that this might be where the jovial and good-natured man might die. It was disgusting to realize that Duncan was prepared to sacrifice them all this way, her and Aedan included.

Daveth took the goblet. Before he put it to his lips, he looked at Talia and the others, one last time. His eyes shone with both fear, and determination. Then, he put the goblet to his lips, and drank.

When he handed the goblet back to Duncan, Talia half expected him to mutter a curse, or complain that it was a disgusting thing to drink.

Instead, Daveth convulsed, shaking and trembling like he was having difficulties standing straight. His head shot back, and his eyes, even from where Talia was standing, were clear and white. The pupils and iris's were gone, replaced by the white of the eye as he screamed in pain.

"Maker's Breath…" Aedan cursed.

Talia's hands flew to her mouth, stifling the scream of horror that was trying to break out, even as Daveth collapsed on the stony ground. No one spoke a word, as Alistair checked the man. Though Talia did speak, disregarding whatever tradition was in place here.

"Is he… oh gods, is…" She pressed out. Alistair sighed from his place next to the young archer.

"He's alive. I honestly thought we'd lost him there." The former templar said, getting to his feet. He grabbed Daveth's unconscious form, and dragged him to the side where he was left resting against the columns.

"Dela, step forward." Duncan said, taking a new vial, Dela's it seemed, and emptied it into the goblet. Dela did as told, and accepted the goblet.

She put it to her lips, and drank.

Almost immediately, the dwarf looked like she was going to burst. She clutched her head, groaning in pain as she fell to the ground. Then, more or less sitting, she threw up white fluids and what looked like half-way digested meals.

Talia was ready to catch the dwarf, to prevent her from smacking her head against the ground, when Dela burped, and rubbed her temples;

"I've… had worse…I…Stone!" The last word was uttered more like an exclamation than anything near panic, and Dela collapsed in a heap. Talia breathed a sigh of relief. So far, the Joining hadn't killed anyone. Maybe things would continue to work out?

For some reason, she didn't really dare hold her breath on that account.

"Aedan, step forward." Talia's confidence went straight down the latrines when Duncan said those words. She looked on with fear hammering away in her chest, as Aedan stepped up. She watched in ever-growing fear as he accepted the goblet, and when Aedan collapsed on the ground, twitching, she felt ready to join him.

Alistair knelt down to check him. _Gods, please Gods let him live. I beg you, let him live and I'll kill whatever Duncan asks me to kill. I'll kill the Arch demon myself if you only allow Aedan to live!_

After a few moments, his head lifted from Aedan's chest, slowly shaking.

And Talia's world broke down.

"I am sorry, Aedan." Duncan muttered. Regret was steeped in his voice, but Talia didn't give a shit. Aedan was on the ground, _dead_ according to what Alistair said. _No. No, no NO! _

"Talia, step for-"

"No! No! AEDAN! AEDAN GET UP YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" Talia screamed, throwing herself at the still, young man. There was no reaction, but _fuck_ the gods themselves if they thought to stop her like this!

"Talia, I am sorry, but-" Duncan tried. Talia didn't even pay attention to his words. She didn't even notice him anymore.

Giving Piss and Oblivion in the consequences, she ripped off Aedan's armored chest-piece, ripped off his shirt, and planted both hands on his bare, muscular chest. The fact that she was now touching him didn't even faintly register in her mind.

Duncan wasn't talking anymore, nor was Alistair. Talia wouldn't have listened anyway.

"Don't leave me like this you bastard!" She yelled, hands ablaze with healing energy. Blood was already dripping down her hands, her skin rupturing as she poured everything she had into him. There was no response, and Talia bit through tears, headaches and decreasing visibility from tears as she pressed down on his chest, hands nearly slipping straight off as the slick blood coated her hands.

"I won't let you leave me! I can't take this shit alone!"

Again and again, her hands came down on his chest, practically and literally pouring her own life into him. She bit through the pain as the skin on the back of her hands broke, and more blood started washing over her hands, and _Aedan's _chest.

The consequences were already felt, as her feet went numb after the first minute of relentless cursing and healing. Talia had never hated her own arrogance as much as she did right then and there, when her reluctance to learn healing now had her sobbing, screaming and suffering over the body of a man who had been more of a friend to her than any other in this new, messed up and cruel shithole of a land.

"Come back to me you asshole!" Talia cursed, pressing down hard enough that she could feel a rib crack beneath her hands; "Come. Back! Come. Back!"

There! Life! She could feel it, ever so faint within him. Weak, flickering like a dying candle, but by Arkay, it was there!

"Come on!" She yelled, exchanging one hand of healing for electricity, and not even noticing doing so; "Live! Come back!" She hit him, square over the heart with enough shock to kill a dog. No response, but the increased flicker in his energy. She hit him again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

She hit him again, and her hair stood into the air as the electricity coursed through her as well. She didn't even know what she was running on, her reserves should have been depleted already. And yet, she didn't care. She just hit him again, and again, with electricity and life-force, forcing him back to the realm of the living.

She didn't even care if it was supposed to be possible or not. She was _making_ it possible, so the gods could shut up and sit down if they didn't like it.

"LIVE!" She yelled, and hit him again. The small flame burst into a bonfire in his chest, and Aedan's eyes flew open, as did his mouth, and vomit started spilling out. Talia hauled him onto his side, and let the vomit leave his mouth, rather than choke him.

With that, she fell back, and collapsed into blackness herself.

* * *

**Well... so, that happened.**


	11. Welcome to the Wardens

Welcome to the Wardens

* * *

"_LIVE!"_

Everything, and nothing at the same time, came back in a jolting rush. There was someone screaming, or yelling, he couldn't really tell, and immensely painful jolts shook his body. Then, the world came back, as well as the image of a hunched over, sweating and bleeding Talia.

He didn't have a moment to contemplate that though, as the next moment signaled the rioting of his bowels, and his stomach lurched upwards into his mouth. He coiled up and vomited, spewing out whatever it was. It tasted like shit, no other words could do, and had the slimy consistency of aforementioned substance. Maker, it was horrible.

Strong hands, stronger than a woman really should be possessing, pushed him onto his side as the vomit started filling his mouth, and the bile escaped, flowing over the stony floor. As soon as the bile had cleared his throat, Aedan heaved for air, pulling down a burning gasp that hurt all the way to his lungs.

Then, there was the sound of a body collapsing on the ground next to him, and Aedan managed to more or less turn his head around to look for the source. His vision was blurry enough that he only saw the outline of a fussy person on the floor, but the colors, khaki brown and light green, were enough that he realized who he was looking at. In hindsight, it really should have been obvious.

"Maker's mercy…" Aedan could hear someone, a voice he recognized as being Alistair, utter. The tone was one of utter amazement and disbelief, though Aedan right now hardly cared for the reason. Breathing hurt, and his eyes stung for some reason. Again, it wasn't his primary concern.

Stumbling to his feet, Aedan ended up falling straight to the floor again, and then opted for simply crawling towards the downed figure, merely a blur in his vision yet. When he reached her, the figure became sharper, and Talia's exhausted, sweaty face was made visible. Aedan's initial relief that she was seemingly okay, was squashed when he noticed the heavy, dark rings beneath her eyes, and the way dark veins seemed to be visible beneath her skin.

Cold fear settled in him, as he remembered what Dela had said about those touched by Darkspawn blood. They became Ghouls, and Talia had been cut. But, she had healed herself, hadn't she? Aedan had seen her both cauterize and heal the wound, Maker,_ he_ had held her hand through it! She should be fine, so why was she looking like this? Why hadn't he noticed this before now?

"Aedan…" Duncan was speaking now.

"What's wrong with her?" His voice was pleading, even though he believed he knew the answer; "Why is she like that?"

"The Taint is spreading throughout her body. At a much faster pace than we ever anticipated was possible." Duncan said, kneeling next to Aedan. He shrugged the Warden-Commander off, eyes locked on Talia's face. She was breathing, but the air leaving her accompanied throaty sounds, like her lungs were being filled with water. It hurt, seeing how pale she was.

_Maker,_ why hadn't he seen this?

"Can't you help her? Why is she like this, she wasn't like this before!" Aedan exclaimed, looking around for help. The others were still unconscious, or dead, he really couldn't remember right now. His chest was burning, and the fact idly registered that he was naked above the waist.

"Alistair, fetch Senior Enchanter Wynne from the Circle. We need to get Talia conscious in order to help her." Duncan ordered. Alistair nodded and took off without a word, sprinting down the ramp and out of sight. Aedan stared back at Duncan, then back at Talia; "I am not certain what happened, to be honest, and I don't think you will like the parts I do know."

"What… _happened_?" He croaked out, his throat as dry as parchment. His chest stung again, and he flinched as he looked down. Right where his heart was, a massive scar had formed. It was red, irritated and looked like the roots of a tree, or the arcs of lighting spreading across his chest. What had… Had _Talia_ done this? _Why_?

"...If I am to put it simply: you died." Duncan's words took a moment to register, but when they did, Aedan felt like someone had hit him with the flat side of a sword; "Talia brought you back, but in the process, I fear she took some of the taint from your body."

"What?" Aedan gaped. The sound of running feet made itself known, and Alistair came running back into the ruined temple, trying to keep up with an old woman. Aedan took a moment to realize that this was the same woman Talia had argued with when they arrived in Ostagar. Senior Enchanter Wynne? Had Talia even known this was an enchan- _It doesn't matter! _

"Where is she?" Wynne demanded striding across the circular floor. Aedan was too exhausted and desperate to look at her, and instead just looked at Talia. Her breathing was getting more and more ragged. Sweat was covering her face in a shimmering film of water, and the dark veins were getting more visible. It _hurt_ to look at, but Aedan wouldn't look away. What Duncan had said earlier still echoed in his mind, that Talia had brought him back from the dead.

Was something like that even possible?

Wynne shot Aedan a short look, as if she blamed him, then her eyes softened and seemed to read his mind;

"I will do my best." The words could have been said by anyone, but the fact that Duncan had wanted this woman specifically, must have meant that she stood a chance at saving Talia; "But understand that there are things magic simply cannot cure."

Aedan didn't have the mindfulness to mention that Talia's magic had only just now brought him back from the dead. Was there a more impossible feat? Wynne knelt by Talia's side and placed glowing, blue hands on the girl's form. One rested upon her forehead, the other on her heart. A frown of deep worry settled on the woman's face, and the glow of her hands intensified, becoming a blinding, blue shimmer.

No one spoke as Wynne worked. Aedan had yet to attempt a second stand, and he wrought his hands in worry as he was slumped on the ground. Several times, it seemed like Talia's condition could go either way, and her skin both paled and darkened as the old enchanter toiled away. Whatever animosity Aedan might have had for the woman, it evaporated the moment Talia coughed and heaved for air. _Thank the Maker…_

"Talia. Can you hear me? Can you _understand_ me?" Wynne pressed. Talia's expression was first one of pain, then confusion which then became annoyance.

"Oh _great…_ waking up to _you…"_ the girl groaned, and coughed; "What's… happening?"

"You need to undergo the Joining, and quickly." Duncan pressed, already preparing to hand the goblet to Talia. Aedan was struck with both horror and confusion at the act;

"She's tainted, and you want to make her _drink_ more of that?" He burst out. Talia's eyes widened, but Aedan saw a dullness starting to spread in them, like the life was slowly seeping from her. It made him sweat with fear.

"It is the only way to save her, Aedan. Understand that while the Joining isn't a cure..." Duncan said; "if she does not drink, the Taint _will_ kill her."

"…Give…" Talia coughed. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and her eyes had gone nearly white. Aedan felt like vomiting again at the sight, but forced it down and grabbed the goblet from Duncan's hands. Talia's lips parted in a groan; "Drink…"

Without a word, Aedan pressed the goblet to her lips as Wynne and Alistair supported her to sit upright. The blood poured, and lines of black spilled from both corners of Talia's mouth as the drink poured faster than she could swallow the bile. Aedan bit down the fear and removed the goblet when Talia's eyes widened in pain and fear. They were still white, but now the fear evident in her face at least gave them life.

* * *

Talia would have screamed, had she had strength left to do so. The drink, the _blood_ was a slimy bile in her mouth, and the moment she swallowed the first portion, the poison began its work. Her body caught fire, pain spreading like jolts of electricity throughout her body.

If there was a way Namira would toy with her victims, Talia was pretty sure this was it.

The feeling of the ichor spreading through her body, into every vein, was like no pain she had ever experienced. Every single cell in her body, and she knew damn well what a cell was, because Bretons weren't dumb, felt like it was trying to explode through her skin.

Then came the noise.

At first, it was like a beautiful, if frightening song. Gentle music playing, but it changed, into auditory torture, ripping her ears and brain apart a million times a second. Despite the lack of strength, she clutched her head and screamed. She screamed, like she had never screamed before. The agony was absolute, tearing her soul apart before sticking it back together, then repeated the act over and over again.

_Dragon._

There was a Dragon.

A huge, _undead_ Dragon was snarling, growling and glaring straight at her.

Then, as sudden as it had all started, it all ended.

The pain withdrew, the Dragon vanished, the noise quieted down and light returned to her world. Talia's senses were hurled about, like boat in the storm, but slowly, they settled. The first thing that entered her consciousness was that someone was holding her. The last person she'd seen above her face had been that old hag from the Circle, and Talia definitely did _not_ want to be held by her.

"…gop opff mmmee…" She protested. Talia found she lacked the strength to do even that. It wasn't very nice up here, in the light. And definitely not if that old woman was holding her. It would be a major hurdle in her attempt to become a better person if she murdered an old woman right now.

"Maker's beard! Talia, can you hear me?" _Huh._ That wasn't that old woman's voice. This one was more deep, masculine and yet caring instead of brutish. Wait, why brutish? Oh right, _Urag_ was brutish. Well, his speech was. Couldn't fault the guy for his origins, could she?

Did she bother opening her eyes? Meh, might as well. Even if she'd much rather just sleep, maybe it was a good, if only because it was polite, idea to open her eyes. Father always did say that one should look one's companions in the eye when speaking to them. Still, he shouldn't have tried to marry her off to that dullard shitstain from Daggerfall.

One eye slipped open, revealing nothing at first, as the darkness above her was blinding (and wasn't that a sweet metaphor?) Then, as she opened the other eye and looked around with that too, shapes began… well, taking _shape,_ for lack of more cognitive eloquences. Was that even a real sentence? Talia's mind was too boggled and hazy to figure it out.

"Where…_ow_. Noise. Too much. Noise." She groaned. One of the shapes started taking a human appearance, and one too that she knew up close. The voice just confirmed it;

"Holy..." Aedan breathed a visible sigh of relief. He still held her propped though, even while that old, berating hag started putting her hands on Talia's body. Naturally, with the history she had with the Circle, Talia flinched and glared at the old woman.

"I'm pretty sure she's not supposed to be here. Or _touching _me..." She muttered, then turned an annoyed stare at the old mage; "What, going to defend the Harrowing again? Going to berate me for wishing Irving dead? That's what… what _are_ you doing to me?"

"Helping your body recover, if you actually want to know." The old mage said in a very admonishing tone. Then, world of wonders, her eyes held something akin to respect; "What you did for your friend was not something I thought possible."

"Just shows I'm better than what you thought then" Talia scoffed and shrugged, hoping the entirely too awkward scene would turn out to just be a dream. Why _was_ she on the ground anyway? Her eyes went to Aedan. When she noticed he was bare-chested (and chiseled as if Dibella had meant him as a gift to womankind) she started remembering what had happened. The final clue was the large, lightning-formed scar on his chest. It looked a lot like a lightning, eating its way across his body in much the same way as the force of nature on the skies.

"Oh _Piss…_ I did that?" She pointed a weak finger at Aedan's chest, afraid to touch him. What if she'd brought some sort of Tamriel-only trait into him when she healed him? Maybe his body wasn't meant to hold something like that, and he could die or… but those muscles on his stomach were really _oh so deliciously looking_, Talia had to focus on not staring.

"It would have been much worse if you hadn't, just saying." Alistair put in. Right, she remembered now. It was because Aedan had been dead. _Piss, and I forgot something like that? _Really showed where she had her priorities if something like that was filed _behind_ the whole "he's built like Tiber Septim" fact. And it wasn't a good set of priotities.

"Doesn't even hurt, actually." Aedan reassured Talia, helping her to a stand. The old mage stood with them constantly casting nervous eyes at both him and Talia. It was almost like she was waiting for one of them to drop dead. Creepy, that was. Aedan regarded the old mage for a few moments, shuffling his feet awkwardly; "Thank you, Senior Enchanter Wynne."

"It was no trouble." Wynne, because that was apparently her name, reassured him. Then she looked at Talia, or to her. Whichever worked; "I'm starting to think there might be some truth to what you claimed at the Tower."

Talia blew a waft of sweaty, sticky hair from her face, only it didn't lift. Annoyed, she pulled it away by hand before looking back at Wynne;

"Piss good that does me now. Onmund's still dead, and I still blame your insane Circle for it." She said, then pointed a finger at Wynne; "_You_ might personally be off the hook, I think, if you just saved my life."

"I merely helped. Your determination, in the end, is what saved you." Wynne offered, nodded to the rest of the, conscious at least, Wardens. Then she left, probably to get some sleep. Talia spared the woman half a glance as she left, then looked back at Aedan, Alistair and Duncan. Resisting the urge to yank a braid in frustration and confusion, she instead settled for fidgeting. _Yes,_ she realized it was just something Brelyna did, and _she_ herself was never supposed to fidget. Well, she did right now. Resurrection allowed for bending of some rules.

"Well… that went more or less better than I expected." Alistair muttered. For some reason, he didn't sound overly optimistic. Talia looked from him, to Duncan and then to Aedan. The latter was idly scratching his chest, nails scraping over the scarred tissue.

"You… could put your armor back on, you know?" Talia tried meekly. Though she personally wouldn't mind Aedan remaining like this, she knew he needed to get his clothes and armor back on and ready. These weren't times for her personal fancies. Even if she might think she had a right, or at least was allowed to want something like that. She _had_ just saved his life, after all.

Her bloody arms were proof of…Why weren't her arms covered in blood? _I could have sworn my arms 'sploded all the way to the elbows… _

"Why's Aedan not wearing clothes?" Daveth's voice came from the wall. Talia turned, and saw the archer slowly starting to pick himself up from to ground. In contrast to his earlier movements, this was anything but graceful. Talia bit a small, bubbling laugh back. _Probably a lot like me after too much ale…_

"…Long story." Aedan muttered, removing his hand from the scar. He slipped on the shirt before Daveth started asking too many questions, and Talia found herself looking to Duncan for guidance. For once, the Commander seemed to have lost his composure.

As usual though, he regained it quickly, even before Dela, who was starting to wake up as well, had regained consciousness. Duncan glanced around, released a tired sigh before he looked at Alistair;

"I'll need to join the King and Teyrn Loghain for the final planning, Alistair. Can you take care of the rest here?"

"Yes, Duncan." Alistair nodded solemnly. Talia was starting to think her initial assessment of the former, (because Duncan trusted him, so she would give him a second chance) templar was wrong. Alistair seemed a great deal more intelligent, or at least serious, than he'd let on at the start. She didn't notice Duncan's change of focus until he spoke;

"I am glad you made it through, Talia. I think you, as well as your friends will be excellent Grey Wardens." And with that, he was gone. Talia stared at the ramp for a moment, arguing with herself. Mostly, it was one side of her brain yelling at the other that Duncan knew about J'zargo and Brelyna, because he'd said "friends", while the other half yelled right back that he was just talking about her now-fellow Grey Wardens.

Grey Wardens.

Grey _Warden_.

Gods, what had she gotten herself mixed up in? It was one thing to be ready to dish out a lot of fire and death, but to join some organization whose initiation required her to drink their version of Draugr-blood? It took things to a new level, that much was certain. _Piss… _

She was a Grey Warden now. What did that even mean? Would this stop her from returning to Tamriel? High Rock was, of course, out of the question after what happened at Highever, but she would like to return to the College. Everything was happening so quickly, and Talia just… she just wanted to go home, toss her sorry corpus on the bed in the Hall of Attainment, and sleep out whatever Skoma-induced dream this was bound to turn out as, sooner or later.

Still, she couldn't _taste_ things in dreams, and the blood _definitely_ tasted like piss right now. Still. It was gone, she could feel that with her tongue, but the taste remained.

"This was… I guess you could say one of the better Joinings, all things considered." Alistair sighed, putting on a bright face; "In my Joining, one of us died."

His tone told Talia what his words didn't mention. One, that he was more than pleased with her saving Aedan. Well, so was she, damn it. And Two, that Alistair was both wary and impressed by her magic. Piss, she'd forgotten he was one of those templars. Or, he had been. Piss, why was it so hard to figure out?

"What happens now?" She asked instead of letting silence reign. Dela was shaking her head behind Alistair, then pulled out a small flask from her… _Where the hell did she hide thát_?

"Well, I want to make sure you are all back on your feet, both physically and mentally. Then we'll go join Duncan for the meeting." Alistair explained. Talia nodded, it seemed the best thing to do. She eyed Dela's flask again, a bit envious of the Dwarf's beverage, whatever it was. Also she was hungry. Why was she hungry?

"Well I'm good." Dela gave a content sigh as she plugged the flask again; "Daveth, feelin' up again?"

"My head's killing me, if that's what you're asking." The archer groaned, rubbing his head; "But I'll live."

Alistair nodded in relief at the two of them, then looked at Talia and Aedan. Mostly, his focus seemed to be wavering, like he wasn't sure who to be more concerned about. Talia scoffed and blew hair from her face (she really had to get that damnable bundle of red cut away at some point.) and looked straight back at him. She refused to bow down to _Irving_, and she wasn't going to bow down because Alistair had a gaze far more intense than she'd expected. There was a hard person behind those eyes, a person Alistair could become, yet wasn't. Not yet, at least.

Combined with his apparent past as a templar, Talia didn't want that person to surface.

"I'm fine. Hungry, but fine." She said in a low tone, not showing any emotion. She didn't trust Alistair yet. Not after Duncan revealed the young man's past. Alistair nodded and looked to Aedan.

"Same here. I still want to know about the scar, but…" Aedan trailed off when he caught Talia's eyes; "It can wait."

"I guess that'll do." Alistair said. He didn't seem entirely happy though, but Talia didn't pay that any mind. He was doing what he was being told, even if he seemed to have doubts about something. She didn't know what that _something_ was. Not yet, anyways. Alistair blew a huff; "Alright, let's go join in the fun. And with "fun" I mean listen to the king and Teyrn Loghain bicker like a married couple."

"Figured the King was married to Anora. She's single?" Daveth grinned as he picked up his bow. He promptly received a punch to the waist from Dela, who looked somewhere between amused and annoyed;

"Shut it, Daveth. Even I don't talk trash about human kings, not the Ferelden one anyway. So shut with the jokes." The archer pouted, but didn't offer a reply. Talia found the exchange, strangely domestic for some reason. _And also freaking weird. I don't even… I'm not sure what's happening, but it's not boring._

"…Talia?" Aedan muttered from next to her as they walked towards the meeting. She tilted her head to look him in the eye. Odd. Hadn't he been brown-eyed before? _Probably just the lighting messing with me._

"Hmm?" She offered. Aedan seemed unsure of what to say, and before she could ask, they reached the meeting. Or rather, what was left of it. Wasn't really much, sadly. The king seemed, and was, adamant to go lead the battle from the frontlines. _Daedra_, it was like he was trying to one-up High King Torygg in suicidal plans. _Sure, I'll go fight Ulfric Stormcloak, no bad ever came of fighting a guy who used the Thu'um. And now it's all '_ _I'll fight an army of piss-scary monsters in my golden armor.'_

Because there was_ no_ way golden armor would draw the Darkspawn to the king like moths to magelight.

There was, however, a man at the meeting Talia hadn't been able to take her eyes off. Not for attractiveness or anything of the sort. The opposite, in fact was true. Teyrn Loghain, General and tactician of the army, was an imposing man. Like the King, he walked around in heavy, almost impossible armor, yet he wore the solid steel like it was nothing but a shirt. Strength, _that_ was what he gave off. Strength, and willpower made of stone. _Piss, I bet that general Tulius would love to meet Loghain._

The only downside was that he didn't seem very appreciating of the Grey Wardens. _Oh bugger. After this thing is done with, he'll at least have an appreciation for magic._

"Send Alistair and the new Grey Wardens to make sure it's done." The king said. Talia snapped from her pondering at those words. Send them to make sure it's done._ Make sure what is done? Piss, should've paid attention._

"We will do our best, your Majesty." Alistair replied with a curt nod. Loghain didn't seem impressed;

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?" Cailan scoffed at the General's words;

"Enough with your conspiracy-theories. Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter _where_ they are from." Talia glanced at the king, trying to figure out if he actually _knew_ what he meant when that concerned her. The king's attention was on Duncan however, and she decided he simply meant whether or not they were Fereldan or those "Orlesians" Loghain seemed to be pissed at. In a way, they sounded a lot like the Thalmor.

"Your majesty. You should consider the possibility of the Arch Demon appearing." Duncan advised. Talia nodded, though she really wasn't sure why. Sure, the Arch demon was apparently a giant dragon, but the ancient Nords had killed Dragons, and they had done that with primitive weapons compared to what people like Loghain wielded. There was probably something in Loghain's army to make up for lack of Thu'um… if they _did_ indeed lack it. Talia didn't actually know if people here used the Voice as well. _Neat if they do, that means we'll win this easier._

"There have been no signs of Dragons in the Wilds." Loghain offered.

"Isn't that what your men are here for, Duncan?" The king asked. There was a hint of disappointment in the king's voice, like he thought himself above needing to be reminded. Duncan looked down for a moment, like he was looking for strength.

"I… yes, your majesty." He said. Before either of the leaders present could speak, one of the mages from the Circle, a bald man in…_why the piss are people wearing purple all over this country?_

"Your majesty, the tower and the beacon are unnecessary. The Circle of Magi can-" He started. An older woman in ornate clothing, orange and brown, interrupted him with an admonishing stare and tone;

"We will not risk any lives to your spells, mage. Save them for the Darkspawn." She didn't sound like she liked mages a lot. Which meant she was probably one of those people who wanted mages killed. Which meant Talia didn't like her.

Not one bit.

Luckily, before the mage could retort, Loghain spoke. Good thing too, because the blatant dismissing of magic as useful, made Talia's fist clench. All on their own. Swear.

"Enough! The plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon." Loghain sounded tired, like a thousand burdens were on his shoulders. Considering he had the whole army to be responsible for, Talia wagered it would amount to_ more_ than a mere thousand. The fact that he didn't lash out at the king for his childlike behavior, probably spoke of his self-control. Talia found she admired it, even if the man didn't like Grey Wardens. He was still the most realistic thinker so far, Duncan excluded naturally.

"Thank you, Loghain." Cailan exclaimed with that same childlike expectation of glory in his eyes and voice; "I cannot wait for that glorious moment. The Grey Wardens fighting side by side with the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil."

"Totally sounds like a _great_ idea…" Daveth whispered to her. It was probably because Dela seemed to take offense at disrespecting royalty, that he didn't say it to the dwarf. Talia hummed, choosing not to speak when Duncan was probably listening to every word. Loghain nodded and turned to walk;

"Yes Cailan. A glorious moment for us all." And with that, he left. There was something to his tone that made Talia a little wary, but she dismissed it as the man being tired, stressed, and she herself being less than optimal. She looked at Duncan, who gestured for them all, sans royalty of course, to follow him.

As they regrouped at the bonfire, with Turk gnawing away at some sort of treat Daveth had found for the hound, Duncan became serious;

"You all heard the plan. You will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

"So… wait, we won't be fighting?" Talia stared. Was this what she had missed when she'd droned out? "That's Horker-dung, and you know it!"

"This is by the King's personal request, Talia. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men will not know when to charge." Duncan's explanation _was_ sound, but it still chafed at Talia's pride that they would have to watch Duncan and Loghain kick ass from the safety of the tower. Piss, maybe they could light it, and then find a way to join the battle? Worth a try.

"So he needs the Grey Wardens standing up there, holding a torch. Just in case, right?" Alistair said, his voice laced with sarcasm. Clearly, he was just as annoyed as her. Dung that she agreed with the templar, but there it was;

"I agree. We should be in the battle, gods damn it. I don't think holding a torch helps a battle. Not a whole group anyway." She growled. Duncan turned an admonishing look at her that reminded her frightfully so of Scholar Decaru, her mathematics tutor. He'd always glare when she (purely accidentally) lit something on fire and then escaped while he put out the flames. _I do miss the old fart though…_

"That is not for you to decide. The king wants the Grey Wardens lighting the beacon, so the Grey Wardens will be there." Duncan berated; "We must do whatever it takes to destroy the Darkspawn, exciting or no."

"I get it, I get it…" Alistair sighed; "Just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put a dress on and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line, Darkspawn or no."

Thát particular mental image was oddly entertaining.

"Way to take a stand, Al." Dela mused, evidently amused by the same image as Talia. Alistair gave the dwarf a look that started flat, but held a bit amusement as well;

"I have my dignity, you know… sometimes."

"Right. Tell that to the Aeducans." The small woman chuckled. Alistair went oddly red in the face at that reference, something Talia hadn't seen before now. Odd. What or who was the Aeducans, and what had Alistair done?

"Fine. Get to the tower, light the beacon… can we join _then_?" she asked, crossing her hands behind her back. It was that or pull her braids in frustration, something she'd rather not do in front of Duncan. It just seemed…undignified to do.

"Once the beacon is lit, stay with the Teyrn's men. If you are needed, I will send word for you." Duncan said, giving the group a look of examination; "The battle will begin soon. Once I leave, you have very little time to get to the beacon."

"Pissing…" Talia cursed, kicking an offending stone with the tip of her boot.

"So… we're going?" Daveth asked. Duncan nodded;

"From here you will be on your own. Remember, you are all Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title." There was a tone of finality, like Duncan's thoughts were that he would die. Talia didn't like the idea, and really couldn't imagine anything short of a dragon or a giant take down the man.

"Duncan… may the Maker watch over you." Alistair said. Duncan nodded in return;

"May he watch over us all." He said, looking at Talia as the last person. She felt he wanted to make sure she knew that he wanted their maker to watch over her as well. _Not like he's done a terrific job of that so far…_

She kept those thoughts to herself though, and watched Duncan leave. He carried himself with the air of a sage, a sage of warfare. Was this was Tiber Septim had been like, back in ancient times? Duncan certainly inspired people around him, much like Talos had apparently done.

"Divines watch over you, Duncan…" She whispered, making sure no one else heard it. She didn't need the questions, not now. There was a heavy feeling in her stomach, as if this would be the last time she would see Duncan.

She blew the feeling away. _As if. Duncan's way too tough to die. I bet he'll just be all "die? Who me? Don't make shit up" when he's stabbed or cut. If. If he's hit._

"Well, this's all nice and epic and dramatic and all, but how about we get to that tower, you know. Before we get hauled off by some pissed officer?" Daveth mused, tapping a finger to his bow.

"Way ahead of you, human." Dela chuckled, already at a run towards the bridge. Daveth grinned, then followed, as did the rest of the group. Talia though, had a frown on her face. The skies were black and dark, and there was a great fire to the east. Thunder and lighting harrowed the skies, giving an unneeded sense of trepidation to the whole thing.

For Talia, it reminded her of the night she ran away from home.

As the group ran towards the gorge, a massive fireball hit one of the spires on the other side of the bridge, collapsing it in a shower of debris and flames. Talia's eyes widened at the sight, but her attention was called back as they crossed the bridge. Archers on it were emptying their quivers into the black masses of fighting down below, lit by the dots of torches or fiery magic. _This definitely puts the Civil War to shame…_

"WATCH OU-!" The scream tore through the air as a fireball hit the side of the bridge, and engulfed the archers standing there. They screamed and wailed in pain before either succumbing to the agony or dropping from the bridge itself.

"Keep moving." Alistair ordered more than yelled, yet it had the needed effect. Talia's eyes were torn from the chaos below, and instead focused on their goal ahead. The Tower of Ishal was still standing tall, with small yellow lights streaming from the windows.

A fresh ball of fire hit one of the statues of Andraste, blowing the stone woman to bits and chunks. One of them hit Dela in the side, and knocked her to the ground.

"Dela!" Daveth was at the dwarf's side before she had even stopped bumping. It proved an unnecessary act though, as the small, but apparently solid woman jumped straight back up, brushed off her dented armor and grinned;

"As if that shit'd do me out. Got hit harder in the Provings." Talia resigned to simply wonder if all dwarves lacked the same regard for safety, of if Dela was just a nutty girl. She wouldn't really mind either, really.

The smile, or feeling of getting things done, was blown down the latrines when they crossed the bridge, and found the guards she remembered, to be somewhat lacking in presence. Or, to be accurate: they _were_ there, just not in the sense she had expected. Because she hadn't expected them to be fleeing towards them, with an armored Darkspawn and said abomination's friends in tow.

"Well shit…" Talia cursed as her hands started igniting. It was pure reflex, really, but it served well.

"The Tower's fallen! The Darkspawn got inside!" The apparent leader of the guards, of which there were two. Him and his comrade, yelled, as he seemed to notice their group. The Darkspawn chose that moment to hurl an axe across the distance, and burry it in the poor sod's spine. The man went down with little to no screams, though his companion did plenty screaming for the both of them.

"No shit." Dela said. Whether that was a counter to her own statement, or to the obviousness of the now-dead guard's warning, Talia didn't know. Not that she really cared either, as her attention was drawn towards where Aedan and Alistair had already drawn blades. _So much for the easy-yet-vital mission…_

Discarding the fire in her right hand, though she launched what was in her left, Talia snapped Two-Sock into being. The wolf charged the moment it was summoned, beating Turk to it as one of the Darkspawn archers suddenly went down with a case of teeth-through-throat. Familiar in play, Talia's full reserves were once more focused on destruction.

Focusing on one of the midget-archers, Talia gathered both palms in one focused ball of fiery wrath, then sent it outwards with a mental and physical push. The strike hit home, scorching most of the Genlock's head off with an intensity as if it had been a sword doing to killing. Shifting her targets, she then took out the legs from one of the bigger Darkspawn, burning away skin and flesh before leaving it for Turk to maul and ravage.

"Shit, where'd all these come from?" Daveth cursed as he pulled an arrow, revealed to be broken as he discarded it, from a dead Genlock. The surviving guard from before, now sporting a nasty cut on his face, swallowed a lump as he looked around with a frantic stare;

"The Darkspawn came up through the lower chambers, they are everywhere! Most of our men are _dead_!"

"Well, they're here now." Talia muttered, rewarding Two-Sock with a light pat as the group made its way towards the tower; "Might as well kill them with fire."

All around them, corpses of both Darkspawn and soldiers were strewn about, with a lot less dead Darkspawn than soldiers. The sight made her stomach churn. It was a grim, and more than merely disturbing sight. Men had their entrails pulled from their still twitching corpses, blood and intestines steaming in the cold air. _Divines… _

Alistair, being the senior of their group, led the charge as more Darkspawn were waiting at the tower's door. The entrance itself was grand, yet didn't manage to dwarf the Darkspawn standing tall before it. Ugly, feathery and radiating evil, the creature let out a hoarse laughter before slapping a spell off towards Alistair. Instead of blasting him to bits though, the spell coated the Warden in a white shimmer, paralyzing him like a statue of flesh.

A bad thing, considering the Darkspawn warriors still all around him.

"Ehm… a little _help_ here?" Alistair was, miracle of miracles, capable of speech. Not that Talia, or anyone else really took the time nor effort to reply, as they were beset by the rest of the Darkspawn immediately. As Talia started flinging off firebolts towards the Darkspawn getting too close to the paralyzed Alistair, Dela seemed to vanish into the shadows.

"Daveth! Kill their mage!" Aedan shouted, slicing a small Darkspawn apart by the shoulder. The archer gave a small nod as his only reply, and notched an arrow.

An arrow that was never fired, as Dela suddenly appeared on the back of the Darkspawn mage, thrusting both daggers through the back of its hideous head, and thus poking one tip out each of the now splattered eyeballs.

Talia didn't even bother acting surprised. Mostly, this was because a Darkspawn the size of an Orc was trying to skewer her on a rusty, serrated sword. Constantly leaping backwards, Talia poured a constant stream of fire at the monster, then shifted to a mix of fire and electricity as the flames alone didn't seem to do the job. This in turn seemed to work, as the monster fell to the ground, twitching. She blew her knuckles and grinned as Alistair was released from his magical prison. Without the Darkspawn mage, there really was nothing to sustain it.

"_This_ is more like it!" She yelled, blasting fire towards a Darkspawn trying to circle around a growling Two-Sock, blade pointed at the Familiar. The blast caught the Darkspawn in the side, singing it and flinging it to the ground. Two-Sock pounced and ripped out the exposed throat; "Yeah! Go down, bitch!"

Best thing of all, her reserves were _nowhere_ near being depleted as Aedan beheaded the last Darkspawn.

When the creature fell to the ground, the Wardens sheathed their weapons and looked around. More than ten dead Darkspawn, including the mage were strewn about, with the surviving guard being their only casualty. Talia hadn't seen him go down, but the look on the poor man's face told of immense pain, likely caused by the fact that his left arm was resting a small meter from his shoulder, with a pool of blood soaking the ground beneath him.

The feeling of triumph was somewhat lessened.

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**As always, I emplore that you give me your thoughts on the chapter. The story only improves through feedback, as well as reading said feedback makes my day. Reviews are the currency of this site, and I am but a poor beggar.**

**Till next time :)**


	12. Top of the World

**To those still following this story, because I get the feeling some people are a bit annoyed at how I do this:**

**Enjoy the end to Ostagar, and the real start to this story :)**

* * *

"The Maker smiles sadly on his Grey Wardens, so the Chantry says, as no sacrifice is greater than theirs."

* * *

**Top of the World**

* * *

"I don't understand this." Alistair cursed as he opened the heavy doors. Inside was the heavy smell of death and fire; "The Darkspawn shouldn't _be_ here."

"So? Go tell the piss-ants that." Dela huffed as she nudged a dead body with the tip of her boot. Talia offered the small woman a glance, wondering not for the first time how she could move so silently in metal armor. In the end, like with many other events that had transpired, she attributed it to magic.

"Yeah, I'm sure this is all just one big misunderstanding." Alistair was being sardonic, that much was easy to hear; "And later we'll all laugh and go each our ways."

"I guess it does sound rather optimistic when you put it like that." Aedan agreed, looking around. The room before them was a large circular hall, with barricades crudely stacked to prevent those coming from the door to gain entrance. Or rather, it was built to funnel intruders through what was probably a kill zone.

Having been raised in a long (and proud. If her parents were anything, they were Divines-be-damned _proud_) line of fire-mages, Talia had been schooled so thoroughly in flammable substances, that not only could she recite them when awoken before the hounds, she also recognized the smell of oil. A heavy stench that almost seemed to hammer her senses with the greasy sensation of flammable pitch.

She frowned to waft the smell from her nostrils, then followed the others as they made cautious progress into the hall. Alistair, being the senior, walked in the front, and thus it was the sound of his heavy boots treading on something other than dry brick, that alerted Talia. _PISS!_

Without even hesitating to warn the group, she grabbed Alistair's armor by the neck and hauled him back.

The puddle of oil was set ablaze that very same instant, becoming a pit of fiery death. _Had_ anyone actually been standing on it. Heart hammering in her chest, Talia made sure her own clothes weren't on fire before retreating behind a pillar. Arrows were being shot from beyond the fountain at the center of the room, and her robes wouldn't offer much protection from them.

"Wait for the flames to die out!" Alistair called, taking cover himself behind another pillar. No one felt like disobeying, and did their best to weather the arrows flying at them. More than one dinged off Aedan's shield, the heavy metal not really allowing the tips to embed themselves.

Talia snuck a peek from behind her pillar. As long as she stayed behind it, she figured she could managed a small glance. Beyond the fountain, five Genlocks were busy emptying their quivers towards them. Other than that, there was no other opposition.

_Oh,_ the Darkspawn mage had hidden behind one of the large crates. Sneaky bastard. Still, a plan was starting to form in Talia's mind, even as the Darkspawn mage started flinging those bolts of energy towards them. Just another reason to take cover behind those thick stone-columns;

"Alistair, if I can make those midgets stop shooting, can you guys make it to them?" The look she got from Alistair was surprised. She looked at him to wait for his accept, and missed the look of concern on Aedan's face.

"Like what?" The senior of their group demanded more than asked. Talia did a retake of the distance before looking back at Alistair. Truth be told, she had no idea if she had the reserves to make the shot. Still, if the previous fight had revealed anything, it was that the Joining really _did_ offer some improvements. Idly, Talia realized the bloody thing had probably been magical in nature.

"When they stop shooting, just charge." Beyond that, she didn't bother explaining. Mostly because she wasn't entirely sure it would even work. Still, it was better than waiting for the Darkspawn to get those damnable lucky shots in. Daveth had already been graced, she'd seen that, and at some point it wouldn't just be a "grace" . _Piss, this better work!_

As another arrow pinged off the column, Talia jumped from cover and snapped magic. Behind the crude barricades, Two-Sock appeared with fangs bared. Before the Darkspawn mage even registered the appearance of the Familiar, the ghostly wolf had leapt at him. To his credit, Alistair stepped out from cover and advanced the moment the arrows stopped flying, followed by Aedan and Dela in quick succession. Daveth remained with her, and helped supply a healthy dose of distant death to the Darkspawn.

Suddenly, killing those creatures had become remarkably easy.

With Alistair and Aedan in the front, the group started forcing its way through the rooms. Talia found that somehow, as she had noticed earlier, her magical reserves almost seemed to have been increased. The joining was about the only reason she could think of, though again, she had no idea what exactly had caused it. The most promising theory, supported by the fact that combining lightning and fire was the most effective way to kill them, was that the Darkspawn were somehow magical in nature.

Alistair sighed, a heavy, tired sound, as the group came upon a massive hole, dug straight from the floor. There was no seeing the bottom of the tunnel, and the firebolt Talia sent down, simply vanished in the darkness.

The rooms they passed all more or less looked like improvised slaughterhouses, with the dead bodies of humans and Darkspawn both strewn about. One of the rooms that made her cringe was a large hall just before the corridors leading to the next floor. The dead and mutilated bodies of Mabari hounds were slumped in their cages, butchered by the Darkspawn. She did her best to ignore the sight, and instead took out her frustrations on a group of Genlock's appearing from one of the side-rooms in the corridor.

Teeth grit in anger, she hurled fire and lightning at the miniature monsters, frying their skin, burning their flesh and popping their eyes like infected zits. There was something immensely satisfying about watching electricity arch its way through a group of grotesque, undead dwarves. If Dela felt anything about fighting Genlocks, she didn't show it, which was fine by Talia. She didn't care to guess Dela's thoughts anyway.

"So… anyone care to guess what's behind door number One?" Daveth mused, not waiting for a reply as he opened the door.

"I'm guessing Darkspawn." Alistair said. There had to be a joke somewhere in there, but Talia just couldn't find it. In the end, she decided she didn't care and instead followed the others through the door, and up the stairs.

_Gods! _She hated stairs!

But at least she wasn't Dela.

"Sodding… piece of… shit!" The dwarf cursed under her breath as she struggled to make her shorter legs keep up; "I…really hate… human buildings."

Alistair changed the pace to her level, likely because he himself was tired. Or, he was being considerate. It didn't really matter which, though the contemplation was interesting enough;

"Orzammar has plenty of stairs too." He argued.

"Well I never went to the diamond-quarters, so… excuse me for not… having the same level of stair-killing expertise… as you, oh _great_ leader."

"You hear that?" Alistair mused, much to Dela's obvious annoyance; "I'm a _great_ leader now."

"You'll be a _hurting_ leader if… you don't…shit…" Dela cursed. Talia at first thought it was odd that the dwarf would demand of Alistair to take a dump on the stairs, then she looked ahead. Maybe _that_ was also why Aedan and Daveth had stopped walking.

A barricade of corpses was blocking the stairs, with a small, disgusting river of black and red blood running down the steps. Too late, she noticed that her boots were soaked with the liquids, and frowned. Great. _That_ wasn't going to be a bitch to wash out at all.

"This might take some time to clear." Alistair muttered, then glanced at Talia. Somehow, she knew what he wanted. Not because it was terribly difficult to discern, what with his words and the way he looked at her.

"Right, _right_. Let the _mage_ remove the dead bodies. _Magnus_, it's like you people don't respect magic at all." She grumbled, pressing through the group. When in front of the wall, the sight only got more unsettling. There was barricading an entrance with what one had on hand, and there was this. Each body had been mauled and ravaged to the point where even the Draugrs would look more appeasing.

There really only was one way to clear out the mess, short of physically tearing it down. Fire wouldn't do it, as the smoke would probably be less than healthy to inhale. Lightning it was, then.

It proved to work just fine too, as she unleashed the sparks from her gathered palms. The magical electricity danced over the dead bodies, and slowly started disintegrating the skin, then flesh and organs. In the end, all that really remained was armor and bones, with charred skulls grinning at her. Talia huffed and rolled her fingers. She had to admit, becoming a Grey Warden _did_ have its perks.

The second floor was more or less redecorated by the Darkspawn. Crude weapons and dismembered corpses were propped everywhere, and every statue had been beheaded. Talia didn't see the idea to the latter, as beheading a statue had to be a waste of time. Still, the group met with little resistance. There was of course plenty of Darkspawn, but mostly the small shits made from Dwarves. It wasn't until the group reached the final room, just before the stairs to the top of the tower, that things got problematic.

If problematic was the proper word to describe a giant-sized, purple, horned Darkspawn eating a dead body. Sans Alistair, the entire group just stopped and stared. Daveth was the first to find his voice;

"What…the shit… is _that_?" Talia couldn't have put it better herself, except maybe for adding some Divine at the front of the sentence. Still, those words perfectly mirrored her thoughts. This thing was big. It was bigger than just _big_. It was Namira-be-damned _huge_.

"Ogre." Alistair spoke in a low voice, hand tightening on his sword; "_Nobody_ make _any_ sudden movements."

In the end, the entire group could as well have yelled at the top of their lungs, for all the good being silent did them. The gigantic beast turned, a lumbering and slow movement, and glared at the Wardens. A bit of a human arm dangled from its jaws, before being gulped down as the Ogre regarded them with a bestial, yet somewhat intelligent glare.

"Well… now what?" Dela urged, clearly nervous at the prospect of having to fight something so impossibly large. And how the hell had it even gotten into the room? There was no hole in the wall of the floor large enough to allow it entrance, and it sure as hell didn't seem capable of using the door.

"Aedan, you and I draw its attention. Dela, see if you can get on its back. Daveth and Talia, do your best to harass it. Don't. underestimate-" Alistair's orders were interrupted when the Ogre threw back its meaty fists and _roared,_ spittle flying from its mouth. Then, it charged.

_"MOVE!"_ Talia wasn't sure if she was the one screaming or not, but she followed the suggestion, and leapt for her life as the ogre charged forward like a bull. The others did the same, and the monster plowed through a table before hitting the door the group had used. Its momentum carried it, and the door as well as a section of the wall, with it and into the previous room.

"Maker! How do we kill something like that?" Aedan exclaimed as he started moving towards the monster. Talia bit down the worry as she instead focused on following Alistair's orders. He was the senior warden in their group, so logic dictated he would know how to fight one of these things. Gods, she hoped that was true. Because shooting fire at it didn't really seem to do more than piss it off.

"How about not dying? I really like that plan!" Dela yelled as she skirted the Ogre, leaping away every time the monster tried pulping her into the floor. For a small woman in heavy armor, Dela was surprisingly nimble.

"Keep shooting, that's my plan." Daveth said in a very even voice as he shot arrow after arrow into the Ogre. His precision was just as good as it had been in the Wilds, if not better. Even so, the attacks seemed to impact the monster as little more than pinpricks. Still, Talia found herself following Daveth's plan, tearing a flame atronach from Oblivion with one hand, while the other shifted between shock and fire magic.

As odd as it was both unexpected yet obvious in hindsight, the ogre targeted the atronach more than it targeted Alistair or Aedan. Both men hacked away at the monster at every chance and turn they got, but the ogre's main target seemed to be the brightly burning atronach, hovering a foot above ground as it pelted the ogre with fire.

"That's how it's done!" Daveth exclaimed as he no-doubt noticed the ogre's strange priorities as well. Talia decided that if the atronach actually did manage to distract the ogre, she would just go with it having been her plan all along. The ogre finally managed to press the atronach into a corner, whereupon it smashed the summon into the ground like an annoying insect. Daveth's arrow found the base of its skull, and the Ogre roared in pain, the first really obvious sign that any damage was being done. As the Ogre turned to charge the archer, the remains of the atronach combusted in a wave of fire before its feet. As the arcane flames licked its unarmored feet, the monster howled in pain.

Daveth's dwindling stock of arrows was showing, but at least they didn't seem to have been wasted. Multiple small wounds where arrows had broken off, were bleeding, as were the wounds to its legs and waist where the two warriors of the group had managed to injure it. There wasn't a single bite-mark from Turk, as the Mabari had wisely kept its distance to the fight. Clever boy, seeing how the Darkspawn giant would likely have swatted the hound aside like a cat toying with a mouse.

Talia was about to throw fire at the Ogre's exposed rear, but held back as she saw Dela dashing forward, a dagger held firmly in each hand. Talia's first thoughts were that there was no way Dela could get high enough to do any worthwhile harm to the monster.

Those thoughts were dismissed when the dwarf buried both daggers in the Ogre's back, and then held on for dear life as the Darkspawn started trying to throw her off. More or less ignoring the humans before it, the Ogre stomped about, meaty fists clawing to get at the pesky midget clinging to its back. Dela didn't let go though, but instead started using her blades to climb higher, somehow managing to evade every attempt at crushing her in a powerful grip.

Alistair signaled Aedan as the ogre focused on Dela, and both men ducked forward beneath the swinging fists. In rough unison, both warriors sent their blades through the tendons above its ankles. Dark blood sprayed from the deep cuts, and the Ogre's legs wobbled as it lost the ability to stand straight. At this point, Talia and Daveth were forced to simply watch, seeing how any attack could hit Dela as well. The dwarf used the momentum as the Ogre stumbled, to close the distance between herself and the monster's neck. Then, the Ogre caught her in its massive hand.

It happened too fast for anyone but possibly Dela to realize what was going on. One moment the dwarf was scaling the gigantic Darkspawn, the next it had her in a crushing grip. Dela screamed in agony, and even as Talia felt the horror rise in her throat, the Ogre threw Dela at the wall at the far side of the room. The small body seemed to sail through the air in slowed time, then hit the wall with a wet crack, and the sound of both body and armor breaking.

The _sound_ of the impact. Gods.

Alistair roared and charged forward as the ogre turned to regard the rest of the Wardens, a satisfied smirk on its monstrous face. It slapped a fist to the ground, cracking the tiles where Alistair had just been. Instead, Alistair dodged the blow and buried his sword to the hilt in the Ogre's torso.

"Die, damn you!"

The Ogre howled and twitched, still alive despite the mortal wound. The sword was ripped from Alistair's hand. Aedan slashed the Ogre across the chest, causing more blood to fall in a crimson stream. The massive Darkspawn turned its face towards Aedan, snarling as it was down on level with the human. Alistair drew his knife, going for the kill, and plunged it into the Ogre's throat. The fight ended, as the massive Darkspawn collapsed in a wide pool of its own blood.

"By the Eight… What… the hell…?" Talia panted as the adrenaline started leaving her system. Her legs were still shaking. Alistair didn't bother to glance at her, instead looking at where Dela had fallen as he retrieved his sword from the Ogre.

"Everyone… alright?"

"Almost out of arrows… Daveth replied with a pained tone, looking at the broken arrows littering the ground. A lot had been ripped out or simply broken off when the Ogre had grabbed Dela from its back.

"I'm fine..." Aedan huffed, using his sword to support himself as he breathed. Talia really didn't envy him, having had to be so damn close to that monster. It was just another advantage to being a mage, as it allowed her to keep her distance to monsters like that.

Talia started walking towards Dela, hoping to see the dwarf bounce back up like she'd done when the statue hit her on the bridge. Alistair somehow outpaced her, and knelt by the dwarf.

"…Is…she?" She feared the answer, but asked anyway. There wasn't much doubt really, she knew from the growing puddle of blood forming where Dela lay, unmoving. The armor supposed to protect her body had been caved in like crumbled parchment, and blood was running freely from every gap in the metal. Her neck was bent in an odd angle, which more or less told Talia what was to know.

Alistair nodded.

The group was silent for almost a full minute, offering the small woman what respects they could. Talia moved a bit, so she wouldn't be able to see the startled expression that had stuck on Dela's face. Still, not a word was spoken aloud while Alistair muttered something that sounded very much like a prayer.

Then, he got up and sighed, taking a long, deep breath;

"Alright, let's move. We need to get to the beacon, else the Teyrn's men won't know when to charge." He said, and led the group up the stairs. The group followed him, leaving behind Dela's body. Hopefully, they could retrieve it later and give her the ceremony required.

Talia made an effort to avoid stepping on the human remains littering the stairwell, but still ended up nearly slipping when her foot connected with a pulped hand instead of the stairs.

"And just how do we know when the heck to signal them reinforcements?" Daveth inquired irritated, seemingly doing a better job than her at avoiding the not-stair steps. He did have a point, Talia realized. She'd seen the tower from the outside, and unless there was a sight-scope up there, there was no way they would be able to know when to light the beacon.

"Just leave that part to me." was all Alistair said. Talia huffed in irritation, and did her best to wipe the blood on her boots off on the stairs. When they finally cleared the stairwell and emerged into the top-floor room, it hit her just how damn _big_ it was. There even was a relatively small hole in the wall, yet large enough that the Ogre would have been perfectly able to fit through. If only, that was, had the hole not opened up to a straight drop hundreds of meters down.

She could see the battle from the makeshift window, though, so there was something to do while Alistair prepared the beacon. Daveth stood next to her, leaning on the opening as he whistled at the sight;

"…Sure as hell looks tiny from up here, eh?"

"I guess…" Talia muttered, trying not to think of all the people dying every second while they watched. Or Dela's smashed corpse. Duncan was down there too, she knew, as was the king. She didn't much care about Cailan, but he seemed an alright sort, if far too naïve and idealistic to be king. Still, she hoped the plan would work; "This whole 'Blight'-thing… what would happen if we lost?"

"You mean just here or a 'we're all dead' lost?" Daveth asked. Talia looked at him, noticing the tired look in his eyes.

"The second one."

"The previous Blights sometimes spread far beyond Ferelden, from what I know. Dunno how far, but I guess they just keep spreading until someone stops it with a big 'nuff army." Daveth said. From the tone of his voice, his mind wasn't with his words, but Talia's very much were.

The sound of wood igniting made Talia look behind her, to where Alistair had set the beacon ablaze. From where she stood, it seemed like he had merely lit up a fireplace with a chimney, but when looking out the hole again, she could easily see the glow cast from the light shining somewhere above them.

The beacon was lit. Now all they had to do was to wait for Loghain's men to charge in and slaughter the Darkspawn. Talia squinted, trying to spot Loghain's forces. She found them pretty easily, a large mass of dark, covered in bright dots from the torches. The reinforcements were located on the top of a hill overlooking the battlefield, so the charge was probably going to be like crushing a grape between an anvil and a hammer. A cautious smile spread on her lips. _And we have the best seats to watch this go down._

Then she looked again, trying to understand what she was seeing. Something was wrong. The beacon was lit, and there was no way it wasn't visible from the valley. Loghain _had_ to have seen it now. So why by the Daedra wasn't he charging down like the Nord heroes of old?

The battle just dragged on below, with the sound of steel upon steel carrying all the way to where she stood. And yet, Loghain hadn't charged down the hill. Talia's eyes widened in something between horror and confusion as she noticed Loghain's forces seemed to be moving _away_ from the battle. What in Oblivion had she missed in the plan that explained Loghain _leaving_ the battle?

Even as she turned to ask Alistair, seeing how he was the senior warden in their group, footsteps and growls came from the stairs behind them. Her eyes shot towards the stairs, narrowing, then widening in disbelief as Darkspawn emerged, swarming into the room with bows drawn, and teeth bared in evil grins.

An arrow flew.

"Behind-!" Her yell was cut short as the arrow pierced her chest, followed by first one, then two others in the same place. More followed, penetrating her arms and legs. More arrows continued to fly, bringing the rest of the group to the ground. Talia tried to scream as the pain wrecked her body, but all that came out was blood spurting from her lips, even as darkness started seeping into her world.

* * *

Soft.

Why was it soft?

Light was seeping through the cracks in her eyelids, disturbing the sleep she tried remaining deep within. Not that she didn't _like_ soft things, it was just annoying because the darkness had been warm and soft and comfortable, not at all like what being awake was usually like.

Wait. Why was she even asleep? She didn't remember having gone to bed, and she usually remembered that kind of things, if never actually falling asleep. There seemed to be a barrier preventing one from remembering falling asleep.

_Darkspawn everywhere. Arrows. So many arrows, and she'd been hit. She remembered that. There had been pain, and she hadn't been able to breathe. And everything had tasted of blood, and it wasn't supposed to taste of blood. She'd hit the floor, and tried warning the others before everything just went dark._

Talia's eyes flew open as the memories returned, yet her body refused to move right away. Her legs were asleep, and only slowly did they begin feeling normal again. Meanwhile, she threw off the covers, covers she had never even seen before, and tried sitting up. Anything was better than lying down now.

"Had I known that my bed would become a permanent hospice for strangers, I would have erected a tent to spare myself the trouble." An irritated, yet amused voice said from her left. Talia's eyes sought the speaker, and found a person she hadn't expected to see. At least not so soon. Morrigan, the "Witch of the Wilds" that the men had been so afraid off.

"Where…am I?" Talia asked. Before Morrigan could respond, the door to the room was borderline _kicked_ in, revealing a less than calm Brelyna. Talia attempted a weak greeting as the Dunmer seemed to have trouble finding her words; "…Hi?"

Morrigan, having clearly no intentions of being caught in a conversation, left the room. When the _Dunmer_ did speak however, it was with a surprising amount of calm;

"Do you have any idea how… _what_ happened to you?" Brelyna's voice was a little odd, considering the fires burning in her red eyes. The tone didn't match at all, which was a little unsettling. Talia glanced down, realizing she was covered by nothing but her underwear. Still, she didn't pay that any mind as she instead looked around the room. Four other beds were lined next to hers, all of them empty. When she looked back at Brelyna, the girl had somehow moved a lot closer without the Breton noticing;

"I remember being shot. A lot. By the Darkspawn." She muttered, rubbing her eye. A thought struck her, as did worry and she looked to Morrigan; "My… the others?"

"They are fine. T'is you who was in the most danger." Morrigan said, gesturing for the still-open door. A furry face poked inside, a face Talia had never thought she'd be _this_ happy and relieved to see. Morrigan noticed him as well, and scoffed; "That one has been pestering Mother and I since the moment he awoke."

"It is a relief to see you alive, Talia. J'zargo was starting to think he'd become the greatest with no competition." The Khajiit mused. A brief flash of hurt appeared in his eyes before vanishing again; "Ah, some competition _has_ been lost. This one liked Onmund. He was an honest competitor. J'zargo suspects he would have become a great wizard… not as great as J'zargo, but…"

It was becoming painfully obvious that the cat didn't really know how to express himself without being too embarrassed to sound like he actually meant it. He was socially awkward like that at times. Talia sighed as the door opened again, though she made a point to keep her eyes on J'zargo;

"I know. But, the two of you are alive." She sighed. Looking towards the door, she noticed Daveth quickly leaving the room again, obviously realizing this was a private conversation. She almost nodded after him when J'zargo's words pulled her attention back;

"That is true, and so are you. It would have been such a shame had J'zargo lost his last rival." The Khajiit barred his teeth slightly in a feline grin. Talia sighed and rested back against the wall, having propped up the thin pillow for some comfort.

"So… what now?" Brelyna asked, looking at her two fellow students. Talia rubbed her neck, longing for her robes to cover her again. Not because she had an issue with being next-to naked, but because the house was not exactly _warm_.

"We head home, yes?" J'zargo asked, then poked his chin with a claw; "Though J'zargo does not know exactly _how_ to do this."

"I have an idea as to where we are, actually." Brelyna admitted. For some reason, she didn't seem happy when she spoke. Talia frowned, wondering what her, admittedly somewhat smarter, friend had discovered.

"Oh?" J'zargo mused, indicating this hadn't been shared with him. Brelyna sighed;

"…I'm… more or less certain that this is Akavir." To which Talia merely stared. Then she blinked.

"Akavir?" J'zargo asked in mild disbelief. Nothing ever _really_ seemed to face him, which was odd. It was odd because Talia knew he wasn't stupid, or as arrogant and non-caring as he let on.

"I don't know…" she sighed. Too much had been revealed for her _not_ to try ripping apart Brelyna's theory. First of all, where the heck were the Tiger Dragons? Akavir was supposed to have plenty of Tiger Dragons, whatever those actually looked like. And what about the Serpent-men of Tsaesci? Or the Snow Demons? Granted, _those_ could just be frozen for the time being, but still.

"The only thing that bugs me is that your friends froze on the spot when they saw J'zargo." Brelyna huffed, scooting to better sit on the bed. Talia didn't mind the closeness, not after the hell she'd just been dragged through;

"Why do you think this is Akavir?"

"Well, it's obviously west of Skyrim, and Morrowind. I can't see the Warrior at night, but the Thief is just above…" Brelyna didn't herself sound like she was convinced, but if the stars were as she said, they _ought_ to be further west than anywhere on Tamriel alright.

"Still doesn't mean this is Akavir, Brelyna." Talia muttered; "I've been out there, and so far I haven't seen a single Snow demon or Monkey-Man."

"J'zargo does not care if the Tiger Dragons themselves come knocking. He wants to know how to return to Tamriel, not what stars you can see." The Khajiit stated in annoyance. Talia gave him a flat stare, one that softened a bit when she noticed the scar running up his neck and into his left cheek. She decided to change the subject, and pointed it out;

"You _really_ fought a bear?" the question came so sudden that J'zargo had to blink while processing the words, then just grinned proudly.

"Ah, well yes of course. J'zargo would be a poor mage if he fell like the rest of you." He declared with smug satisfaction. Talia's brow shot up a little;

"But why? Khajiit can outrun most bears _I_ know of. Did you have magic then?"

"Ah… no. J'zargo had to use his claws. But… he won. And now J'zargo will have scars to bear with pride." He said, though his tone was a bit off; "But enough of J'zargo. Who are the people outside that seem so worried for you?"

"Ah…them…" Talia muttered, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. It somehow felt like she'd betrayed her friends a bit with the whole "Join the Wardens" thing. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but in hindsight it was probably going to cause issues; "There… might be a problem. It's more or less my fault, I think…"

"What do you mean?" Brelyna's voice held just enough worry to file under the 'what did you do _this_ time?' category. Usually it was annoying (because Talia didn't get into trouble nearly often enough to warrant a tone reserved for that kind of thing), but now she accepted that her friends, the ones in the room with her, might not be exactly overjoyed.

Talia shifted in her seat, wringing her hands. Piss, she wasn't supposed to be nervous around her own friends. She'd known them both for years, for Mara's sake!

"I… might have kinda maybe joined an Order of monster-killing warriors to stop an army of Darkness comparable to the Dragon War." There. Revelation delivered. Now to wait for J'zargo to become jealous and Brelyna to have a nervous fit.

"Ok-ay?" The Dunmer's first word wasn't what Talia had expected; "And… _why_ would you do that when you know as well as I that we should just return home as soon as possible?"

"That's… where it kinda gets a little scary. Scary as in 'soil your drawers'-scary." She tried explaining. Brelyna's eyes widened slightly before they narrowed, indicating for her to go on. There would likely be some very uncomfortable admonishing from the younger girl if Talia couldn't sell the threat as it was. She still remembered what Daveth had said, in the tower.

"And how is that, hmm?" J'zargo mused, examining a claw as he spoke. Still, his ears were pointed straight ahead, betraying the nonchalant façade of disinterest.

"The enemy is called "Darkspawn". I've fought them, they're essentially like orcs, just without brains between their ears. And they seem to just want to kill everything around them. Also some become as big as giants." There was a very brief flash of pain as she saw Dela's broken body in her mind, then shook it off; "What's going on is called a Blight. It's basically the end of the world for these people if they lose, I think. And if they lose, there's no reason to think the Darkspawn won't spread to Tamriel as well."

"Are you sure?" Brelyna's voice was somewhere between set in stone, and wavering from uncertainty. Talia really wanted to lie and say everything wasn't as bad as she thought.

"I am, yeah…" She muttered, looking at her feet; "At first I just wanted to get back home as fast as I could, with you of course, but… that's when I started realizing how big this is. If they lose."

"Mmm… maybe J'zargo spoke too soon earlier. One cannot be his rival if the girl has lost her mind." There was a hint of frustration in his voice, something rarely heard from the cat. He pointed a furry finger at Talia; "And something tells J'zargo that you must have lost your mind."

"What, because I did something instead of just looking the other way?" Talia huffed, staring at the cat.

"As much as he boasts, J'zargo knows he is not meant for war. He joined the College to learn the arts, not to fight the forces of Darkness."

"What difference could you even make, Talia?" Brelyna cut in. Good thing too, because J'zargo was getting on the Breton's nerves.

"I can help. At least, I believe I can help." She declared, looking for some support from the door. Right now would be a great time for any of the other Wardens to butt in. Even Alistair, mage-hater as he seemed to have been once; "I just… I can't turn my back on this. Even if we _could_ leave right now, what would happen when the Blight reached Tamriel?"

"The Empire would beat it back, of course." J'zargo brushed her off; "Khajiit knows there are no greater soldiers than the Imperial Legions."

"He has a point, you know." And Brelyna sound like she hardly believed it herself; "We're apprentices. We're not supposed to fight in wars. Doesn't this land have an army of its own?"

Not anymore, Talia suspected. If the plan had hinged on Loghain charging from the flank, then the plan had failed when she watched the general pull out. This probably meant the battle had been lost. And that Duncan was dead. The thought made her heart beat faster for a few moments, but she managed to force it down with controlled breathing. Even if Duncan _was_ dead, panicking wouldn't solve anything.

"It _had_. Regardless, this is important. Staying here could mean saving countless lives. I'm not asking you to join me for it, Divines know I'd prefer you to be on the other end of Nirn from this shit, but…"

"Talia, do you even know what you are saying?" Brelyna seemed baffled, which Talia really didn't blame her. Delivering speeches about self-sacrifice wasn't exactly something she did often.

"I know. I know that I'm not a soldier, or even trained to kill a horde of monstrous mutants, but I have to try." At the very least she should try to help the people she'd met. Even if she might not make a difference, the shame would probably eat her up till she died, if she just left it all for the safety of Tamriel.

"Not what I meant." The Dunmer sighed in irritation; "I meant that you must be utterly delirious if you think I'll let you endanger your life like this without me to watch your back. You'll just get yourself killed otherwise."

Talia blinked, completely taken aback by the dark-skinned girl's words. It felt a bit like someone had punched her intestines into her chest, and now everything was tangled up and confused. Because it sounded a lot like Brelyna had just stopped being the timid, adorable girl from Morrowind, and instead become something more. She wasn't sure what, exactly, but the fact that Brelyna had said what she said, made her want to punch a kitten.

J'zargo would make the next best target, if she actually ended up having to hit something out of frustration. Gods dammit, she had done all this shit, and now the people she had wanted to protect, wanted to seek out danger instead of staying safe? _What the hell did I do to deserve this?_

"What?" It wasn't the most eloquent of counters, but it was all she could muster.

"I happen to be a better mage than you, whether you realize it or not." Brelyna stated with a determined stare; "If you want to play hero, you need an actually decent mage to watch over you."

"Hey, I'm plenty deadly compared to you." Talia muttered.

"Maybe, but your reserves are below average. I'm coming, and that's the end of it."

A small grin spread over Talia's face, though she made an effort to suppress it. She wanted Brelyna safe, but at the same time, didn't want to be separated from her in a land like Ferelden. She looked at J'zargo, the cat offering her an amused look;

"Let this one guess, you want J'zargo to stay safe too?" He said. Talia mock-scowled at him;

"I seem to recall you saying you weren't a soldier, scaredy-cat. Or did that change?" A feeling of confidence was spreading in her chest, caused by Brelyna's determination to watch over her. In a way, it was like the roles were turned around and Brelyna had suddenly become the older girl. Funny, really.

"J'zargo only said that because he knows he doesn't _need_ to help. But you need his help, no?" The cat grinned, toying with one of his thick, black whiskers. Really it was more like a beard, but Khajiit insisted they didn't grow beards. So, whiskers it was.

"_Sure_ we do." Talia blew a huff. Still, she was glad they were with her in this.

Outside, as she more or less bypassed Morrigan, Talia found Aedan and Alistair to be deep in conversation with their backs turned. When Aedan noticed her, Alistair turned as well, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes, and a pained expression on his face. Near by the shallow waters of the marshy pond, Daveth was sitting on a rock, unusually silent.

"What?" Talia spoke first, directing the question to Alistair and Aedan. Mostly to Aedan, as she had a nagging suspicion about what had happened to Alistair.

"Loghain left the battle about when we lit the beacon…" Aedan muttered, his fists tightened in clear anger; "Now the king is dead, Duncan is dead and the whole bleeding army is dead. With just the four of us, we're more or less screwed."

"_Six_, actually…" she tried, though it had about the expected effect: none at all. Aedan just kept looking like he wanted to strangle a puppy. _Speaking of… where by Arkay did Turk go?_

The realization hit her that the hound was likely dead, since she hadn't seen it so far since she woke up. Just one more nail in the coffin that was Aedan's family, and what was left of it.

"_Six_, then. We're still just us versus the Darkspawn, oh, and Loghain who probably wants to remove the loose ends and kill anyone who survived the battle." Alistair snapped; "And two of us can't even be seen in public because everyone would start screaming 'abominations, help!', and then we would be chased by the Chantry as well."

"It's not J'zargo's bloody fault that no one but the old crow knows about Khajiit." The cat argued, obviously tired of being called an abomination by just about every person he came across. Talia chose to ignore the tension, at least for now;

"What happened? I remember getting shot, how are we here?" Because she really couldn't see a way they could have just ended up in Morrigan's home. Unless the girl or her mother had collected their bodies at the tower and then brought them back to life. Really, it wasn't _that_ far-fetched.

"You were injured, and Mother saved you. You do not remember?" Morrigan said, giving J'zargo the stink-eye when he stood too close to her.

"I think I would remember an old woman rescuing me from… _Injured_? I was shot in the lung at least twice, and you call that being _injured_?" Talia exclaimed, poking her chest for effect. Morrigan gave a small, not-very-friendly amused sound at the gesture.

"I have healed far worse injuries in my time, girl." Flemeth stated, appearing from within the house. Talia frowned, as she had been certain the old woman hadn't been inside before. Hiding under the bed, maybe?

"How exactly _did_ you rescue us, if you don't mind me asking?" Daveth asked the old woman. She let a cackle loose, reminding everyone that she was cracked in the head.

"Why, I turned into a dragon and picked you all up, one in each hand and foot, of course." Which was followed by a fresh laugh. Alistair didn't seem to share her enthusiasm;

"Duncan is dead, the King is dead. Everyone is sodding _dead_. We're all that's left, and you are _laughing_?" Flemeth smiled and looked at Alistair like he was merely misunderstanding something.

"And why not? If evil threatens the world, surely we could all use a little laughing here and there." Flemeth mused, eyes shining with a spark of madness; "Still, I suspect Grey Wardens are more effective than laughter when it comes to fighting a Blight. Call it an old woman's intuition."

"That why you saved us?" Daveth asked. He didn't even seem to care about being afraid of talking to witches anymore.

"Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we?" Flemeth mused before her expression became more serious; "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the land against the Blight, regardless of their origins. Or did that change while I wasn't looking?"

"I think it changed when all but four of them were brutally slaughtered. And why the hell would Loghain even do this? I mean, he's just throwing men away." Talia exclaimed. It wasn't logical. It wasn't even illogical for a man to waste so many soldiers. There was just no sense to it, not even for a madman.

"'Suppose some people are just worse than Darkspawn." Daveth added silently; "Never figured it'd be the General though."

"True enough." Flemeth said; "Perhaps he thinks the Blight is an army he can out-maneuver. In that case he is a fool for not seeing the real threat behind the Blight."

"Yes, the Arch Demon, we know. Doesn't help us a sodding bit when we have all six of us to fight this with now. Unless Loghain offers his help all of a sudden." Aedan cursed.

"J'zargo thinks this one underestimates mages." The Khajiit chuckled. Talia brushed him off, returning her attention to the two warriors. She trusted Aedan the most, but Alistair _was_ the Senior in their group, meaning he was most likely to know what to do. Luckily, neither seemed to take the bait from J'zargo.

"Don't we still have those treaties?" Daveth asked, something like realization in his voice. Talia narrowed her eyes in confusion. Had they actually _brought_ the scrolls with them through the entire fight? Not that it hadn't proven a brilliant move, if it _was_ the case, but who the hell came up with the idea to bring valuable documents into a fight?

"Of course! The treaties!" Alistair exclaimed as if Daveth hadn't just asked; "We can get support from the elves and the mages and Orzammar with these!"

"Is that a lot?" Brelyna asked, joining the conversation. Nothing against it, really. She was just as curious as Talia tended to be, and here the Dunmer had been left out of the information. Alistair nodded furiously;

"It is. It's a whole lot. Orzammar alone should have an army the size of what Loghain made off with, if not more. And elves and mages…" Something akin to a light had appeared in Alistair's eyes as he spoke, like a religious devotion to the cause; "We could win this."

"Mmm, elves, mages and dwarves. This sounds like a proper army to me." Flemeth mused. Aedan offered Talia a small smile, the first real one she had seen on him so far, as their chances seemed to increase. She did her best to smile back, though the memories of what had happened, coupled with the fact that Brelyna and J'zargo wanted to risk their lives, took the joy from the situation. Alistair's smile more or less faded as Morrigan emerged from the hut;

"Supper is ready, Mother. Shall we have six guests for dinner, or none?" Talia's eyes widened a little at the mention of food. She was absolutely starving, and had no idea why. She'd eaten just before the battle started. Odd, but hopefully they would come across an inn soon. Or, Flemeth would invite them in for supper. She much preferred the latter.

"Our guests are leaving, girl, and you're leaving with them." Flemeth's words seemed to take a moment to register, as Morrigan's expression was unchanged through most of her sentence.

"Excellent, then I _WHAT_?" She outright yelled, staring at her mother like the old woman had gone insane. Insan_er_. More insane. Whatever was the right term.

"Ah…the Witch will accompany us?" J'zargo hummed, sounding a bit too pleased at the news. Talia knew she wasn't pleased. She didn't really like Morrigan, and had a feeling Morrigan didn't care if they all dropped dead on the spot. Well maybe except for J'zargo. Talia suspected Morrigan would smile if the cat dropped dead.

"You heard me girl. The last time I looked, you had ears." Flemeth cackled.

"And so pretty ones too." J'zargo was obviously enjoying this more than anyone else in the group. Talia groaned, realizing that the cat was back to getting his kicks from getting under people's skin. Still, there was an entertainment value to it this time.

Morrigan sent J'zargo an evil glare.

"Oh but I really don't know if we can just, you know, take her and all. I mean, she doesn't even want to." Alistair argued. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he didn't like Morrigan either. Odd, that Talia would find something in common with him in the dislike of a mage. Or witch, if one had to be anal about it.

"But won't her magic be, I dunno, really useful?" Aedan said. Talia stared at him, mentally kicking _him_ over the shin for that kind of comment. Mostly because he was right. No mage, including witches, was to be underestimated in a fight. Morrigan probably _would_ be a help.

"True. She also knows her way through the wilds and can guide you past the Darkspawn horde." Flemeth nodded; "I imagine you would like not to be caught by the Darkspawn, or is that your ultimate goal?"

"Not really." Daveth muttered from his seat on the stone.

"Have _I_ no say in this?"

"Oh come now, would you pass up the chance to travel with J'zargo? He so longs for the company of a decent mage." The cat's comment only made the sneer on Morrigan's face increase.

"And now a Khajiit sees more clearly than you, girl. You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years, and now you have the chance." Flemeth said; "Wardens. Understand that I am giving you that which I value most in this world."

"We will keep her safe, don't worry yourself." Daveth assured the old woman; "Don't think she'll need it though."

"Won't she be an apostate outside the Wilds though?" Alistair asked; "I mean, it _could_ be a problem if the Chantry comes after us."

"Refresh my mind. An apostate is, what, exactly?" Talia said as she looked between Morrigan, who looked ready to set J'zargo's whiskers on fire, and Alistair, who looked nervous as the prospect of having aforementioned with them.

"A mage outside the Chantry." Aedan reminded her; "You know, the whole thing with control and why they should be locked up and such."

Right. That had been it. She remembered their talk back at Highever now. It had probably been the catastrophic events soon after that had made her more or less deliberately forget as much as she could about Highever. Still couldn't forget the screams though.

She hid the unpleasant memory behind a scoff and a laugh;

"That'd be the day when your Chantry ever visits Tamriel." She gave Alistair an encouraging smile; "High Rock especially."

"Indeed, young man. Are your ideals so that you'd not accept help from us "illegal" mages?" Flemeth's words had some barb to them; "Perhaps we should have left you at the tower, then."

"I'd like help from you. Just, so you know." Daveth chirped. He remained sitting though, fiddling with the string for his bow. Morrigan didn't really seem eager to lend said help though;

"Mother, this isn't how I wanted this. I… I am not ready."

"You must be ready, my daughter. These people must reunite Ferelden against the Darkspawn. Without you, they will surely fail."

"But, they already have _three_ mages with them." Morrigan argued, gesturing at the College students. Brelyna groaned at the tension, while J'zargo merely, as per usual, seemed amused at the strife.

"You are capable of greater things than you know, child. The Blight will only grow worse, and all will perish under it. Even I." The fact that Flemeth would be gone as well, seemed to set something in Morrigan off-balance.

"I…_Fine_." Morrigan threw her hands up in defeat before looking at the Wardens, Alistair and Aedan specifically; "Allow me to get my things then…"

* * *

**Okay. So, I have been going over what you guys so far seem to think of the story, and the most common complaint is that I follow the game too much. Well, I am trying to do just not that, if it is any consolation. Just is, Ostagar is really difficult to get out of without pretty much copying the game. I know a lot of stories have managed to turn the battle completely around, and that's fine. Just isn't what I have in mind. _But_, I will promise as much as this story will start diverting from canon as soon as I can get away with it. T'is a lot more fun too, wrtiting something not in the game.**

**Second, if one is wondering why someone from brutal and harsh Skyrim is so affected by people dying, remember that Talia is a student. She isn't the Dragonborn, she never travelled the province and killed Dragons and monsters in scores. So far, her greatest battle was with the Draugr beneath Sarthal. So when a friend, like Onmund, dies, she will react like any student would to the death of a classmate with whom they shared dormitaory for three years.**


	13. Lothering

**Oh Haiiiiiiiiiii!**

**Yep, I am not dead. Just have bit of trouble getting time for writing and Aspect of Fore tends to take priority. Ah well, let's see if we can't get this horse back in its paddock, shall we?**

* * *

**Lothering **

* * *

"I still don't see why you couldn't put some more clothes on."

"What I wear, is none of your concerns, Alistair. I suggest you remember that." Morrigan shot back. Talia wanted to yell, to threaten to turn the group around. The Senior Warden and Morrigan had been at each other's throats more or less since they set out. _Why can't he just be the silent, quiet and downtrodden type of griever? _

"Yeah well, you should just know that your outfit usually gets women violated. Nasty business. I hear." Alistair had a sour tone to the way his quirk came out. It was frustratingly annoying.

"Then those women are fools, for making themselves vulnerable. I am not so." Morrigan scoffed. Talia looked to her side, seeing J'zargo in conversation with Daveth. For some reason, the fact that those two seemed to hit it off wasn't really that big a surprise. Both were immaturely unserious at the best of times. Well, at least Daveth wasn't arrogant.

"Maybe, but your clothes still scream "apostate" or "Chasin" to just about every man, woman, child and Mabari bound to see you at some point." The former templar argued.

"Should they be more concerned with an "unlawful" mage…" Morrigan did the mandatory air-quotations; "then more the fools them, for not focusing on the Blight."

"People tend to do that when potential blood mages start appearing." Talia frowned at Alistair's statement. Blood mages? What was a Blood mage? For some reason, Alistair made it sound like a Daedra.

"Blood magic is for the weak. Do I look like a person needing to summon demons to do my bidding?"

"No." Alistair mused; "Clearly your personality is more than sufficient."

"So glad that we agree." Morrigan mock-smiled at him. _Gah! Why the hell did I say she could speak her mind?_

Regardless of previous claims, Talia now very much wanted to tell both the templar and the witch to shut the flying hole in Oblivion both claimed as mouths. They had only been walking for two hours when the bickering began, and after four, she was getting close to setting something on fire.

Aedan happened to walk close to her, and she sought some actual intellect in him. Brelyna, for reasons unknown, seemed more interested in staying twenty feet ahead. Divines knew why. It couldn't _possibly_ be to escape the constant bitching thrown between Alistair and Morrigan. Gods forbid.

"So…how are you holding up?" She asked, seeing how Aedan didn't seem keen on initiating a conversation. He sighed and looked briefly at her, then at the Tower of Ishal, starting to grow smaller in the distance. Something was bothering him, and it apparently wasn't the presence of a walking cat, the arguing witch and former-templar, or the fact that Duncan was dead. True, he seemed distressed over those things as well, the last one at least, but that wasn't what bothered him. She could see that much at least.

"…fine."

"I'm guessing you tried sounding convincing there." She teased him a bit. Hopefully, it would make him open up a little. Talia was still afraid that whatever progress he'd made since Highever, had been buried ten feet under when Loghain abandoned the King and Duncan. His quiet seemed a good indicator that it had.

"I did, didn't I?" His lips creased into a sad smile; "Did it work?"

"Not really. So, what's wrong?" She didn't feel like she had to add the otherwise mandatory 'aside from everything that happened in the last twenty hours'. Just seemed like waste of time to go over all that shit again.

"Flemeth told me there was a dead Mabari in the tower, where she found us." Aedan muttered. The visible lump in his throat moved as he swallowed. Talia nodded in understanding. She'd guessed as much when Turk hadn't been with them when she woke up.

"I'm sorry." She tried after a minute of uncomfortable silence, failing to come up with anything better.

"Fereldans have a very strong tie to dogs, the Mabari especially…" Aedan muttered in a low voice; "Turk was given to me when I was ten. Just a whimpering pile of hide and fur, stumbling about, trying to… understand the world around him."

"Dogs are like that, I heard."

"Yes, they are. He was, anyway." There was a period where the only sound made was Alistair and Morrigan's constant pissing-contest; "The day you arrived with Duncan, Turk broke into the larder."

Talia raised a brow at that, trying to gauge if it was symbolic talk, or if Aedan was being serious. From the thin line on his expression, she guessed it was mostly symbolic.

"Why would he do that?" She still asked though. She needed something to take her mind off the situation, and if Aedan needed to talk, maybe she could do it that way.

"Apparently, giant rats had gotten into the larder and started eating our food. When Turk got in there, Nan was furious. She insisted that if I didn't get my "slobbering beast" under control, she'd leave…" The sad amusement fled from his eyes; "Right now, I wish she had."

"She's the woman we saw in the…right…" Talia stopped herself before uttering the words 'before we found your dad'. It would only serve to upset Aedan even more. Not exactly what she needed now; "So…"

"…what?" Aedan looked at her. Talia shrugged and glanced behind them, observing how J'zargo seemed to get rather well along with Daveth. Ahead of them, Brelyna had stopped to wait for the group, shuffling her feet like a child.

"Do you know how we proceed from here? _Where_ we even go from here?" The Dunmer asked. In a way, the question was the same Talia would have voiced, so it didn't matter who asked it. All Morrigan's mother had said was that Morrigan would lead them out of the Wilds, but beyond that, nothing. And Morrigan herself had seemed content with either arguing with Alistair, or remaining silent.

Gods, if Talia didn't feel like the adult of the group already. And it wasn't a funny feeling.

"The Village of Lothering lies but a day's travel to the North. We shall rest there and gather supplies before continuing to wherever the illustrious Alistair deems it wise." Morrigan answered.

"And here I was hoping to get there before nightfall." Alistair sighed; "Oh well, who doesn't love camping outdoors?"

"I don't." Talia said, giving the man a flat look. Sleeping outside meant subjecting to nature's wrath, be it rain, storm or mosquitoes. Daedra in Oblivion, she _hated_ those flying assholes; "Also I don't have a tent."

"A thing you should acquire in Lothering, then." Morrigan mused; "Myself I do not need such a thing."

"Right. You mean I should steal it? Dunno if you noticed my robes being a bit tattered. It's because no one accepts Septims around here." Talia shot the woman an annoyed look. She knew she was just being pissed because of the situation, but Morrigan really seemed hell-bent on being as cringingly annoying and arrogant. _Give that woman fur and she's a female J'zargo…_

The image of a furry Morrigan caused her to shiver with both revulsion and guilty delight.

"Money's not a problem, not really." Alistair said, holding up a fat leather purse. It seemed rather stuffed, and Talia wagered it wasn't with grain. Talia resigned to the fact that Alistair was resourceful. Great, now she had to be thankful when _his_ money bought _her_ tent.

As evening settled, the group found the Imperial Highway. Good thing too, as Talia was getting sick of trudging through the mud. The change from mud into tiles was a welcome one, and also served to speed up their pace. It wasn't long though, before it became clear that they would need to settle for the night.

Great. That meant camping outside, while Darkspawn were no doubt about, roaming the countryside. In short, it would likely be like camping in a crypt. Just fantastic.

"Talia, you and…" Alistair trailed off, looking at J'zargo as if to remember something. Naturally, that 'something' would be the Khajiit's name.

"J'zargo." The cat said, an indignant tone to his words. J'zargo, being who he was, rarely liked when people forgot his name. Alistair blushed a little.

"Right. You and J'zargo take the first watch. If anything happens, wake us up before you do anything." He said as he sat down on a boulder. Talia hummed as she glanced around the make-shift camp. Aedan was sitting next to Daveth, trying to light a fire. Neither seemed to know how to light the moist wood, and in the end Brelyna seemed to take pity on them and set it on fire herself. Morrigan was, no big surprise, rolling out her own sleeping roll a bit away from the others.

That was fine by Talia, who really didn't need the arrogant and anti-social witch closer by than necessary.

"Fine by me." She said, nodding at J'zargo; "I don't suppose you actually brought some… you know… with you?"

"Ah, no. This one wasn't expecting there to be time to enjoy those things. Sadly, I fear it will be a while before we can share such… _fun_ evenings again." J'zargo replied. Talia sighed, but didn't bother complaining. While she wouldn't have turned down something uplifting, it wasn't so bad that they lacked it either. Skoma wasn't the best thing ever if you needed to be coherent, much less effective.

"Figured I'd ask…" She replied as she picked her satchel from her hip. It was something of a miracle that it was still in one piece, really, considering everything that had happened. Opening it, she saw that the lavenders were utterly crumbled. Aside from that, the contents were undamaged.

Daveth came around after an hour or so, giving each what amounted to dinner. Apparently, the man had gone hunting at some point, as he offered the both of them bread, from Aedra knew where, and roasted meat.

"Eat up, alright? And wake me later, can't have the watch falling asleep." The archer said with a smile, before heading back to the small campfire. Talia looked at him for a moment, then back into her satchel. The sound of her stomach though, made her forego rummaging in favor of eating.

The bread tasted stale and old, and somehow she still nearly swallowed it whole. Same thing with the meat, though it actually wasn't so bad. Whomever had cooked had killed the animal for the second time, but it was still edible. And when she'd gulped down the last scraps of food, Talia found herself looking at J'zargo's scrap of leather, holding the remains of his meal.

She was still hungry. Odd, she'd already eaten more than she used to. Was it because she'd walked all day? Wouldn't surprise her, really, seeing how she was used to walk no further than to the inn, or the carriage. It all depended on whether she was going out of town or just out.

"Something smells foul…what have you in that bag?" J'zargo asked, directing her attention to her open satchel. Talia sniffed, but couldn't smell anything different than before. Accepting that J'zargo's food was beyond limits, she picked through the contents of the bag. While the lavenders were crumbled beyond use, the empty soul gem was intact, as was both her joining vial, and the book.

She looked at the vial. The contents washed around inside whenever she shook the small container. J'zargo's eyes widened slightly in curiosity as his face came closer to the vial.

"Darkspawn blood." She explained. The cat's eyes glanced from the vial to her, silently asking for an explanation. Right, he probably didn't understand what Darkspawn were. Not that she blamed him, really. All she'd told him and Brelyna was that an army of Darkness was attacking. Neither of the two other students actually knew _what_ a Darkspawn was.

"Just imagine undead orcs." She said, hanging both necklaces around her neck. There really was no reason not to wear them both, seeing how one was a gift from her family, the other a symbol of her Joining.

"Ah."

"Yeah. Pissing ugly, and apparently their blood is poisonous." She huffed, then pulled her book from the satchel; "mind giving me a light?"

"J'zargo did not notice you brought a book" the Khajiit said, even as he snapped out a magelight and fixed it to the tree above Talia's head. She hummed and opened the book on the first page; "It is a spell book, I take it?"

"Mmm. "Aspect of Fire", actually. It's meant for fire-mages, so I just scooped it from Urag's shelves." J'zargo gave her a smug look, to which she bristled at the unspoken accusation; "I'm going to deliver it back, so give me a break."

"Hmm hmmm. J'zargo wonders how Urag would feel if he found out that the Breton stole a book from his shelves." The cat sounded downright victorious, as if he'd won some sort of victory. Which he hadn't. Because she hadn't _stolen_ anything.

"He _won't_, because I never stole anything. Now shut it, damned cat, or you won't get to read this when I'm done." She scoffed and pulled her robes tighter. As the sun had vanished, so had the heat. Instead, the temperature was now cold, though not as cold as back in Skyrim. It was annoying that she hadn't had a chance to fix her robes yet, as she didn't even possess a basic kit of thread and needle.

This was why she didn't travel on foot.

* * *

"Any idea as to when we will be in… what did you call the village again?" Brelyna asked, tired from walking since morning. Morrigan glanced at their surroundings, for reasons Talia really couldn't fathom as she watched the witch. Morrigan had never been out of the Wilds, had she? And if that was the case, how was she supposed to know the terrain?

"Soon, I wager. T'is not often I have led people to civilization, rather the opposite in fact."

"Yeah, I bet you led people _into_ the Wilds though. Like, a lot." Alistair muttered annoyed. By now, Talia was beyond caring if the witch and the former templar either kissed or killed each other. Both were equally annoying, so it really wouldn't be a loss either way. Mostly though, she was concerned with how to deal with other people.

"Why would she do that?" Brelyna inquired. Good point, really. Why would Morrigan, or her mother to mention that old crone, even bother leading people around in a forest? Seemed like a dumb thing to do. Unless both were secretly hagravens. Morrigan had enough feathers on her to resemble one of the illustrations of the Forsworn, that much was painfully (awkwardly too) evident for all to see.

"'Cause they're witches of the Wilds, they are. Lure people into the woods, never to be seen again."

"Still with those names of yours, Pickpocket?" Morrigan scoffed.

"_Thank you_, Daveth, for that explanation. Why don't we just go set fire to the next people we meet, just to complete the picture of a perfectly dysfunctional group?" Talia lingered in her steps just enough to whack the archer over the head.

"Well there's your chance." Alistair pointed ahead as they rounded a sloping, turning part of the highway; "Got some nice flammable people over there. I bet they'll start yelling "abomination" any time now."

Talia whacked _him_ over the head this time. Was that a hollow sound coming from his head? Probably.

"I told you before, Dullard, to stop with the… Am I or this land going crazy?"

"What with all that's happened, both stand out as possible." Brelyna smiled a little, then frowned; "Why do you ask? You aren't seeing Phsijics again, are you?"

Divines forbid _that_ one. The mere memory of that odd mage appearing in thin air, stopping time and everything, still sent shivers down her spine. Especially because he had foretold some serious dung was going to happen. _And naturally I was the only one to see it…_

The memory had briefly managed to remove her attention from the happenings of the highway. That changed when the people up ahead, complete with broken carts, weapons and a strangely clad woman, took notice of them. Well, the men did. The robe-clad redhead? Not so much before the leader of the group spoke.

"Hold there, friends. There's a refugee-tax, to support the war-effort."

"You are exploiting those who seek shelter with the Maker. Surely you can realize the error of your way, and repent." The redhead argued. _Great._ It was one of _those_ people. The men turned back to what seemed like a drawn-out argument.

"Listen, Sister. The Maker helps he who helps himself, yes? And we're doing the best we can at just that, while making sure the travelers aren't too overloaded with worldly possessions when arriving at the Maker's shelter." The leader explained to the…Sister? With a close-to patronizing tone. The woman pouted indignantly and crossed her arms before her chest

Talia couldn't help an amused smirk when she recognized the same men who had tried robbing her and Duncan right after she'd escaped the Tower. The Divines surely seemed to have an odd way of splitting pain and pleasure. There kind of was a good chance of this being mostly pleasure for her group, and pain for what had to be the only group of highwaymen in Ferelden.

"What? No, that is NOT how the Maker rewards his children. What you are doing is wrong, and you need to stop. Now!" The Sister exclaimed. The men glanced at each other for a moment, then back to the Sister.

"And ehm… how exactly would you _convince_ us, to do that?" While the bandits looked smug, Talia walked the last meters up to them, wearing an all-too-large, shit-eating grin on her face. It was the kind of grin that would alert Ancano when his skin would suddenly turn green and wrinkly.

"Are we… _interrupting _something, gentlemen?" she asked, using her very most innocent voice. The leader turned to look at her, frowning before something of a "Light of Realization" hit him.

"Maker- _Boys_, it's the she-demon!" Slight panic crept into his voice as he snapped to the Sister and pointed wildly at the group; "Sister! That girl is an abomination, an apostate!"

"See what I told you, Morrigan. People won't think nice things about your clothes like that." Alistair seemed fairly amused, despite the potential for a fight. Talia coughed slightly as she turned towards him;

"Actually, he's talking about me, Alistair." She explained, then turned to Brelyna;

"Think you can scrounge up some Flame Atronachs? Two would be fine."

"Uhm… sure. Now?" Talia nodded to the girl's question. As both Brelyna's hands flared purple, her own hands gathered in concentration. When Brelyna snapped out two Atronachs at once, it wasn't the first time she envied the Dunmer. Still, the snaps of magic got the warranted attention.

That, or it was the appearance of three flame Atronachs that did the trick. Either way, the effect was what she had intended.

"Maker's _Shit_! There's _three_ of them now!" the leader yelped in clear panic. The redhead Sister seemed entirely too confused to speak. Which was funny too, with that expression on her face. Whether the man was referring to the Atronachs or the students, Talia didn't know.

"So, you guys _still_ rob people? Honestly, we just lost a huge battle, and you guys are _robbing_ those fleeing the Darkspawn?" Irritation was starting to come back to her, as was the memories of what had happened at Ostagar. And now these people robbed innocents? "Give me one good reason not to torch your sorry asses where you stand."

"I- We'll leave! Right now. Right boys? We won't never bother you mage-types again!" It was a sweet feeling, when the lawless feared her like this. When they feared _magic_, as should be.

"Not good enough." Alistair declared, stepping between the summons as they circled the frightened bandits; "How many people have you not already mugged or killed? I dare guess quite a lot."

"We'll turn some of the loot in too. Can we go then?"

"Ehm Boss? I thinks they want all the loot." And cue the big one Talia had pegged as having the intellect of a Mudcrab.

"Listen to your friend there." Alistair said, his tone hard; "Ferelden has no need for bandits prowling on the weak in these times. I suggest you let the nearest chantry return the stolen goods to the rightful owners."

"_All_ of it? But, what are we supposed to make a living from then?" The man leading the bandits exclaimed, even as he shifted to get away from the closest atronach. Curious, really, that _men_ in particular would find them scary. Duncan had said they resembled Desire Demons, so the bandits should at least have looked at what passed for breasts on the summoned creatures.

"You could repent by assisting the town of Lothering with evacuating our refugees." The Sister suggested. The bandits seemed uneasy at that idea.

"We… might be known to people in Lothering. Not much joy in a reunion there." The leader admitted, rubbing his neck rather awkwardly. All of a sudden, there was a sword resting against his bare neck. Talia nearly yelped in surprise, but managed to keep silent as she noticed who was holding the sword. Aedan was staring straight at the leader, a cold look in his eyes.

"People like you would have hanged in Highever. I _suggest_ you take the Sister's offer." He said, his blade drawing just a drop of blood from a fine, thin cut in the bandit's skin.

"You- you wouldn't strike down an unarmed man?" The statement came more as a plead than anything else, really, and it was kind of pathetic to see a grown man reduced to shivers at the mere touch of a blade. Especially because the one holding the blade wasn't above the twenty years yet.

"It wouldn't be a crime. I would be doing a civil service by removing criminals from the roads. You can choose my way or the good Sister's." Aedan's voice was cold. Was this what nobles in Ferelden were raised to be capable of? If so, it was one thing they had High Rock surpassed in.

"What do we need to do?" The man turned to the Sister so quickly, Talia could hear the joints in his neck popping. The "good Sister" gave a sweet and innocent smile;

"You can start out by turning yourself in to knight-templar Mako, at Lothering's gates." She said. The men blanched at her words, but a single glance at the hovering atronachs, and they were off towards the town in the distance.

Talia smirked and dissolved her atronach, then watched as Brelyna did the same. J'zargo, who had yet to manage any sort of conjuration above summoning a dog-sized Sabre cat, appeared off-put by the fact that he hadn't been able to join in the fun. As Aedan sheathed his blade, the Sister seemed like she was trying to figure out what to say.

"Well, that was fun." Daveth chuckled before anyone else spoke; "You see the look on that man's face when Aedan pulled a blade on 'em? Swear, he soiled his drawers."

"So… maybe we should not summon those flame-things when there's someone from the Chantry around?" Alistair suggested, gesturing at the Sister.

"Oh no, I… those weren't demons, were they?" she managed. Talia shook her head; "Then, I thank you for your assistance, Wardens."

"Hey, it's no…How'd you know?" Alistair stopped himself. True, they weren't even wearing the symbols, or uniform like Duncan had done. All they wore that revealed them as Wardens was the personal, small vial of blood, and ordinary people didn't know about those, did they?

"The Maker reveals many things to those who serve him." The Sister said, bowed and turned to leave; "Until we meet again. Maker watch your steps."

"Thank- Eh- I mean, you as well, Sister." Alistair called after her. A mild giggle was the only response they got, as the Sister vanished down the road. Talia smirked as she watched Alistair's red face.

"Wheeew. Maybe I should'a see about joining their Chantry, eh?" Daveth grinned from ear to ear as he poked Alistair's side; "Seems to me that the Maker's servants truly are a sight to behold." Talia almost felt a little bad for the former templar when his ears went from pink, to blood red.

"Thanks, Daveth. I think we get it." Alistair muttered. Talia managed to catch the eyes of her classmates, who seemed just as amused as she herself was.

"I mean, I bet they get _lonely_ at nights. Or, maybe it's all for preventing men to find out that the Sisters are getting it on with-" Daveth was interrupted when Morrigan hit him with a small burst of electricity, causing the archer to yelp in surprise. The entire group turned surprised eyes at the Witch, Talia included. Had Morrigan just defended the honor of a woman she had never met? It seemed completely unlikely for the witch to do so. Especially because it was starting to be obvious from Morrigan's exclamations the previous day, that the witch held nothing but contempt for the Chantry.

"I grow tired of your barking, Daveth. Speak as if you had a brain between those ears of yours, or speak not at all." Morrigan said in her usual, mocking and disinterested tone. Daveth rubbed where he had been hit, but seemed to have rediscovered his anxiety around the witch, and kept his mouth shut.

As the group rounded the bend, they came upon Lothering.

"That's… a lot of refugees." Brelyna was the first to state the obvious. Lothering lay behind a palisade wall, and before that, dozens, if not a hundred tents crowded what little space was available before a river closed off that direction. In-between the tents, children ran, peasants shuffled and few soldiers patrolled. Campfires burned brightly among the tents, with wafting scents of food being cooked, lifting into the skies.

All in all, a typical refugee camp.

"So… I guess this is where people go when the Blight eats their lands?" Alistair huffed; "So charming."

As they came upon the gates, a templar, of all things and people, greeted them. Brelyna and J'zargo made a point of averting their faces and concealing what skin or fur they exposed. Good thing too, as the templar seemed to glance a bit much in their direction, until Alistair cleared his throat and got the man's attention.

"Move on, travelers. There is no more room here in Lothering. I am sorry that we cannot provide you with the sanctuary you seek." Polite or not, Talia still made her distaste towards the templar clear. If he noticed, he didn't show it. Mostly because his helmet covered all but a narrow slit where his eyes were.

"We're not looking for protection, Ser templar. We're Grey Wardens, looking to purchase supplies before we move on." Alistair explained. The templar went silent for a while, looking between the group and the ground at his feet.

"It is… not my role to judge people for what is not a crime towards the Maker, but…" the templar muttered, yet with a strange anger in his voice; "but as Grey Wardens you are technically wanted by the throne of Ferelden for high treason."

For one long moment, no one in the group spoke. Glances were exchanged, mostly towards Alistair who, being the Senior Warden in their group, was supposed to know how to handle Grey Warden-issues.

Talia stared at the templar. The current-templar, not the former one. She was doing her best trying to figure out what by Arkay's hairy nuts the man meant. As no one spoke first, she decided to state the obvious.

"Okay, I give up. What is it? Cheating death? Illegal magic?... bad fashion-sense?" really it was more of a question than a statement. That last part was mostly directed at Morrigan, even if she wasn't a Grey Warden.

"In case you failed to realize this, the throne of Ferelden died at Ostagar." Alistair pointed out with a frustrated sneer. The templar nodded;

"Teyrn Loghain has put out an order for your capture, under charges of betrayal and causing the death of King Cailan." There was a pause; "but for now I have more grave concerns than what caused the king's death. Please just do your business and leave this town… everyone should."

"Is this where it becomes a silly idea to point out that we lost the battle because Loghain stuck his tail between his legs?" Daveth said. The templar shook his head;

"While I will not risk confrontation by trying to follow orders, I cannot believe the word of wanted criminals either." The templar gestured for them to leave; "now please leave, and I shall pretend to never have seen you."

"Oh come-" Talia stepped toward the templar, wishing to the gods he wasn't wearing a helmet so she could slap some sense into him. The man raised a hand towards her;

"I have yet to act on the fact that at least one of your group is neither human nor elf, mage. Proceed before I do." Cold dread briefly settled in Talia's stomach, but was then replaced with a sort of protective feeling.

"Keep your distance, _tin-man_." she growled, taking a step to be between her classmates and the templar. There was a strange feeling of gathering energy from the man, like magic and yet not. Before the situation could escalate, Aedan stepped in;

"We'll go. Thank you, Ser Templar." He said in a low, tight voice as his strong hand yanked Talia away from the templar, and further into the town. When they reached a small bridge crossing the stream going through town, Aedan rounded on her.

"You can let go of my wrist." She said, narrowing her eyes at him; "as in now."

"Are you _trying_ to start a fight with the first Chantry we come across? Just out of revenge?" He scowled at her. Talia scowled right back, looking up into his eyes;

"He threatened Brelyna and J'zargo." She snapped at him.

"He said he wasn't going to do anything. What, you just see a templar and instantly think "evil"?"

"The first time I met templars, I didn't mistrust them. That's how I ended up captured. The second time I met a templar, my friend through three years ended up _dead_. So you'll have to forgive me for not trusting a man devoted to persecuting people for how they're born!"

"Look, could the two of you stop shouting, please?" Daveth eked in; "You're starting to draw more attention than the Chanter."

"His main concern is the safety of the innocents." Aedan argued, his face bearing down on hers.

"Don't care. Let's get our things and leave before someone sticks their swords through us. Likely from behind."

"The way you two carry on…J'zargo finds it humorous." The cat said as he leaned against the side of the bridge. The majority of his face was covered by his robes having been pulled up to his nose.

"J'zargo will soon find himself _wet_ if he doesn't shut his furry trap." Talia growled at the Khajiit. As J'zargo looked insulted, she looked back at Aedan; "Fine. Where to first?"

"We should leave as quickly as possible, so we'd better split up." Alistair said; "Daveth and Morrigan, you'll come with me to find tents. The rest should see the inn to buy food."

"And those of us going under the category as "non-human"? What should we do?" Brelyna crossed her arms over her chest; "I don't suppose we should just count on the inn being either empty or too drunk to notice?"

"Right…so, maybe you should wait a bit outside the town then?" Alistair rubbed his neck as he pointed towards the mill dominating the horizon. The Dunmer sighed and headed off, grabbing a disgruntled Khajiit by the arm and hauled him off with her.

"So… it's just the two of us then?" Talia said, averting Aedan's eyes. There was a girl by the inn as they arrived, with some sort of red mark over the bridge of her nose.

"You going inside? Don't, soldiers are making a mess of it." She said, curling dark hair around a finger. Talia raised a brow;

"I thought the soldiers were trying to evacuate the refugees." She said, remembering the small army of huddling tents outside town.

"It could be they have snapped, from the stress. Handling this many people could break any manager, or guard." Aedan muttered. The girl shook her head, blowing a puff of air;

"No chance. They're the Teyrn's men. They just got here and started…huh." The way the girl looked at them seemed to change. Talia wasn't sure why, but the change didn't suit her. There was something about the girl, maybe her eyes, signaling 'don't piss me off'.

"What? 'huh' what?" Aedan asked, stepping forward.

"I saw you enter town earlier… you wouldn't be Grey Wardens, would you?" the girl's lips creased in something of an amused smirk. Talia's eyes kept returning to the odd mark on that odd nose. It looked a bit like blood had been smeared with two fingers, which was a really weird way of marking something. Then again, that was just her opinion.

"What…why'd you ask that?" She asked, pulling her gaze from the mark.

"The soldiers are asking for Grey Wardens. Apparently something to do with treason. Oh, and the death of King Cailan… Shitty thing, that." A sad frown grew in place of the smirk.

"Okay… but we do need to get the supplies." Aedan muttered, glanced at Talia and sighed; "I don't suppose one of you could summon up a lot of food."

"One of us?" She said, crossing her arms before she gave Aedan a questioning look; "Exactly what do you mean by "one of us?" because if it's me or that girl…" the "that girl" gave a small wave. Talia fought the annoyed sigh threatening to emerge.

She made a mental note to never let Daveth meet "that girl".

Or even near her.

"You… mages, I mean." He muttered, with a tone of insecurity. Talia groaned and rubbed her eyed lids before glancing at the other girl. She wasn't even sure why she did it. The other girl shrugged, kind of sympathizing, but nothing more.

"Right… yeah." She said, flickering a flame in her palm; "Might wanna ask Brelyna on that one."

"Sorry." Aedan rubbed his neck.

"Maker, it's like Carver and Beth." The girl laughed and turned to leave; "By the way, stay clear of those soldiers."

For almost a minute, neither Warden said anything as they watched the girl leave. Then Aedan turned and looked at the inn;

"Think we can keep a low profile while getting our things?"

"You say that like it's a given that a fight will start." Talia huffed as she adjusted her robes. Gods, she had to get a sewing-kit, or find a spell for repairing clothes. She put a hand on the door to the inn; "Honestly, have some faith in me."

"I do. I do…" Aedan groaned.

"Then why so scared of fighting?"

"I'm not _scared_, just…" Talia let go of the door and turned to face him;

"What then? Come on, we've… well, _I've_ fought the walking dead. And they had weapons. And magic. What's so scary?"

"I lost…I had a sister, once. When I was six, she died from bad lungs." Aedan slumped against the inn. Feeling like interrupting would make her a bastard, Talia sat next to him and listened instead, wondering what had brought this on. Screw Alistair and his hurry; "That was the first time I really felt loss, I think. Then, when Howe betrayed us, my parents died too."

Aedan's voice once more held the pain it had in his rare speaking as they'd travelled to Ostagar. Gods, he'd lost a sister at _that_ age? It really started to seem like the gods didn't like him much. Vicious cunts, sometimes.

"Turk was the last link back to Highever. I've lost him too, now…"

"What about Fergus? He didn't die in… he escaped." She tried. Aedan gave a weak nod;

"I don't know… I have no idea if my own brother is still alive, or if some Darkspawn had him for dinner." He laughed at the last part. It was a humorless laugh, with more pain than anything else really. Talia, feeling unsure on what to do, gave him a small pat on the shoulder.

"So… you don't want to fight, because then you might die too, and the Cousland line would die out?" It was the best she could think of, and the most logical too. Aedan sighed and pushed himself up from the ground;

"Something like that… Come on, let's go inside." His voice was tired and frustrated, so Talia didn't argue. Instead she followed him inside.

The inn had a completely different layout than the inn in Dawnstar, which in a way made sense. The inns in Evermor were different from the one in Dawnstar too, so it was probably a cultural thing. Still, the atmosphere held the same warm scent of ale and beer.

And of course there was the soldiers too.

A group of five men, all clad in the same brown armor Alistair wore, and a leader wearing steel, were making a ruckus in the middle of the inn, with their leader talking to the innkeeper. Or, _talking_ was a mild way to put it. The guy was more or less threatening the innkeeper by having his weapon waving through the air. _Great. Power-mad assholes._

Suddenly there was just a little part of her wanting to set them on fire.

"Well how can we be sure you're not hiding them under some hidden door?"

"I've told you already: there _are_ no Grey Wardens here. Haven't been since before Ostagar." The innkeeper replied, nervous eyes at the sharp edges of the leader's mace, cutting down a bundle of garlics as it went around. Gods, that guy was an asshole.

Speak of the Daedra, and they come crawling. The soldiers finally noticed her and Aedan. One of them made their leader aware, and the man turned to face them. The mace didn't get sheathed.

"Well I'll be… one redhead mage and a short-haired warrior with a tattoo… you two match the descriptions for some of the Grey Wardens we're looking for." The man exclaimed, stepping forward; "where's the others?"

"Dead." Aedan said, cutting Talia off. The man shrugged;

"Shame, though it does make my job easier. Alright lads, no use in taking them in alive." There was an ugly grin that was shared by the entire group. Aedan pulled his sword, even as Talia herself cast the oakflesh to stand a chance in confined quarters.

Oh, this was going to be _so_ much fun.

As soon as she felt the oakflesh dig in and take hold, Talia switched one hand for Two-Sock, seeing how the atronach would risk burning down the inn. The other hand, while Aedan stood between her and the men as they started encircling them, lit up with a shard of ice. While it was her weakest magic, it was also the most precise weapon in her arsenal, and the one that wouldn't hit innocents.

"Six on two? Why, that's no fun at all." She mocked, waiting for an opening. Her Familiar was at her side, snarling at the men. It was a recurring advantage that Two-Sock's appearance scared enemies like that.

"Then let's start this shit!" One of the soldiers yelled with glee, leaping forward. Moron exposed his chest as he came at her, idiot as he was, and received a spear of frozen water through the chest for it. He was flung backwards with a cry of pain, even as the fighting started in earnest.

Aedan more or less instantly found himself engaged with two of the soldiers. So, he wasn't going to be much help, Talia realized. Annoying, but she had to hold her own then. The three soldiers taking her as not easy, but probably more manageable a target, had to deal with the Familiar as well. Two-Sock was doing what it could to keep them at bay, but there was only so much a wolf could do.

The leader, to make matters worse, was the guy attacking her head-on. As opposed to his deceased subordinate, this one made sure to use his shield to ward off her attacks. Talia managed to weave beneath the mace he swung at her head, but the weapon came back and struck her in the ribs. If she hadn't had the oakflesh, the hit would probably have crushed her liver.

And Talia _liked_ her liver, as much as her consumption of alcohol seemed to prove otherwise.

Apparently, the man was just as surprised. His eyes widened in shock as his mace was stuck in skin that seemed like wood. Talia grinned cruelly at the man as he yanked at his mace, then slammed her palm into the unprotected underside of his vambrace. Magic flared, and his arm was set on fire. The man screamed and let go of the mace, instead clutching his boiling arm.

Wincing as the man retreated, Talia grabbed the mace beneath the metal piece and yanked it out from her side. It left a large impression in her hardened skin. That was _so_ much going to be a major bruise. Getting a better grip on the mace, she swung it in an underhanded arch, striking the screaming man between the legs, then focused at the men fighting her familiar. Two-Sock had managed to get one on the ground, but the other was plunging his sword downwards already.

Her face became a sneer as the soldier impaled her familiar. The summon yelped and vanished in a shower of sparkles, briefly causing the attacker to stare while his comrade started getting back up. It was all the time Talia needed, as she gave hell in safety and flung firebolts at the man standing. His confusion meant he wasn't prepared for the attack, and the bolt hitting his face burned away most of the flesh on his head. Whether or not he was dead when he hit the ground, she didn't know nor care about. As she changed focus to the man on the ground, someone behind her roared in anger.

Even as Talia started to turn for the sound, she could see the armored man charging from the open entrance. He was close already. _Far_ too close, and the axe he was already swinging towards her wouldn't care if her skin was wood or human at all. _Oh PISS!_

Then, there was a knife's tip pointing out from his throat, through that funny little bump men had there. The axe went free from his grasp and imbedded itself in the ceiling, while its owner clutched for his throat, even as blood poured in a stream of red.

Behind the man, that same redheaded Sister stood, not a drop of blood on her robes.

Oh, that was just so much not fair.

The sound of a sword going through flesh came from behind her, and Talia turned in time to see Aedan more or less behead the last assailant, leaving just the one on the ground. Seeing how he had ben downed by _her_ familiar, Talia saw it as her kill-right. She readied a shard of ice as she walked towards the struggling man. There was a large bite-mark in the leather of his legguard, causing a small pool of blood to form beneath him.

As she raised her hand to plunge the ice into him, not even giving a Horker's shit that she was killing an unarmed man (really, he'd been ready to kill her), the Sister stepped between them. Talia scowled;

"Out of my way, priestess." She said, lessening the ice in her hand to avoid it draining too much energy.

"No, please. There is no need for more violence." The woman said with a determined tone; "this man is no threat to you."

"He bloody fucking well was before. You know, when he was swinging a _sword_ at me?" Talia growled, ignoring the pleads from the soldier in question. Aedan had his boot on the man's chest;

"You. Why were you trying to kill us?" There was little compassion in his voice. The man squirmed, and Aedan pressed down harder. It was a little hot; "Talk!"

"W-we were to arrest- what Wardens we could find! Teyrn Loghain's orders!"

"Why the hell does the Teyrn issue arrest orders on the Grey Wardens?" Talia demanded over the Sister's shoulder. Gods, it was annoying that she wasn't letting her past.

"You Wardens cost us the battle at Ostagar!" The man exclaimed. The tip of Aedan's sword touched his throat.

"That. Is. A _lie_." He snarled. There was more on this for him than just the Wardens, Talia felt. It was likely the fact that he had no idea if Fergus was alive; "Loghain quit the field when we lit the signal!"

None of them paid any attention to the guests who hadn't yet fled the inn.

"Bu- but I didn't know that!" The man cried; "We're just following orders!"

"Please." The Sister put a gentle hand on Aedan's clenched fist holding the sword; "let him leave with his life. Do you really want death so badly that you would kill a wounded , defenseless man?"

"You make it sound like killing him would be a bad thing." Talia huffed, not feeling the least bit bad about the idea. Aedan grabbed the man by the collar of his armor and hauled him to his feet. Dammit, so he was in on the 'let the shit live' idea.

"You listen to me now." Aedan said with a low, menacing voice. Damn, was he even capable of that? Apparently, he was; "Run back to Loghain, and tell him, the Grey Wardens know what he did, and we're coming for him."

"Yes! Yes, I'll take it straight to him! Thank you! Thank you!" The man exclaimed and ran out the building, somehow managing to not let his leg impair him. Talia sighed and hurled the shard of ice into one of the support-beams of the inn.

"Fine. We let him run off. Now he'll tell people everything about us." She said, turning to the Sister; "_Thanks_, though, for killing that guy before."

"I do the Maker's work, however unpleasant it seems at times." The woman nodded; "Will you let me join you?"

"Again with the damn "Maker" all the- what did you say?" Talia's complaint turned to one big gaping mouth as she stared at the Sister. She'd have wished for a joke to be somewhere in that request, but no. The sister's expression was one of honest determination.

"The Maker wants me to join your cause." As if that explained it all. Talia took a step away from the woman, holding her hands up defensively;

"Listen… I tolerate your religion and all, but…do you even know what you just said?" She palmed her forehead; "Because, if Stendarr himself wanted me to kill a Daedra, I'd still turn him down. Also, wait… your god actually talked to you?"

"My…yes, the Maker… he… might not have _spoken_ to me, but I had a vision." The Sister explained; "I know it sounds insane, but I really did have a vision that told me to help you save Ferelden from this Blight that has befallen it."

"Yeah… the last time I had a vision, I ended up fighting an undead Draugr Deathlord or whatever he was, and then we got this weird artefact back to the college and… right." She sighed; "Just don't like visions."

"Sister, even if the Maker wants you to join us, there is no way we can ensure your safety." Aedan said, exasperated from the sound of it.

"I know. But I can handle myself well enough that I will not be a burden."

"This is why, when I usually go to an inn, I get drunk as fast as I can." Talia groaned; "less chance of people signing on to the suicide-mission of a drunkard."

"Listen… if we take you with us..." Aedan said. Talia's eyes widened. _Oh no. he isn't actually agreeing to this, is he?_ "you will be in likely constant danger. Are you really prepared for that?"

"No. No she definitely isn't."

"I am." The Sister replied with a determined voice. Talia groaned and grabbed her forehead. There was so much that was so wrong with taking a priestess, or Sister or whatever, on a mission like theirs.

"It will be _very_ dangerous." Aedan said.

"I know."

"We will be fighting the Darkspawn. Do you even know what a Darkspawn is?"

"The Maker's enemy. And that is why we will be victorious against them."

"Are you honestly complete and utter loony?" Talia said, trying to spot it whenever an eyelid would twitch.

"No. I am Leliana." Leliana said.

"Aedan…" Talia spoke in slow, deliberate words; "Whatever your Chantries do to their servants, is dumb."

"It is not." Leliana sounded mildly offended; "The Chantry spreads the word of the Maker and Andraste. Where is the stupidity in spreading the truth?"

"Well…" Talia said, more or less resigned to letting the crazy girl tagging along. She had one attempt left though; "Can you share the road with someone who believes your religion is wrong, hates your treatment of mages and views your chantries as idiotic because they preach the wrong gods?" She really hoped the girl would say no and leave them alone.

"I have travelled with the Dalish before. Only, I saw no elves in your group." Leliana said with an even voice.

"I kind of meant me." Talia huffed; "me and two others."

"But, you are Orlesian…" Leliana looked very much baffled. Talia shook her head, feeling a little more certain in her victory. The Sister was probably not a bad person, and she could take a life, but Talia could do just fine without having a religious preaching type like that along. And it was _obvious_ that Leliana was a preaching type.

"Not even close. I adhere only to the Bretoni pantheon." She said with a note of smug confidence; "So, changed your mind now?"

"No. The Maker gave me a mission." There was a fierce determination in the girl's eyes; "I will follow you, regardless of your faith. We are all children of the Maker. Even if we find the wrong path, it is our actions and our hearts that matter."

Leliana spoke with such confidence that Talia honestly couldn't come up with a decent reply. Her finger was lifted for a retort, but more or less deflated.

"I… but…_Fine_. But Divines help me if she tries converting me, Aedan." The warning was delivered much more firmly than she felt, and there was a reason for that. Out of all the feelings she could have running through her mind right now, the dominant one was that Aedan had just taken another girl into their group. A _prettier_ girl, Daedra bite her.

Talia, feeling defeated, went outside the inn. As soon as she was outside, she turned and punched the wooden wall.

"_Fucking_ Chantry and their _Fucking_ Maker…" she growled as she punched the shut-patched woodwork. Why the hell were they going to have that religious fanatic with them now? And why did Leliana have a Breton accent? And why the hell did she have to have red hair and be pretty. Maybe, if someone somehow set Leliana's hair on fire, she wouldn't be so pretty anymore.

Deciding that Aedan could handle getting their food along with that pissing annoying Leliana, she set out towards the mill in the distance.

Really, why was he so friendly with that Leliana? It wasn't like…Oh Mara. Talia stopped dead in her tracks as the notion hit her, utterly _insane _as it obviously was, was there just the small chance that she might be jealous?

"…Naah." Talia breathed, shaking her head as she passed through the last parts of Lothering.

The village was small and poor, but still it was bigger than Rorikstead, small patch of cottages that place was. Talia had only been there once, driving through on a carriage, but the fact that she could hold her breath (and had done so. There'd been a dead cow next to the road) from one end of the village to the other, said enough.

The mill was about the biggest building in the village, more or less dwarfing the Chantry. At the very least it was taller, made of stone and having a certain windy charm, being a bit tilted and… really, the mill looked like a gust of wind might knock it tumbling down.

"Talia?" a very much not-calm Brelyna called, a very real sense of urgency in her voice making Talia stop and snap towards the sound of the Dunmer's voice.

Brelyna and J'zargo were confronted by a rather uncomfortable amount of people, most of them clad in ragged robes and rough-spun rags. Farmers, by the looks of it. Oh by Magnus, she had tried _not_ to show off her non-human friends!

This was the direct opposite of not-showing-off her friends!

"Please, just leave us alone." Brelyna pleaded, trying to ward off the _actually poking pitchforks _the villagers held forth towards them.

Oh _shit_ no!

"Abominations! Abominations here in the village!" the crowd yelled with more or less one voice. Talia started running towards the group, hands already starting to flare with suppressed magic.

It was getting pissing annoying with how people always seemed to confuse her friends with abominations and stuff.

"Back off. J'zargo does not handle idiots well." The cat snarled, claws crackling with electricity. The crowd backed off fearfully for a moment, then started encroaching on the mages again.

"All you- Will you all just calm the _piss_ down?!" Talia exclaimed as she stopped between the two groups, hands now calm and no longer blazing with crackling fire. She needed to calm down, and thus calm others down.

Being the 'calming' presence wasn't exactly something she was used to doing. She was more of a 'hit a problem until it ceases being one' type of person.

"Seriously! Why is it _everyone_ starts yelling 'Oh demons, apostates, abominations!' the moment they see-" Talia snapped on her own words as she dodged a thrown stone. It took all her self-control to _not_ lash out at the mob ; "You know what? Put those things away before I set the pissing lot of you on fire."

Of course, that was all it took for more rocks to be thrown. Most missed, but one struck Brelyna in the forehead. The Dunmer girl let out a pained scream, clutching her face.

"THAT DOES IT!" the Breton shouted, hurling a ball of fire at the sodding bastard who threw the first stone. he was also the one who hit Brelyna, and got a burning shirt for it; "LEAVE! Go! Piss off you sodding lowlifes!"

"Apostates!"

"I'm a Grey Warden you pissing morons!" Talia shouted back, pointing a jagged, and blazing finger at the man; "I'm not a- Just Piss OFF!"

"Grey _Wardens_?"

"Grey Wardens!"

"Traitors!"

"King slayers!"

"Oh for the love of-" Talia groaned, looking to where J'zargo was tending to Brelyna. Rage pulsed through her at the sight of her best friend bleeding from her forehead from an unprovoked attack by blustering, infantile and barbaric fools who deserved a plentiful asskicking.

One she intended to deliver.

"Call the gua-" the peasant who yelled was greeted by a fist, feminine and delicate in appearance, cracking the bony structure of his nose. Talia drew her hand back and slammed the man's head backwards again with a fiery slap that set his hair on fire in the process.

As the man tried putting out the fire in his hair, Talia kicked him in the groin, then turned to the next the best peasant to repeat the beating.

The moment she turned, the handheld end of a farming-tool met her head-on, making a wet pain resonate through her head. Talia stumbled back, fire dissipating from her hands as she clutched her broken nose. Blood was already spurting from her nose when she received a punch to the side of the head, knocking her to the ground.

_OW!_

Her eyes snapped back open the moment she hit the ground, just in time to see a man readying himself to spear her with his pitchfork. Her eyes widened in realization, even as she started bringing up her hands in defense, that she would not be able to stop him.

_PISS!_


	14. Discussions beneath the Stars

**Discussions beneath the Stars**

* * *

The weapon stopped its course as the man screamed in pain. Talia just stared, stunned, as he turned around with an arrow poking out of his shoulder. Really, it was actually all the way through, but didn't seem to do more than just hurt like a bitch.

"Scaring people again, eh Tali?" She wasn't sure if she should be praising Magnus for Daveth's voice, or curse the cutpurse for his nickname to her. Wasn't even that original, just lacked the 'a' at the end; "Really, I thought you'd be limiting yourself to bandits."

"Not my fault." She growled, picking herself up from the dirt. Great, there was a _new_ tear in her robes. At this rate she'd have to end up wearing one of those stupid Circle-dresses. Or armor. Armor would be better. It didn't get gashes and tears nearly as easy.

Standing again, she could see Alistair, Morrigan and Daveth making up something of a front between the College mages and the plebs. Peasants. Whatever. One of the farmers was clutching his shoulder where there was an arrow poking out, but he didn't seem like he'd been mortally wounded. Bugger.

Alistair was looking somewhere between royally pissed and just about as confused as the rest of them. Well, rest of them sans Morrigan, who just looked generally annoyed.

"What the Maker's Hell is going on here?!" he shouted, pointing his poky sword at the crowd. _Poky? Oh great, I'm getting a concussion now… just what I needed._

"We've found Grey Wardens and abominations!" one of the men, a guy with a bear down to his chest shouted; "Death to the traitors!"

"Alistair, they've completely lost their bonkers." Talia scoffed as she stood next to him, more than ready to burn the entire crowd to a cinder; "Should kill them and get on with it."

"I am in favor of that one." Morrigan noted coldly. Not that Talia cared much about her opinion on the matter.

"What? Talia, they're clearly desperate refugees." Why did Alistair seem and sound so aghast at the idea? They were plebs, workers who had thrown the first stone and now he just expected her to live and let live?

"They wanted to _kill_ Brelyna and J'zargo." She didn't bother holding back the growl in her throat; "I don't know what Wardens _normally_ do, but College mages don't take that kind of piss."

"Farmers, _please_ return to your homes and-" Alistair called, obviously trying to avoid a bloodbath. Well, not that there would be much _blood_, considering fire didn't make stuff bleed. He was cut off when the crowd just started getting even more rowdy. Figures, he couldn't get them to shut it with nice words.

"Talia…" she snapped around at hearing Brelyna's voice, shocked as the girl still was; "Alistair is right."

"They tried to _stone_ you." J'zargo hissed; "this one believes they should be taught a lesson."

"Please, just…" the Dunmer stood gingerly, looking at the crowd. They all glared back at her, not one showing the least bit of remorse; "Just go home."

"Kill her!" Talia couldn't hear _who_ yelled that one, but it didn't matter. What did matter was that that was the last piece of shit who got to shout that.

"SHUT UP! IGNORANT PIECES OF PLEB FILTH!" She screamed, stomping forward. She pushed Daveth to the side and got right in the faces of the front row; "I am Talia Aulus Geotien! Daughter and heiress to the Evermore Seat! I should slaughter you all in fire for the mere insults you hurled at me, the stone you threw at my friend! If you don't instantly _fuck off_, I shall burn you all to such cinders that not even _ashes_ will remain!"

Done with the screaming and threats, she ignited the ground between them with a snap of her fingers, causing the grass to feed meter-high flames.

The crowd, cowering plebs as they were, backed off at that. When Talia started crackling with electricity, they more or less all took off and ran.

"…I can't believe that actually worked." Alistair muttered, sheathing his blade. He gave Talia long, curious look; "You_ were_ bluffing, right?"

"Bluffing?" She snorted, wiping out the burning grass with a tear of her hand; "Piss no. I just gave them one last warning. Any other noble of High Rock wouldn't even have done _that_. Just burned them on the spot. Fucking plebs."

"I… see." The former templar seemed a bit disturbed by that. Before he could add anything more, Talia looked behind him, towards the town, and saw Aedan in full run towards them, Leliana right behind him. _She's wearing… armor?_

While she _was_ a bit surprised at seeing the Sister, as she was called, wearing armor, her attention was still leveled at Aedan as he came to a stop, face red from the run;

"What…happened?" he panted, wiping his forehead; "We heard the shouting and thought you'd been attac- what happened to your face?!"

"Took you long enough." Talia ignored his last outburst, instead regarding him for a moment, looking for… she wasn't sure what, but something; "A crowd of refugees and farmers tried getting to J'zargo and Brelyna. Stopped them…Oh yeah, and one of them punched me in the face."

"Andraste's shit, are you alright?" Wide eyes? Clenched fists? _Damn, poor sod's really afraid something happened? That's almost sweet enough to make up for him taking Leliana with us, assuming he didn't spend_ our_ money on her armor._

"Fine." She shrugged, glad that he so clearly worried; "I've been hurt worse in tavern-brawls."

"Oddly obvious as that may be, maybe we should leave town." Alistair broke in; "As in, maybe right now?"

"What, afraid of a few angry mobs, are ye?" Daveth grinned, sliding his bow back over the shoulder.

"Mobs with pitchforks. _Pointy_ pitchforks." The blonde muttered; "and templars. You can bet your arse they'll be sending templars here when they start screaming about apostates and abominations."

"Right… the whole 'abominations' thing is really turning old. Fast." Talia muttered, gave her two classmates a glance to check on them and then turned back to Alistair; "But, you do have a point."

"I do, don't I?" he remarked, grinning a little. There wasn't as much humor as some sort of sardonic amusement in it; "Let's get to the Highway, we can get to Redcliffe from there."

"Redcliffe?" Talia asked, getting up next to him as they walked. Not that she would argue his decisions out of spite, but…; "What's Redcliffe?"

"Right, you don't know." Alistair stopped, casting a glance towards the town just to be safe; "Redcliffe is the arling of Arl Eamon. Cailan didn't wait for Eamon's men to arrive, so he'll still have all his soldiers. Plus he'll likely know how to handle Loghain's treason better than I do. We'll need him, anyway, if we're going to win this."

"Huh. Sounds…" she stopped as sounds of conflict, yelling and growling caught her ears. It was coming from the entrance to the Highway, just a few dozen meters away; "…like a fight?"

"It does, doesn't it?" Alistair muttered, though this time his voice was far more firm and hard; "Someone might need help."

Talia watched as Alistair and Aedan took off, sighed and then followed them. Really, couldn't they go just _five_ minutes without getting into a scrape? _Great, and now I'm a pissing hypocrite for lecturing Aedan on not being afraid of fighting. Damn._

"Away with you! Away! Go away!" she could hear someone, a man, shout in anger and fear. And it wasn't even at them, go figure. Instead, as Talia rounded the slope up to the main road, it was..._dwarves_?

What Talia saw when she finally came into view of the fight, was a pair of dwarves, with the older one(he had a beard, the other one didn't. hence older.) holding up his fists towards a group of Darkspawn. Aedan and Alistair were already hacking away at the foul creatures, with Daveth pinning their Emissary behind a stone-column and Morrigan electrocuting one that tried getting up close.

It was hardly a fight, really, seeing how there were only seven of the tainted critters, but the young Breton could still see how the first meeting with the Darkspawn affected her classmates, Brelyna in particular. While J'zargo only hissed in shock at the sight, the Dunmer girl outright screamed and leapt back, just in time to avoid one of the arrows pinning her through the chest.

"Piss off!" Because honestly, Talia took it as a personal offense when someone tried taking on her best friend. So, as a gesture of returned favor, she hurled a spike of concentrated fire straight at the offending Darkspawn, spearing it with a hole that immediately started burning outwards and consumed the creature.

"What _are_\- Are those Darkspawn!?" the girl exclaimed, snapping enough out of her panic to join the fight. J'zargo was pressed against the edge of the highway, dodging or blocking sword-swipes from the Hurlock trying to make him into a meal. The cat's electrified claws gave him hell though, and seared long, sizzling scars in the Darkspawn's face.

When _that_ didn't seem to deter it sufficiently, Brelyna's response made her Breton friend crack a cruel smirk. With a crack of displaced air, the towering atronach of ice came into being, making it its first deed to pummel the Hurlock straight into the ground, smearing it over the tiles like so much jam.

Talia's grin faded instantly as she saw one of the smaller Darkspawn make a run for the Dwarf. It was one of those little, green things, she'd forgotten the name, brandishing a serrated blade longer than its own arm. With a bestial snarl, it leapt at the dwarf. Only for Talia to deliver a burning kick straight into its side, crushing ribs and scorching flesh. The creature- Genlock, that was the name, stumbled sideways before one of Daveth's arrows caught it in the temple, snapping its head back and sending it stone-dead to the tiles.

"Thank you, Messere. Thank you!" the dwarf with the beard exclaimed, face beaming with gratitude and relief as the last Hurlock went down, its head somewhere else, she couldn't find it nor care to.

"Hey, no problem, that's what we do best, ain't it?" Daveth's jovial response wasn't exactly how she would have put it, but he wasn't wrong. Seeing as J'zargo had come out without a scratch, the fight had just been a bout of exercise.

"Really, thank you. You came just in the nick of time, these monsters jumped us as we were leaving town and would have done away with us if you hadn't come by." The dwarf calmed down a bit, though his relief and agitated state clearly meant he wasn't used to fights; "Oh, but where are my manners? My name is Bodahn Feddic, and this is my son, Sandal. Say thanks to the nice soldiers, my boy."

Bodahn's son, Sandal, looked at the group for a long moment, wide eyes filled with innocence and joy. Had he even _noticed_ the fight?

"Thank you." He said, and the voice just about melted Talia's heart. It took all her willpower _not_ to squeal and pick the boy up like an oversized pet-bunny. _Divines, he's just about the cutest thing ever!_

"Say, you lot certainly look like you can handle yourself. Might you have room for me and my boy to… where ever you might be headed?" Bodahn asked, looking between them.

"Redcliffe." Alistair said, furrowing his brows; "I don't know how safe it would be for you two to travel with us. Grey Wardens are not exactly the safest company these days."

Bodahn's eyes widened at that, surprise clear in them; "Grey Wardens? My, I'd rather say you'd be our safest bet then. If you can find room for us, my boy's an excellent enchanter-" Talia picked up on that one; "and I have plenty of wares for sale, at a very reasonable discount of course. How about it?"

"Yes."

Heads turned to look at Talia. She didn't return the looks though, instead looking straight at Bodahn.

"Talia, shouldn't we-" Aedan started.

"Your son is an enchanter, yes?"

"Indeed he is Messere. Those mages at the Circle even called him a Savant, whatever that is. Best enchanter you'll find anywhere around."

"Yes." She repeated, turning to Alistair. He _was_ the Senior Warden, after all; "I don't care about the discount or wares thing, but if his kid's an enchanter, he can be the difference between life and death for us mages. Plus, I want to improve my skills on it."

"If you already have skills on it, why do you need him?" Daveth mused, causing J'zargo to snicker; "Just curious."

"Daveth has obviously never had the misfortune of being around Talia when she's enchanting." The cat said, causing the Breton girl to turn and glare at him; "this one's scrolls never caused _near_ the damage her enchanted boots did."

"Not. talking about it, Cat." She pointed at the Khajiit; " So shut it."

"What?" the cat asked, playing mock-innocent; "this one hasn't said _what _happened."

"And that one wont mention it either, else should he wake up shaved." She snapped, satisfied with the irritated glare he shot her back; "Good."

"I suppose, as long as they wont slow us down." Alistair sighed, then looked back to Bodahn and Sandal; "But we can't guarantee your safety, you know that, right?"

"My boy and I have been travelling the roads for years, Messere." Bodahn assured the blonde; "Darkspawn won't be the scariest things we've faced yet, and they're easier to predict too."

"That's…an interesting way of looking at it." Aedan muttered, fingers tapping the pummel of his sword.

"So, that's settled then. Right?" Talia clapped her hands together, looking around with a bright smile that failed to hide the 'just you dare say no' message beneath it; "Alright, we going?"

"Yes, yes, just allow us to repair the cart and we'll be ready… wait, scratch that…" he muttered the last part upon casting a single look at his cart: broken and splintered; "It seems like we won't be acquiring wares before we get to the next village, or Redcliffe, depending on the route."

"Doesn't matter, I just need Sandal to be awesome." Talia gestured at the kid; "Can you do that for us, Sandal? Be awesome?"

"Enchantment!"

"We… generally interpret that as a yes." Bodahn explained, likely upon seeing Talia's face fold in confusion. Still, the kid was damn cute, even if he seemingly didn't have the speech-skills of a diplomat. The boy just looked so damn adorable, causing Talia to want to hug him, something which she refrained from though. Sandal didn't seem to mind;

"Enchantment!"

* * *

That evening was spent making camp a bit off the road, near a small pond that would supply them with water. Tents were raised, with Morrigan repeated last time's success: her tent was a good bit away from the others.

"Alright, time for grub." Alistair called, getting up from kneeling at the fire; "Come and feast your eyes, noses and, most importantly, tongues upon this."

"And, 'this' being?" Brelyna asked cautiously, her nose scrounging up as if she did not enjoy whatever she was- Holy Divines! Now Talia could smell it too.

"What by Namira- Alistair, _what_ is in that?" she exclaimed, slapping both hands over her nose; "Seriously, _can_ you even cook?"

"I believe that to be a 'no'." Morrigan noted, her usually haughty tone gone in favor of raw disgust.

"Hey, I learned from the best cooks in the Chantry, just so you know." He frowned, deeply insulted if his expression, which was so hilariously childish that it almost made up for the horribly bland porridge; "And just to you know, Cheese Fondue is an art few have mastered to make."

"And I believe that proves me correct." The witch muttered, turned on her heel and marched back towards her tent. Likely, she had something she could eat or, because why not, she could turn into a wolf and go hunting. _Morrigan, you lucky bitch…_

Alistair looked all hurt and stuff, making Talia_ almost_ feel sorry for hurting him. Even if his food didn't smell edible. Still, Leliana seemed perfectly happy with being the first one to taste it, so more power to her. The Sister was once more in her Chantry robes, which annoyed Talia a bit because it was like a beacon of 'my faith is better than yours', but she figured it wasn't the intended effect, and thus managed to ignore it.

Maybe, just maybe, she could give Leliana a chance. Because frankly, if she could eat Alistair's food with an _Arkay-be-damned smile!_ maybe there was more to her than met the eye. Still, she could just about keep her hands off Aedan.

Still, even though she wanted nothing more than to stake a claim with the, admittedly handsome, man, Talia had more important work to do now than to pursue some idle fancy. Gods, why did that sound like something _Morrigan_ would say? Still, work to be done.

"Brelyna, mind helping me?" she tilted her head a bit, looking at her best friend. The distant-relative thing might also have impacted her first meeting with the Dunmer, but Talia had grown to love the other girl like a sister. Also, she was the damned smartest person Talia _knew_.

Brelyna, for some reason, didn't show disgust as she had been scooping in the weird soup slash porridge, and peeked up at Talia with curious, red eyes. _That_, was a trait Talia was somewhat glad _she_ hadn't inherited from mother, what with Lady Annalia Helvani, now Geotien, being a Dunmer;

"Yes?"

Talia fished her book, 'Aspect of Fire', from the satchel and flipped it open on a random page in the middle, looking instead at her elven friend;

"I've found a spell in this thing I _think_ I can do without draining my reserves too much, but I need someone who can snap out an opponent for me to try it on."

"Oh…Sure." With a swift motion, and to Talia's slight disgust (even if it _was_ cheese), the girl drained her bowl of fondue and set it aside. The Breton caught Alistair beaming with unspoken praise; "What sort of opponent?"

"The ice-dude you made earlier would be fine." This time, Talia's eyes were in the book, on a very specific page. She had to do this right, or it would be Two-Sock, not a random apparition she'd be blowing up. Satisfied that she had the right spell, incantations and hand-movements, Talia dropped the book on her thin carpet and cracked her fingers; "Let's give them a show, shall we?"

The smallest of wicked smiles formed on Brelyna's lips, then settles back into a serious, no-lollygagging expression. When they were a good seven-ten meters away from the main camp, Brelyna turned and snapped her palms open, spreading them apart like she was ripping open a piece of knitting.

Knitting. Mundus. Same thing. Point was, the atronach she pulled from Oblivion formed as it was supposed to, a towering creature of ice and magic. It came into existence with a snap of broken air and a flash of dimmed light, briefly surpassing the light of Secunda, as it was the only celestial object currently in view.

Oh, and of course it also drew some surprised gasps from the camp.

"Ready."

Talia only waited for that, then started pushing energy into her own two hands. Her own two, gods-given magically-badass hands. Instead of the type of magic she would gather for Two-Sock though, which was mostly a 'push-and-push' spell, this was more of a 'pull-rip-and-tear' spell. In its way, it was very similar to Brelyna's Frost Atronach.

As a result, instead of putting Two-Sock into Mundus, she pulled something of a 'mirror' from Oblivion. This mirror, as it could be dubbed, was in appearances similar to Two-Sock, with the slightly awesome difference that _this_ pup was on fire.

It was quite literally, _smoking hot_, if she had to make that pun herself. The fiery wolf gave a short glance about, then whipped into a sprint towards the awaiting atronach. Talia watched with some trepidation as the canine collided with the construct.

For a moment, it just growled and bit the atronach, much as she had expected. Or feared. Hoped. Something. Then, the bloody thing _exploded_.

"Magnus be damned!" she exclaimed, throwing a fist into the air as the atronach was blown to pieces, dissipating almost immediately. The fragments hit no one, vanishing into thin air without a sound; "I pissing _nailed _it!"

"What… was that?" Brelyna closed in, eyes wide with curiosity; "Did you…just blow up your Familiar?"

"Pfff, as if." The Breton waved her off, admiring the way the exploding wolf had scorched rings in the dew-wet grass; "That was the new spell, Two-Sock is entirely safe."

"So… does it have a name?" Brelyna mused, peeking over Talia's shoulders as the older girl picked up the spell book again.

"Just 'Flaming Familiar'." Talia scoffed, casting a short glance at where the rest of the party was following their training with open curiosity; "Obviously that's from before deeper research in Familiars was conducted, so I'll just come up with a new name…How about…Blight Fire?"

"Please no." Alistair muttered, just loud enough that she could hear it. Talia ignored him.

"Blight Fire?" Brelyna stepped down from her toes and frowned, not having understood the idea.

"I'm planning on using it against the Darkspawn, but 'Darkspawn Toaster' just doesn't go into books." She gave the bemused girl a shrug of her shoulders, then clapped the book shut and walked back towards the main camp, tossing J'zargo the book as she went. Bloody cat pounced before it even hit him. Figures, seeing as she had aimed for his face.

"I like 'Darkspawn Toaster'." Alistair quipped from his seat on an overturned log. Walking past him on her course towards Aedan, Talia gave the former Templar a small pat on his short-cropped blonde hair;

"All the more reason _not_ to call it that, Alistair." She gave him a sweet smile as she sat, all the more bright at his pout; "No offense, but that'd be more likely to make them fall laughing on their asses than actually die."

"Aren't you being a bit hard on him?" Aedan mused, smiling at her. He was starting to show some stubbles on his chin. It didn't hurt his rugged handsomeness. Was that even a word? Well, _now_ it was.

Talia snuggled up to him, relishing in the way he blushed redder than her own hair. It was damn cute, and all the more reason for doing it. Resting her head on his shoulders, she glanced at where Leliana was talking with Daveth. _Well piss, that's her corrupted._

The redhead Sister looked at her, and for a moment, a smile flashed across her face before settling back into the more pious expression she held. Huh. A smile? Well shit, maybe she wouldn't have any competition from that woman after all. _Alternatively, she's letting me know it's on._

Just to make sure, she settled in a bit closer, gathering her hands in her waist before letting out a soft sigh. Wasn't even forced: she _was_ relaxing like this, just made it better that Aedan was so obviously unsure of how to respond.

"So…" she muttered, not bothering with opening her eyes; "How far is Redcliffe?"

"Not that far." Alistair said from where he sat. It sounded like he was putting another log on the fire; "If we head North, north-west from here and follow the highway, we should be able to reach the outskirts in… oh, I'd say maybe three days."

"Three days?"

"Be a lot faster if you could conjure up horses." There was definitely a quirk in his tone. Damn that templar-boy.

"I could conjure up a fitting butt-kicking if you want." She muttered, just too tired to carry it out even if he lined up and bent over.

"It doesn't work like that, Alistair." Brelyna stepped in; "Most conjuration requires us to pull the object we want from Oblivion. The bigger the object, or the more powerful the being, the more power it takes. And the longer it stays in Mundus, the more magica needed to sustain it."

"But Talia's wolf was with us the entire way from Highever to Ostagar." Aedan said, a pang of pain in his voice. Talia suspected she was the only one who heard it because she knew what was behind those words.

"That's a bit different." The Dunmer said, her voice remarkably like whenever Faralda would launch into another lecture. Lifting one eyelid a bit, Talia saw the expected lifted finger of the younger girl; "Talia's Familiar, and Familiar's in general are parts of their caster's soul. It takes no more energy to sustain a Familiar than it does breathing. Only calling _forth_ a Familiar takes magica."

"Huh… wait, _magica_?" Alistair sounded confused; "Don't you mean mana?"

"Mana?" This time, it was Brelyna who sounded confused; "No, magic and spells depend on the caster's reserves of magica for a successful conduct."

"Ah, so it's the same thing, just different names." The former templar nodded. Honestly, Talia had no idea how 'mana' worked, so she didn't see fit to butt in; "Okay, so a question I've been going a bit and pondering over."

"Do tell." The Breton girl muttered, closing her eyes again.

"You don't worship the Maker, am I right?" Oh Divines, not _that_ again.

"…Nnnnooooooo?" she drawled, frowning in annoyance; "What, why, wanna convert?"

"Heh. Funny that." Alistair's tone conveyed the message that 'no', he wasn't looking to convert; "I was just wondering then, what's _your_ explanation for the Golden City?"

"…the what?" this time, she opened her eyes and looked at the guy. For once, his expression was neither grief nor forced humor since Duncan's death.

"The Golden City?" Alistair tried; "You know, the Maker's seat? The now-called Black City since the Tevinter mages corrupted it? That City?"

"No idea what you're talking about." She shrugged, looking at the two other College-mages for some sort of help. Neither seemed to be brimming with excitement to spill the beans, though J'zargo really didn't seem much of anything. Damn cat had his damn nose all the way down the book.

"What, seriously?" Alistair seemed utterly confuddled by that one. And Talia could feel Aedan shift as well, and not out of awkwardness at her snuggling.

"Really?" He said; "Then what do you see in the Fade?"

"First thing first." She stopped him; "What is this 'Golden City', and why should we know of it? Where is it?"

"The Golden City," surprisingly, or maybe not, the speaker was Leliana, who had sat down right next to them without Talia even noticing it. Damn; "is the seat of the Maker. It is said that once, when Tevinter mages entered the city, they corrupted it with their very presence, and the Golden City thus became the Black City. The Maker, as punishment for their sins, cast the mages out from the Golden City, and they became the first Darkspawn."

Talia stared at the woman. She blinked, trying to figure out if the redhead was serious. It was annoying enough that she had an accent that would seal her as Breton with anyone but other Bretons.

"That's the Chantry's version, at least." Aedan added, maybe sensing her disbelief. Good on him if so.

"Is that so different from the truth?" Leliana asked with an innocent tone; "The Chant of Light tells the story, not I, so it is not up to me to decide what happened. But it does bear importance in these dark times, no?"

"Okay, so back to the start." Because really the rest was just starting to become too weird; "So, the Golden or Black City is…where?"

"In the Fade." Leliana said.

"And the Fade…" Talia trailed off, letting the others know she damn well didn't remember what the hell they described their dreamy-place as.

"Is where our spirits go when our bodies rest. Sleep." The Sister clarified, earning her a dumbstruck and slightly confused look from Talia.

"So… the Golden City only exists in your dreams?" she asked, trying to make them hear the incredulity in her voice; "Doesn't that usually equal it, you know, _not_ being real?"

"What? No, that is not how it is." Leliana kept her tone level, yet failed to keep the disbelief out as well; "The Fade exists as a plane outside ours, a place where our spirits journey when our bodies rest. It exists regardless if we go there or not, and it is where demons originate before they enter this world."

"So, it is like dreaming, and your spirit goes to Oblivion?" J'zargo peeked up, his whiskers vibrating; "That is a very…curious thing. This one is glad he does not visit Oblivion each time he sleeps."

"Wait… that's where the mages and templars sent me and…" the memory of Onmund made her face fall into hard, angry folds. She didn't have anyone to direct it at, so she just looked at the ground like it owed her Septims; "I am just glad Tamrielans never go there. At least Bretons don't."

"I've never been to the Fade." Brelyna interjected; "At least, I don't think so."

"This one has yet to visit any place that holds demons in his dreams." J'zargo hummed, scratching his furry chin; "I wonder if that means Talia is correct, and mages from Tamriel do not enter your Fade?"

"That's…" Alistair trailed off, a finger on his lips; "Impossible. It is impossible, right? I mean, mages have their- your magic from the Fade. It's how the whole Templar things works too, cutting mages off from the Fade, right? I think I remember it like that, at least."

"That's not correct." Brelyna didn't fall far from her tutoring tone as she spoke; "Magic is derived from our connection to Atherius , and most powerful at daytime given the largest tear in Mundus is the Sun."

"What, ya mean ya get your power from the sun?" Daveth asked in humorous disbelief, looking up; "Might not have seen it, girlie, but there ain't a sun up now."

"Cram it, Daveth. Brelyna's in her teacher-mode." Talia poked a short glare at him, then nodded to her friend;

"The sun, as I said, is the _largest_ tear in Mundus, the main connection to Atherius. It is, however, also the closest. The stars are just as large tears, only far, far more distant." Gods, Brelyna just _had_ to become a scholar someday. She already had the teacher stare-and-wiggle-you-finger trick down."

"What do you mean, more distant?" Leliana asked, adjusting her seat on the skin-cover. Her green eyes focused on the Dunmer now, Talia noticed there was something of a defensive posture, yet innately curious stance to the way she was sitting.

"The stars?" Brelyna asked, seeking clarification.

"Yes, why do you say they are more distant than the sun? The skies are not removing themselves from us, no matter where on Thedas we are."

"Astronomy." Talia breathed out, smiling at bit gleefully at the surprised expression on the faces of their non-mage companions; "the Imperial Oculus Caeli in Cyrodiil has been measuring stars and planets for decades, and the Observatories in Daggerfall have found stars so far away that their light is theorized to be millennia old, if not more."

What could she say? She _loved_ the science the Dwemer had left behind, and even more so when people could put it to good use. _With the night skies in Skyrim, I honestly would be surprised if the Dwemer hadn't left behind observatories of some kind._

"More or less, yes." Brelyna nodded; "Point is, each star is similar to our own sun, yet the distance makes the connection that much weaker, and so the only reason magic is similarly powerful at night, is that the abundance of stars makes up for the distances."

"And the Sun is… a tear? In what, the Veil?" Daveth said, slumping down by the fire, unstrung bow in hands. Talia frowned at the new word.

"The Veil being…?"

"The barrier between the Fade and this world." Aedan explained, having regained a bit more of his confidence despite her best attempts at blustering him. Blushing him. Flushing. Whatever, it was damn cute when it worked. Also, he made sense when he talked.

"Ah. I don't know if Atherius and your Fade is the same thing, mainly because I have never _been_ to Atherius, but if they are the same, then yes, the Sun is a tear in the veil." She refrained from mentioning that the Sun, as with the stars, had been created by Magnus. Probably wouldn't be accepted by Leliana if she told them.

"That's… a disturbing thought." Alistair muttered, glancing at where the moon, Secunda was still the only visible body, hung over them in all its red-tinted glory; "So that's a new nightmare right there. Demons could come pouring out of the sun?"

"…what?" Talia stared at the former templar; "Why the Piss would they do _that_?"

"Isn't that the whole point of tears in the veil?" Daveth mused, looking up from where he was fletching an arrow; "Demons pop up, soldiers put 'em down? Templars too, when it suits them."

"I've never heard of neither Demons nor Daedra emerge from the _Sun_." J'zargo hummed; "Even for Khajiit, the sight alone hurts. This one cannot imagine the kind of Daedra to survive the fires of that."

"Except Dagon." Brelyna shuttered at the name. Right, for some reason that whole Crisis was a sore spot with most Dunmer, though Talia had yet to figure out why. Was a bit like trying to make a High Elf give a reasonable explanation for the whole Talos-incursion. Unless you asked the fanatics, most of the yellow-skins didn't seem to care if the Nords worshipped someone else.

"Yeah, 'cept for him." The Breton agreed softly, looking down for a moment. Even for Bretons, who as a people didn't particularly care much about Imperial Royalty or the Septim line, Martin Septim's Sacrifice was held in the highest of regards, and the day of Dagon's defeat was an annual feast in Daggerfall, as it was in Evermore and most larger cities in High Rock.

She then noticed how the Fereldans in their camp were looking at them, at their exchange probably, with renewed curiosity. Piss, she didn't particularly feel up to explaining the Oblivion Crisis. She'd let J'zargo handle that one if it wasn't for the fact that if something couldn't be used to boost his magic, the damn cat didn't care about its historical value.

"That sort of sounded like an unhappy memory." Alistair pointed out.

"It is." Talia gave him a gold star for his skills at deduction; "For all of Tamriel."

"Tamriel?" Leliana asked. Her honest question made Talia groan. Great, no one had informed the priestess that there was another continent out there, which was probably the very reason for the redhead's skepticism.

"No one's told you yet?" she asked, receiving a slightly tilted head, then a small shake of said head; "Right, that's just bugger all fantastic. What, you thought we're natives to Ferelden?"

"Not truly, no. I was certain initially that you were from Orlais, but discarded the notion when you mentioned not believing in the Maker's truth. As for Brelyna and…I am sorry, but I do not believe we were introduced." Leliana said pleasantly to J'zargo. Talia winced a bit at the way the cat's eyes lit with confidence at her words. Great, now he was going to be on a pissing-roll, all because a pretty lady asked for his name.

"This one is J'zargo, soon-to-be Arch Mage of Winterhold."

"Aren would probably disagree, whisker-face, same with Tolfdir and Faralda." Talia enjoyed the way he barred teeth at the nick-name, then turned to Leliana; "So yes, none of us are from Ferelden, or even Thedas, as you call this continent. And more power to you, for all I care: far as I know, no one in the Empire knew this place was even civilized."

"Where are you from then?"

"Tamriel." Seeing as the short answer was likely to only garner even more questions, Talia continued before anyone could ask, that included the two dwarves who had joined them at the campfire. Sandal, and Divines he was just adorable, was looking at her with the attentive eyes of a child when his mother told fairytales; "It's the largest continent on Nirn, far as I remember, and centered around the Imperial heartland of Cyrodiil."

"Another continent?" Leliana looked at her with surprised splashed over her refined features; "I never knew."

"Don't feel bad, no one knew about Thedas in Tamriel either, unless we knew Thedas as Akavir, in which case people think you guys are all walking snakes and white monkeys."

"What, seriously?" Alistair laughed at that, and it _was_ funny. Especially because someone would have made a major fuck-up if that was really the case, and this was Akavir. Wouldn't be the first time.

"Pretty much, yeah." Brelyna shrugged, sounding a bit apologizing for the idiocies of Imperial scribes and scholars.

"But yes, another continent." Talia returned the question to its base; "I am a Breton, which means my home province is High Rock. Brelyna is a Dunmer, which means she comes from Morrowind. J'zargo is a Khajiit, which means he comes from Elseweyr."

"He's from…elsewhere?" Leliana asked, frowning those admittedly cute brows of hers.

"Yes. And honestly none of us still have any idea of why we ended up in a cold marsh instead of Cyrodiil." She shuddered at the memory of having her shoes soaked in cold marsh-water; "But until we get a way back home, those two are pretty much stuck here."

"What do you mean by 'those two', Talia?" Brelyna shot her a worried look. Gods, could that girl _always_ make her feel bad for excluding her from stuff? Probably helped that she was so damn cute most of the time. The Breton lifted her vial of blood for show;

"Grey Warden, remember? I can't very well leave here until this shitstorm blows over."

"Right, about that…" Alistair muttered; "There's actually another reason that it's best if you don't leave Ferelden."

Because that didn't sound like bad news at all.

"Shoot."

"I… don't know if I can tell you here." He mumbled, glancing at the non-Warden members of their group; "It's technically a Warden secret. Like, a _big_ one."

"Tell it here, else I don't care." She shrugged. If he felt her friends couldn't hear the secret, and they already knew about the Joining Ritual, because of course she'd told them, then she really didn't care for what he meant she needed to know.

"I suppose, seeing as no one here's liable to start spreading it around. You know, like gossip. Only not very much fun and more serious gossip." There was starting to form a picture of Alistair in her mind, as a man who used humor to deflect uncomfortable situations. The former templar gave a sigh, one indicating more words to come; "You know that we drink the taint at the Joining."

"That's not exactly news, and yes, I know."

"Well, the taint doesn't exactly…_leave_ your body again. It stays with you for the rest of your life, and if your body isn't burnt or in the Deep Roads when you do die… nasty stuff happens around your body."

"Nasty how?" Daveth joined in, curious and wary eyes on their senior warden.

"Becoming a Grey Warden is… not an extension of your life-span, let's put it like that." Alistair sighed; "Basically the taint will spread from your body when you die, and infest the surrounding lands. Hence the burning part."

"Well…shite." Daveth cursed lowly; "Didn't expect that."

"Piss all… so, we're walking, what? Taint-carriers?" Talia glared at Alistair. Really though, she wished Duncan was still around so she could kick him in the balls. This more or less completely excluded her from the family mausoleum in Evermore. Had she only been a Nord, being burned would have been a sign of great honor; "You know what? Piss on it, I'm done with Warden-stuff for tonight."

"Fair enough, we should get some rest before tomorrow. I'll take the first guard with Brelyna, then Talia and Daveth can take the next, followed by Aedan and J'zargo. Daveth again and Leliana, you'll take the last guard before sunrise. We should make sure to have a Warden in each team, just to be sure."

"Yeah, yeah…" Talia gave him the stink-eye, mostly because that'd mean she was going to be woken up at some random point and dragged out of her tent. She turned and walked reached for the flap to the nearest tent, not really caring who she would end up sharing it with.

That was, she _would_ have done that, if it hadn't been for the sudden explosion of blue flashes before her. Jumping back with a startled yelp, she readied both hands with fire out of pure instinct. The flames died down though, when the flashes gathered themselves into a blue, ethereal form.

"Holy Shit!" Daveth exclaimed.

The man was tall, almost a head above her, and had a beard that went to his upper chest. Expensive, ornate clothes covered him, complete with those fancy shoes he'd always worn whenever Talia had been forced to sit through ceremonies. His face was framed by the rune-laced hood, marking the man as not just a noble, but also a powerful mage. The pendant of Arch Magister around his neck only further solidified that fact.

Here was a man who rivalled Aren in power, though not in age.

"Yeah, Shit's about right…" Talia groaned. The man before them shifted his gaze upon her, and the stern expression almost melted straight off, replaced with deep and obvious relief. Still, he could blame only himself for her running off, self-concerned bugger as he was; "…Hello, Father."


	15. A Redheaded Saint?

**Well what do you know? We stopped at an actually functioning WIFI source long enough that I managed to start my tablet(because I write on an oversized phone, yeah I know), log in, get on the net, log into FF and upload the chapter. Which, as you may have noticed, is fairly long.**

**Consider it my Christmas present to you all, considering New Zealand is some twelve hours ahead of Denmark, so I'm assuming we're some fifteen hours ahead of the US (dunno if you're all from there, just a guess). So, yeah, Merry Christmas you guys, and enjoy this long-butt chapter that I believe is going to molest the original storyline with such intensity that even Bioware's Developer's kids will feel it...wait, that sorta came out wrong... just...damn, well..._ Piss on it!_ \- Talia Aulus.**

* * *

"…Hello Father…" Talia groaned out, not really wanting to see _him_ right about now. Mainly because he was going to go one of two possible directions, and both would be potentially fucking over her plans.

Daddy didn't seem to catch on to her reluctance though;

"Talia! Praise the Stars I found you at last." He exclaimed, the usually oh-so uptight and stern face set in an expression of deep relief; "When you didn't turn up in Cyrodiil, I thought…"

Not wanting to share her estranged father-daughter relationship with the rest of the group, Talia wrapped her fingers in magic and grabbed the powerful magister's ethereal form by the sleeve, then hauled him along into the woods.

When they were at least out of _sight_ of the camp, she released her stunned father and gave him a hard look; "How did you find me?"

"Two days ago, I received a letter from the College, reporting you missing, along with Brelyna and your Khajiit-friend. After having… replied, to Aren about his lack of ability to keep an eye on you, I started scrying."

"You scryed the entire province?" Okay, so she had to give him a point for determination.

"I scryed Skyrim, Morrowind, Hammerfell and the Imperial City." There wasn't a single hint of humor in Omluard's voice; "In the end, your mother and I resorted to asking the Blood Callers for help."

What. Talia's eyes widened. The Blood Callers. He'd asked the pissing _Blood Callers_! The most powerful criminal syndicate in High Rock, the most vile and repulsive bastards, people who enslaved innocents by gripping them at their most basics: the magic in their blood. They were known to _always_ find those who tried escaping a debt, even though Talia wasn't sure about the _how_'s of their magic, but she knew they all belonged in the gallows.

Every. Single. One of them.

"You _didn't_." she glared at him, a mixture of disbelief and denial in her stare. The Blood Callers _never _did anything for free. She only dreaded to know _what_ he had offered.

"I did." There was regret in his voice, but also a defensive tone; "At first, they believed you to be in the basement of a tower in Akavir. I refused to believe that, called the man a hoax. Then…we tried again. And I found you."

"You used the Blood Callers." It was a statement, not even a question, flat as her voice was; "_How_ could you ever stoop so low?"

"Because you are my daughter!" Omluard exclaimed, taking a step forward. His jaw was set and his gaze fierce. Talia met it, refusing to back down and cower like a child.

She snorted; "Sure didn't feel that way when you wanted me shipped off to Daggerfall."

"Everything I have ever done with regards to you has been to prepare you, to set you up for the eventuality that your brother will not be benevolent when he takes the seat." Omluard's eyes softened with his voice; "I wanted you to have a life away from Evermor, so that Aveel wouldn't see you as a threat."

"I never cared for the seat, Aveel can have it for all I care." She muttered, kicking an unfortunate stone by her feet; "I suppose you want me home."

"I want you _safe_." He pressed; "I don't know _where_ you are or how the Ever-cursed _Daedra_ you got…here_, _but I want you safe."

"I thought you said I was in Akavir." She pointed out. Her father nodded, if slowly at that.

"That is what we _think_." He ground out; "Skilled as they may be, I do not put my trust in those criminals to the point where I just accept their word."

"Well, they might just be right." Normally, she would have enjoyed the stunned look on his face. Not today though; "Brelyna theorized the same thing when she looked at the stars here. Only, the people here call the continent _Thedas_, and the land for Ferelden."

"So it _is_ true… but then, the people I saw, _before_ you dragged me off, they were all humans." His confusion was somewhat understandable. It was generally believed that Akavir _was_ inhabited, but not by humans.

"The general opinion is wrong." She noted; "Humans live here, so do elves and, surprisingly enough, dwarves too."

"Dwarves?" it was fairly obvious that he had to keep himself from spluttering, and keep his dignity.

"Yes, but the point is, I cannot return. Not now. Not yet, at the very least." She breathed, taking a fresh mouthful before continuing; "There is…an evil sweeping across Akavir. They call it the Blight, an army made up of horrible, twisted creatures. There also is a special order dedicated to fighting these monsters. I have…joined them. I won't return home until this is completed. I made a pact, that if the gods saw to the safety of Brelyna and J'zargo, I would…" she wouldn't say 'be a better person'; "…do my part to help. The gods upheld their part: my friends are safe, and I feel like I should uphold mine as well."

She expected him to rage, to shout, to command her to return home this very instant. She expected her father to behave like he always did: like a Breton noble, accustomed to getting things done _his_ way.

She didn't expect him to nod.

"I understand." He said, nodding slowly; "You always did have a tendency to get involved with bigger things than you could handle. If this is your decision, then stand by it. You will be welcomed home upon the completion of your quest here."

"Huh…I…" she stopped before saying something she'd regret. Maybe; "Give mother my love, will you?"

"I will." He said, eyes even while ethereal, becoming soft and warm. Damn that man and his mood-shifts; "I am proud of you, whatever you might believe."

And with that, he vanished.

"Well…Okay then." She muttered to the surrounding forest. Seeing as said forest didn't reply, she made her way back to camp.

"Can we ask-" Alistair started.

"No. Pretend you never saw a blue man pop out of thin air." She leveled a hard stare at him; "Got it?"

"Let me guess: you'll conjure up an ass-kicking if I _do_ ask?"

"Yes." And with that, the subject was declared dropped. Silence ensued, with only the crackle of fire breaking the eerie quiet.

"So…what were those plans again?" Brelyna asked, more to fill the silence than anything else, she suspected. The Dunmer never had been good at handling awkward episodes of silence.

The night went on as it was supposed to, more or less. Talia enjoyed what sleep she got until Daveth nudged her butt with the tip of his boot, tempting her to kick him over the shin, again out of mere principle. The Geotiens were a principled lot. Still, she just shot him a withering glare and got up, slinking from the tent she shared with Brelyna. The grey-skinned girl rolled over and fell asleep, making Talia smile, if reluctantly. While she had wanted, somehow, to share a tent with Aedan, because why not, J'zargo had taken that spot. Damn cat.

"So…" the redhead muttered as she closed the tent-flaps behind her. Daveth was resting against a tree, the light from the twin-moons illuminating the clearing. Talia ran a hand through her filtered hair, adjusting her robes around her. Bodahn had earned himself a golden star when he'd offered to repair her clothes, free of charge. She wasn't sure why he'd done it, gratitude maybe, but she'd shrugged out of the robes on the spot, diving into her tent before the dwarf had gotten a hold of the flying clothes; "Are we just going to be standing here for the next two hours?"

"…Pretty much." He sighed, rubbing clearly tired eyelids.

"Didn't sleep well?" she inquired, hands folded behind her back.

"Sodding nightmare's all." He muttered, shrugging something invisible from his shoulders; "Rotting Dragon started breathing fire at me'n all. Nothing."

"Ah. So, you didn't sleep well." She concluded, dumping her corpus on one of the logs they'd used to sit on.

"That's the gist of it, yeah." The rogue shrugged, twirling a knife in his hands as he dumped himself on the trunk by the smoldering embers; "So, you seem awfully drawn to that noble member of ours, eh?"

"Aedan?"

"Mmmm, hmm." The archer nodded, picking up a stick from the ground. Talia watched as he started whittling it with his knife, blade glinting in the moons' light; "You two arrived together, didn't you? Long story?"

"Long story." She nodded.

"Feel like sharing it?" he asked, somehow managing to handle the knife effortlessly while looking at her.

"Not really." She muttered, letting a small fireball dance in her open palm; "It's his to tell."

"Ah, sounds like a shitty tale then." His voice held enough understanding that she wasn't surprised when he changed the subject; "So, what's the story of how you, the cat and the cutie ended up together?"

"…_cutie_?" Talia ground out, staring at the man. The flames in her palm grew in intensity, dancing like a small lifeform.

"Gotta admit it, you know: Brelyna _is_ a cute one." He grinned, holding up his wood-craft for inspection; "Grey skin and red eyes don't mean a thing with that voice of hers."

"…Okay, I have to admit she's adorable, but please _don't_. call. her. _Cutie_." She stressed, poking him in the shoulder with the non-flaming hand; "I think she'd die of shame if you did."

"Noted." He nodded, using her fire as light for his… was that a small bear? Damn, he was good; "Didn't answer my question, did ya?"

"What?" it took her a moment to remember what he'd asked; "Oh… we're classmates. That's really the whole story."

"I know _that_." He said, giving her an odd look, like she wasn't getting the point; "I mean, _you_'re pretty…damn fierce, the cat's arrogant, but bleeding funny to boot too, and Brelyna's the bookish sort of cutie you'd expect to find locked away in a tower in one of them stories."

"You mean what brought three so different people together?" she mused, pulling her hood up to ward off the cold night. For a southern land, Ferelden was _damn_ cold. Daveth nodded, resuming his carving; "Well, I ran away from my dad trying to set me up with an arranged marriage, didn't feel like getting shipped off like cattle. So I took a horse, sold the horse for passageway and the captain's silence from High Rock to Skyrim, landed in Winterhold and joined the College. Brelyna was already there, sent to learn because she's got a long line of family being powerful mages. Doesn't like to talk about it though. J'zargo was there too, when I arrived."

"So they're old-school?"

"Not that much more than me. Actually," here she cracked a smirk at the memory; "First time I saw the cat, Urag, our chief librarian, was chasing him around because he'd napped a rare scroll from the Arcanum…Ah, always has been a power-hungry bastard, that J'zargo."

"Don't like him much, do you?" Daveth gave her a curious smile, like he'd figured some sort of secret out. Talia smiled a bit, because that was an easy mistake to make;

"On the contrary, I lo- _tolerate_ J'zargo very much so. He's funny and interesting to be around, even if he's the most arrogant a living being can get before morphing into a Thalmor." She tossed the fireball between her open palms, feeling the heart-beat-like pulsating from the flames. Fire wasn't just energy, or magic, it also had some sort of… she wasn't sure, but she'd bet there would be plenty of books on that in Urag's secret coffers. Maybe.

They sank into a sort of non-awkward silence at that, the only sound being the knife going through wood, and the flickering flames of Talia's fireball. She contemplated seeing how far she could toss it, just for good measure, but figured Daveth would prefer not to lose his source of light.

"So, you people don't have no circles in Sky Rim?" the rogue asked after a while, sheathing his knife. Talia hesitated, pretending to admire his carved bear for a moment while trying to consider a reply. Daveth didn't know the details of what had happened in Kinloch, and he hardly knew anything about Tamriel, so it was really just him being curious.

"No. Not in the sense that seems prevailing here." Her voice was calm, but only because she forced it so; "Mages from Tamriel, far as I know, have never had a problem with demons or Daedra trying to take them over. Magic is mainly seen as a blessing, except for the Nords who prefer being able to split a man open from skull to crotch with an axe. Magic is taught like any other skill would be, like fishing or writing."

"No templars? No restrictions on whether or not you're allowed to leave?"

"Closest thing would be the city watch, guards in the streets. And while we of course aren't allowed to leave in the middle of class, the College is just like any other school. Just so happens that the only worthwhile thing to do in Winterhold is getting drunk, which means you usually don't _bother_ with leaving the College." She lobbed the fireball into the smoldering embers and rested her chin in her hands as she watched the fire take hold again. Daveth was quiet for a bit, picking a new piece of wood from the ground.

"Miss it?"

"I miss my bed and my alchemy equipment. And being able to study whatever I want whenever I want, and…"For a moment, her throat felt like it constricted too much for her to breathe; "…and I miss Onmund. Mara, I miss him."

"You've mentioned…ah, your friend from the Circle, right?"

"Not _from_ the Circle." She tried holding a sneer back at the way he'd worded it; "Onmund was one of my best friends for three years. The templars killed him in the Circle, which is why I want to burn the damn place to the ground."

"…Piss, huh?" Daveth muttered after a few minutes of silence. Talia wasn't sure if he meant Onmund's story, or something else entirely.

She nodded, looking at Maser above them. The huge moon was hanging lazily in the skies, casting a red glow over the landscape, while Secunda was starting to hide behind the trees.

"Well, I think our time's up." The archer said, getting to his feet; "You go toss out Aedan?"

"They're in the same tent, dumbass." She muttered, following Daveth with her eyes as the archer slinked off. She really didn't want to know who _he_ slept with, considering who was left. The archer just gave her a grin and ducked into his tent. _At least he's got two watches tonight. Cocky bastard._

"Alright, up and jump." She kicked the tent's opening lightly where she could just make out a tailed butt through the fabric; "Come on, Cat, make yourself actually useful here."

"This one hates…" the rest was muffled by something being pressed over the cat's mouth, most likely his sleeping roll. After a few moments, Aedan appeared wordlessly from the tent, buckling his belt over the dark-brown armor.

"Hey." He looked like he'd been through one hell of a nightmare.

"Hey you." She didn't know what else to say. Cracking a joke seemed unsports-ish right about now; "…sleep well?"

"…Not really, no." he shuddered, likely reliving the memory of his dream; "Nightmare."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I saw a… not sure _what_ it was, but it looked like a dragon." He mumbled, rubbing his eyelids.

"A dragon?" she tilted her head a bit, looking at him with equal parts curiosity and concern; "It didn't speak, right?"

"No, it just… a huge, _rotten_ dragon." His eyes grew distant; "Felt so real."

"You probably just ate too much of Alistair's abominable cheese-thingy." She gave him a pat on the shoulder; "I made a fire, go get warm, kay?"

He nodded, hands dangling at his side as he made his way towards the relit campfire, followed closely by J'zargo. The Khajiit's eyes reflected the light from the campfire, giving the illusion that his eyes shone on their own. Talia grabbed him by the arm, just enough to stop him.

"Hmmm?"

"Can you… keep an eye on him? Aedan, I mean?" she glanced over her shoulder to where the young man was prodding the fire with the tip of his sword.

"Why?"

"Just… Got a feeling that something's not right with people's dreams." She explained softly, then glanced at the cat; "You had any nightmares?"

"None." The Khajiit shook his head, hood flailing slightly at the motion; "You seem… _concerned_ though. Khajiit will keep an open eye on your boyfriend."

"Thank-" she stopped herself from breathing when she caught the last word. She scowled and glared at him, though with little real mirth; "I _hate_ you, you know that?"

"Mmmm hmm." J'zargo turned his back on her and walked to the campfire with all the silence and grace of a cat. Goddamn cat.

Talia's suspicion that she too would be plagued by nightmares, it might have been something connected to being a new Warden, was proven false as she slept peacefully the rest of the night. The only disturbance came in the shape of a blackbird getting a little too personal, deciding that her feet were as good a place as any to start singing from.

"Morning." She yawned, scratching her legs as she watched Bodahn and son take down their own tent, which looked more like something you'd stick a child in than an adult. Then again, dwarves were kinda small. _Just like Dela…_

Piss, she still sort of missed the chirpy midget. The only comfort in Dela's death was that it had been a quick one. Not that it was _much_ comfort, but still. It was something.

"Good morning, Talia." Brelyna greeted her. Once more, the Dunmer seemed to have already been up for hours. Maybe she had. It wouldn't be the first time; "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." she stretched her arms up, feeling joints pop and reset. Standing fully, she shrugged off her boots and started her morning exercises; "You?"

"Very well. I wondered why Alistair seemed so concerned when we had the watch though." The grey-skinned girl admitted, red eyes looking at where the blonde Warden was busily taking down one of the tents; "He seemed certain something would happen."

"Huh." Talia stood from grasping beneath her heels, and looked at Alistair. Then she folded backwards over and into a bridge-stance; "Did he say why?"

"…No." there was some hesitation to her voice; "I don't think he wants to share too much with those of us not initiated with the Wardens. Maybe you could ask?"

"Yeah, I'll ask the bugger…" Talia reluctantly finished her exercises and stepped into her boots. The leather had started to crack in some places, and she suspected she'd have to either buy some new ones or ask Bodahn if he could fix it; "And then I'll see if I can glean anything from Sandal."

"Sandal?" Brelyna cocked her head so that a bang of dark hair fell from underneath the hood; "I don't mean to degrade him, but he seems… somewhat simple?"

"True, he doesn't quite seem the sharpest bound blade in the arsenal…" she admitted, looking at where said young dwarf was trying to touch J'zargo's tail. Much to the cat's annoyance; "But if he's as good as Bodahn says, I can't _not_ learn at least a little."

"If you say so." Brelyna shrugged, pulling her hood closer to combat the cold. The morning still held the coolness of the night, and made a fool of anyone trying to brave its temperatures without sufficient protection.

As they worked to take down the camp, Talia found herself accosted once more by the Chantry Sister. Leliana was once more in armor, a light chainmail and vambraces that covered a studded, padded wool-shirt, much akin to the priestess-uniform she'd worn when they had met her the first time.

At first, Talia just ignored the other redhead as she worked, focusing on untying knots and uprooting the tent's supports. And, at first, Leliana seemed perfectly content with this silence.

"Talia."

At _first_.

The Breton waited, seeing if continued silence would make the other woman go away, or at least stop looking at her like an expectant puppy. After _that_ seemed nowhere in sight of happening, she groaned and stood, looking at Leliana.

"Yes?"

"I…believe I owe you an apology." The Bretoni-accented girl said.

At this, Talia finally snapped her head around to fully regard Leliana. She searched her face and eyes for any signs of mockery or insincerity. None. Seemed like the girl meant what she said.

"…for?" the _actual_ Breton asked, gesturing for the Sister to continue. Whatever was on Leliana's mind, it seemed to cause her some inner turmoil.

"I assumed without knowledge that you were deliberately mocking me, that your faith in other gods was merely to spite people from the Chantry over the treatment you and your friends have received so far…" Leliana hesitated, hands fidgeting before her; "I was…wrong. Also, I realize that I created jealousy in you when I seemed to…influence Aedan. That was _not_ my intention, but I have been thinking overnight, and realized how it could easily have been seen."

"…Really?" Talia crossed both arms across her chest and cocked her head sideways, eyes intent on Leliana. There was only sincerity to be found in the other girl's face; "Well piss, I didn't expect _that_…Does that mean you'll stop the whole preacher thing too?"

"I was not aware I had been…preaching, but I will make an effort _not_ to." A small smile, just visible, grew on her lips as she spoke; "Friends? Or, at least forgiven?"

Talia looked at Leliana for a long moment, pondering at what to do. On one hand, she could easily just dismiss the other girl and let that be it. After all, they were bound to fly at each other's throats again at _some_ point. If nothing else then over faith.

On the other hand, animosity right now, in the current situation, was a bad idea. Potentially it could get someone killed if the group wasn't working, and Leliana seemed so far to be honestly intent on seeing the whole mess through. Also, she hadn't panicked when faced with the Darkspawn on the bridge. And since Dela had been offed, the group had been somewhat short on a knife-wielding back-stabber.

Leliana seemed, maybe justifiably so, taken aback when Talia suddenly punched her in the shoulder. The Sister was knocked back a step, despite Talia not having _intended_ to hit her that hard. The Breton mage grinned though, even if it was slightly forced;

"Sure, why not?" she stretched and turned to glance at where Aedan was in conversation with Alistair. She couldn't hear what about. Still, just seeing the way he stood, the way his jaw was set all serious-like, made her heart flutter just a little; "But just so we're clear: Aedan's off-limits. Deal?"

Leliana cracked a small, sweet smile that also held quite a bit of amusement;

"Completely."

She let it stay with that, that Leliana wasn't going to be any competition. And really, if the redhead could also not try and convince her to join the communal fanatic-club, that'd just be even better. Now the only lingering issue was how to improve upon Morrigan's universally bad attitude. _But why do I even care?_

The witch was a pain in the rectal region, that much was for sure. Her arrogance, her lack of social skills and her haughtiness all served to piss Alistair severely off, which led to constant bitching between the two of them, which in turn grated severely on Talia's nerves.

When all was said, done and, in J'zargo's case, territorially marked on a tree, the group set off, each carrying their own part of the camp. The only sign of their stay overnight was the smoldering charcoal where the campfire had been. Alistair, being the Senior, took the lead.

The group found the highway quickly, and found itself at a pace faster than before. Talia attributed it to the fact that they were a few kilos lighter than the previous day, mainly because Alistair had sacrificed their _entire storage of cheese_ in his ritualistic meal. Because honestly, there was just _no_ way anyone could make food that bad out of cheese _that_ good.

"If we're lucky, we'll get to Redcliffe without meeting Darkspawn." Alistair said, talking to no one and everyone at once. The only head to immediately turn towards him was Two-Sock, the Familiar running circles around the group like a bitch in heat; "We might meet bandits though, just so you know."

"Ferelden has many bandits?" Brelyna asked, keeping pace while her hands were held behind the small of her back.

"Skyrim doesn't?" Alistair turned the question, while also answering that, yes, Ferelden had a great deal of armed lawbreakers. From where she walked, Talia could see the small frown on the Dunmer's face as she pondered a reply.

"That's… a difficult question to answer." She finally said.

"Oh?" Alistair said; "Why's it difficult?"

"Well, you see…we usually end up dispatching quite a few highwaymen when going places with the College, but more always seemed to just…" there was a pause as the grey-skinned girl considered her words; "_pop_ up, I think."

"Mages act as the law enforcement of Skyrim?" Aedan asked as he came up next to them, leaving Daveth to the rogue's conversation with the bipedal cat.

"What? No, we have guards and soldiers patrolling the roads." Brelyna said; "It's just that they cannot be everywhere, so some bandits are missed."

"Ah, and so you remove the unjust as a favor to the less fortunate?" Leliana asked, a pleased smile tugging on her lips. Talia snorted at that. With laughter, mind you, but snorted still;

"Actually it's because practicing on moving, resisting targets tends to give you a better perspective than setting fire to a dummy." She grinned slyly. Honestly, if anyone was violent in their group, the least suspected was also the culprit: while setting people on fire was likely _painful_, it was certainly not as gory as when Brelyna's lumbering giant of a Frost Atronach either smeared them over the rocks, or speared them on its icicle-like hand and left them there to hang.

But people never thought about that.

The horrified expression on Leliana's face was definitely worth it, regardless of the eventual consequences of the whole thing. Talia just fought the urge to point and laugh, and instead settled back into the trot they'd been going through.

On both sides of the road, deep forests were slowly giving way to open farmland, and as the day passed, and the one after that too, the group entered the Arling of Redcliffe's southern parts, commonly known as the Hinterlands.

And had she known of the conflicts that would rage across these very hills in but a decade, Talia might just have staked her claim for a house there. _With_ a decent front porch, and large widows of course.

While it definitely was a pleasant walk, the hilly forests and scattered farmhouses of the Hinterlands offered almost nothing of real interest. Almost nothing, save for one small detail.

"What's this?" Talia was crouched by what looked like, to her, Elves ears though it was upright enough to be Canis root, for all she knew, also it bore large, green leafs. Still, the point was that she'd seen it hanging next to the garlics in Lothering's inn, and thus it was either edible or a herb of some sort; "I've seen enough of it that it's not just a random bush."

"Elf root, I believe." Leliana said, looking curiously at the Breton; "Herbalists commonly use it for potions against illness, to clean injuries and rejuvenate those who have been hurt."

"So, it's basically for healing potions?" Talia deadpanned, looking from Leliana to the innocent-ish looking plant. She pulled it up, root and all; "Good. What's the other components to it?"

"To be honest, I am not certain." The redhead mused, mild confusion in her voice; "I have never engaged myself with herbalism."

"Well…" the Breton shrugged. She opened her satchel and started picking the plant apart. Seeing as the plant was used for healing potions, not poisons, she felt completely safe indulging in the oldest way of testing ingredients: she ate one of the leaves.

"…Why are you eating it?" Aedan asked, mild confusion in his voice. Talia waited with answering him, instead taking her time with feeling the diminished effects of the plant in her system. It tasted a bit sour, like old citrus, and felt hard to chew, but the aftertaste wasn't half-bad. Reminded her of brown, sugary sweets from the Summer Isles. The effect came last, with a feeling of her muscles relaxing and tensions leaving her body like a wash of water. Her soles, which had previously felt sore from walking, now felt like she hadn't taken any steps at all.

"Yep, it'll do." She said, as much a reply to him as a statement to herself; "Should probably keep an eye out for more."

"Didn't take you for an herbalist, Tali." Daveth mused.

"Talia was actually one of the best alchemists at the College, Daveth." Brelyna said; "Well, best of the students, that is."

Yeah, because it was pretty damn hard topping the Arch-mage, when the bugger had his own garden in his room. Talia had only seen it once, when she'd been called up for her enrolment to the College.

"That's right, give me credit when it's due, Bow-boy." The Breton replied, stuffing the rest of the bundled-up plant into her satchel; "Alright, let's get a move on."

The gates leading from the outer Hinterlands and to the village of Redcliffe proper, were tall, imposing structures of stone and iron, complete with squared towers and murder-holes inside the reinforced gates. Only one thing was missing, oddly enough.

"Where's the guards?" Alistair was the first to state the obvious. Strong and imposing as they were, the gates failed a bit when there wasn't a single person guarding them. Talia wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Probably bad.

"Taking a piss-break?" Daveth suggested. Despite the levity of his statement, the archer kept a dancing pair of fingers on his knives.

"Come on, let's get to the village and ask there." Alistair said, his voice laced with a tone of command more likely than not brought by a sense of urgency. He was anxious, that much was easily discernable.

"Five Septims says the village'll be either dead or abandoned." Talia said, looking at J'zargo. Mainly because she knew Brelyna wasn't one to make bets about people's deaths. She was sensitive like that.

"Can we please _not_ bet whether people are dead?" Alistair ground out, fingers clasped around his sword's hilt. As fast as he was trotting through the gate and beyond, he suddenly came to a stop. Suddenly being, he stopped so fast that Talia bumped straight into him.

"Ow, what the hell's wrong _now_?" she demanded, rubbing her sore forehead where she'd smacked into the back of Alistair's skull face-first.

"Listen, before we go on…" he said hesitantly, acting as if he hadn't just received a mage-to-the-head a moment ago; "We might meet some people, and there's something I'd rather you hear from me than from someone else. Particularly people who don't like me much. And stuff."

"You touched small boys?" Daveth was the first.

"What? N-"

"Stole from Redcliffe's chantry?" Aedan was next.

"No, I-"

"Like to wear women's clothing and dance the Remigold?" Daveth fired afresh, causing Alistair's already red face to redden further.

"That was _once_, and-"

"Wait, seriously?" Talia laughed. This was definitely making up for smacking her forehead. And plenty too; "What then, you killed a man with a spoon?"

"That's not even a _thing_!"

"You are secretly a mage, and an idiot one at that too?" Morrigan quirked, a mocking smirk on her face. Okay, she had to admit that was a good one.

"Of course not, I am-"

"A woman?" J'zargo snarked; "J'zargo did notice you seemed so intent on cooking."

"I am starting to approve of you, Khajiit." Morrigan nodded, her voice nevertheless still as disinterested as usually.

"Why do I even-"

"Have a cheese-fetish?" Aedan chuckled. Gods, she could _kiss_ him for that one. Would, probably at some point, but not now.

"I'm a bastard!" Alistair exclaimed, throwing his hands up in resignation as they started coming towards houses and hovels in the distance. Talia almost stumbled and fell flat upon processing his words, but managed to retain dignity. When the entire group stopped and looked at him in silence, bar Morrigan snorting in mild disbelief, or disinterest, Talia wasn't sure, he seemed to calm down a bit; "There, now you know."

"That's not a very nice thing to call yourself, Alistair." Brelyna said, her voice more comforting than admonishing. Wait, she thought he meant- damn, sometimes that girl was just too…distracted?

"He means a bastard-_born_ bastard, not the mean-type bastard." The Breton clarified, then glanced at Alistair; "Right? So, you're the bastard son of whomever owns Redcliffe? That Eamon?"

"What, is Daveth going to reveal noble ancestry too?" Aedan mused, shooting the rogue a glance; "Just saying, we seem to be blue-bloods all around."

"Hey, leave me out'o this, I don't need no nobility to mess up my life." The archer huffed; "Warden's more than enough excitement for me."

Alistair coughed into his hand.

"Most people _did_ seem to think I was Eamon's bastard, that's true." The blonde admitted. Talia studied him, trying to make sense of the upheaval apparently being revealed to them; "You see, that's actually not true. Eamon isn't my father. Maric was."

"…who?" Brelyna was the first to break the stunned silence. Maric. Maric. Maric…who _was_ Maric again?

"Maric Therin? As in_ King_ Maric Therin?!" Aedan exclaimed, taking a staggered step backwards; "That makes you… Andraste's flaming knickers…"

"Alistair's a prince?" Brelyna said, her voice just above a disbelieving whisper; "Azura…"

"_Bastard_ prince, to be precise." He corrected her; "Cailan was the pure-bred royal."

"Maker's flatulence…" Daveth muttered; "Well, then I guess that explains the nose then, eh?"

"Nose?" Talia asked, looking from Daveth to Alistair; "What's with his nose?"

"Therin thing, apparently." Aedan whispered to her; "Famous all over Thedas."

"Seriously?" she giggled, girly as it was. Known for a nose? "You're shitting me."

"Honest to Andraste."

"I can hear you, you know." Alistair grumbled; "Anyway, just so you wouldn't give me the 'oh whaaaat' reaction if someone let it slip later on…So, can we just go back to the time _before_ you knew? Honestly I'd rather you just call me Alistair instead of something royal and uncomfortably reminding-me-of-king-stuff."

"Oh no, you bet your ass this is gonna stay." Talia gave the now-revealed-prince her best shit-eating grin; "This is going to be fun…"

"Please don't…" Alistair groaned, to no avail;

"…Your _Majesty_." She finished, reveling in the way metal slapping forehead resounded throughout the landscape.

"I already regret this…" Alistair growled into his gauntlet. Talia glanced at Aedan, who returned the glance with high amusement. He seemed like he was ready to start laughing.

It seemed the scars from Highever were healing, if ever so slowly. Bearing this in mind, Talia took point ahead of an embarrassed Alistair, making good speed towards where the hills started declining down towards the actual village.

"Soldiers!? Thank the Maker!" her head snapped to where a peasant, armed with a longbow and a few arrows, was running towards them, arms held out as he shouted for their attention; "Help! Please!"

"Gods, what _now_?" Alistair groaned, though he regained his posture and strode forward to meet the peasant; "Calm down, good Ser. What's wrong?"

"We're under attack, we- Every night they come back and we can't hold- please help, all the soldiers are gone and no one's heard from the castle!" the words came out in such a rapid stream, Talia had to actually make an effort to process them. Under attack. Darkspawn?

"Who's attacking you, Darkspawn?" she inquired. The man's desperate eyes landed on her.

"I don't know. They just come out of the castle and Teagan can't hold the whole thing together much longer! Please! You have to help us! Come!" without even waiting for confirmation, the man took off down the hill, a panicked run that almost sent him falling down the stairs a few times.

"Damn it…" she sighed, looking at the others; "What was it you said about excitement, Daveth?"

"That being a Warden's plenty exciting for me, that's what."

"Yeah, I thought so…" she muttered, rolling her shoulders; "So, are we going to go help out?"

She hadn't even needed to ask, seeing how Alistair had already started moving down the hill ahead of them. Wordlessly, the rest followed their glorious, and royal, leader down the stairs, past a windmill and down into the village proper.

What few people were outside, a man directing a group of peasants with bows, bore faces drained of life and energy. Bodies were being burnt at a constant rate at the far side of the plaza from the Chantry, the religious building separated a bit by a long path decorated with dead trees.

"I have seen cheerier faces at a graveyard…" the Breton noted aloud, catching a few glares from the villagers within earshot. Which was true, as a Bretoni funeral involved lots of drinking and laughing to honor the dead.

"Go see the Bann, he's in the Chantry." They were hurried along, constantly getting the same message. It was a little annoying, actually, as if people thought they needed a constant reminded.

"Go see the Bann."

"Talk to the Bann."

"You need to see the Bann."

"Go see the-"

"We _know_!" she shouted, making the unfortunate peasant, wielding a large axe, back off; "Arkay, why can't they see we're going to the Chantry?"

"They seem desperate, Messere." Bodahn noted sadly, his voice tinged with sympathy; "If you will allow us, my boy and I will go see about supplies."

"…huh?" it took her a moment to remember that Bodahn was still there. Easy to overlook a waist-high man, after all; "Oh, right. Yeah, just you do that. We'll meet you… later, I guess."

Bodahn nodded, gave a slight bow and took off with his son. Talia shook her head, pulled down her hood and looked at Brelyna and J'zargo; "Maybe…"

"I know, I know." The Dunmer sighed, clearly annoyed; "Stay out of sight from the Chantry and men in big armors."

"Piss-annoying, I know." Talia nodded. She gave the Dunmer a reassuring shoulder-squeeze; "We'll be right back out, so just make sure J'zargo doesn't piss someone off in the meantime, okay?"

Taking Brelyna's small smirk, a sign that she agreed to the necessity of it, for what it was, Talia entered the Chantry with the others, falling in behind Leliana and Daveth, while Aedan and Alistair made up the front. Really, she had ended up being the ass of the fourth dimension, now that she thought about it.

"A lot of people in here." She noted, looking around. For a place of worship, the Chantry was filled with sleeping rolls, small tents and personal belongings hanging over the wooden constructions that ended with reinforced boards covering the usually colored glass-windows; "And the windows are boarded up. They fortified the place?"

"Seems like it." Aedan agreed, his eyes following a pair of children running around between the rows of seats.

"They must be desperate. See how there are only women, old and children in here?" Leliana asked, drawing Talia's eyes to the fact that, yes, there were _no_ fit men in the building.

Well, there actually _was_. At the end of the room, sitting by the altar, a man clad in a light plate-mail and with a sword hanging by his side was resting his head on the stone-plate, looking to the world as if he was asleep.

"Ser Teagan, the newcomers." The peasant who'd let them through the village said to the man at the altar, apparently Bann Teagan. As of yet, Talia was somewhat uncertain how high in the ranks a Bann was. Aedan had mentioned the title back in Highever, but the horrors of that place seemed to wash out all other memories.

The seemingly asleep man jerked his head up, revealing a red mark on his forehead where he'd rested it on the altar. Weary eyes scanned over the group, marked with deep bags beneath them. Gods, had this man even slept for _days_?

"Yes, I…I see them. You may go, Thomas." Teagan said, his voice absolutely as smashed as his face seemed. There was something of a jolt to his eyes when they landed on Alistair; "Do I…know you?"

"It's been a while, Bann Teagan." Alistair said; "The last time you saw me, I was eight years old and covered in mud."

"…Alistair?" the man's eyes widened in surprise. Even so, he seemed ready to drop; "By the Maker, what are you _doing_ here?"

"Long story. Where is Arl Eamon? We were told Redcliffe was under some sort of attack." Alistair said. Instead of immediately responding, Teagan looked over the inside of the Chantry. Once, Talia would have deemed it impossible to fit so many people into such a small space. Redcliffe's chantry seemed intent on proving her wrong.

"Eamon is…we don't know." Teagan shook his head, tussling bangs of wild hair; "No one in the village has seen or heard from the castle for days, I… Sorry, I realize this must be a bit confusing to just…a little more than a week ago, Arl Eamon fell ill, though no one seemed certain what caused it. They tried everything to heal him, and in the end, Isolde sent every able-bodied knight out to search for other sources of curing him. Far as I heard, most seemed intent on finding Andraste's Ashes, improbable, as the task no doubt is."

"Wait, why would they look for ashes?" Talia noticed how the Bann looked at her like she'd said something odd, and decided it had to be something religious. She shifted her feet and pulled her sleeves; "Just curious."

"While most likely impossible to find, it is said that even a single pinch of our Lady's ashes can cure any illness. Naturally, finding them would seem the best solution." Leliana explained, no superiority in her voice to be heard.

"Right, so they're magical." She concluded; "I mean, imbued by the Maker?"

"Shortly put, yes." Teagan nodded; "While the knights were gone, the village was left with just a few guards to fend for itself. Then one night, something evil started seeping out from the castle. Corpses dug themselves out of the graveyards, rotten bodies rose from the lake and possessed dead started streaming from the castle… that was five days ago. So far we've managed to hold them off, but each night we lose more people… I don't know how much more we can take."

"Is it just me or did we show up in the damned nick of time?" Daveth wondered aloud, drawing irritated glares from the villagers around them; "I mean, we'll help you out, right?"

"Of course we will." Alistair nodded; "Teagan, tell us how we can help."

"I'll take whatever help I can get. Thank you." The man nodded gratefully; "I honestly didn't think I would ever see you again though. We heard from Ostagar that all the Wardens had been killed in battle, and that they had led Cailan to his death. Teyrn Loghain has declared himself de-facto regent, and issued a warrant for all Wardens currently in Ferelden."

"Lying bastard's what he is." Daveth spat on the ground, much to the horror of a nearby priestess. Sister. Whatever they called them; "I'm twice the regent he is."

"Oddly true." Talia agreed; "Regardless, the sun is setting, and if the undead rise to the clock, we should make sure to be prepared. What needs to be done?"

"You'd best talk to Murdoch, Redcliffe's mayor. He's outside, training the archers." Teagan gestured at the door. His eyes seemed to clear up a bit, like he only now realized Alistair wasn't alone; "I apologize, I should have made the proper introductions… I've just had a lot on my plate lately…"

"Daveth, Grey Warden." The archer gave a nod to Teagan; "At your service."

"Aedan Cousland, Grey Warden."

"Leliana." The Sister gave the Bann a much more revering nod than her counterpart.

"Understandable." Because damn straight it was understandable. The man had been fighting undead without soldiers or mages, of course he was ready to drop dead! She gave him a curtly bow; "I am Talia Aulus, of House Aulus of High Rock, a Grey Warden. I am also a mage from the much esteemed College of Winterhold, far to the east of here. Circumstances despite, Bann Teagan, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Grey Wardens and mages? Thank the Maker, you could be more of a help than you realize." Teagan exclaimed with clear relief. If he'd even listened to the rest of her words, he didn't seem to give them thought.

"There's four of us, actually." She had noticed Morrigan hadn't followed them inside. That girl was even more anti-chantry than herself, which was quite the accomplishment, really; "The others are outside, which I believe we should be as well."

She turned to look at Alistair;

"I'll go see Murdoch, see what can be done." She said, then added as if it was a mere afterthought; "I'll make sure to keep Brelyna and J'zargo out of sight, of course."

"Right, good." He nodded, turning to Teagan; "Teagan, are there _any_ soldiers left here in the village?"

"Ser Perth and his men returned yesterday from their search, but with only five knights, they have been hard…" Talia didn't stay to listen, instead making her way out of the Chantry. All around her, children, women and old men were huddled together in crowds no-doubt otherwise optimal for a place of worship.

Outside, the man known as Murdoch was still ruthlessly drilling his archers, yelling at them when they missed, and offering mere grunts when they hit. He was a man of a divine moustache, and from the tone of his cursing, he had the voice of an Imperial Legate. Or at least, a voice any Legate would envy.

Honestly, if he hadn't been in plain view, Talia would have been looking for an Orc.

"Put your backs into it, you worthless shits!" the man roared.

The poor men were standing some thirty feet from their targets, taking their sweet time aiming. When Murdoch's yelling made one of them flinch and drop his arrow, the mayor grabbed the poor sod's bow, picked up the arrow and lined up a one-second shot from where he stood. The arrow flew straight, nailing the target through the middle.

"_There_. That's how you fucking shoot an arrow." He shoved the bow back into the other man's chest; "Your dead granddad's not gonna stand still while you aim."

Talia blew an impressed whistle.

"That's impressive." She gave him, using that as an introduction; "You'd be Murdoch?"

He gave her a long, hard stare. Arkay, was he trying to read her mind?

"That'd be me, yeah." He said after seemingly finding her worthy of his attention; "You'd be one of them Wardens marching in here earlier, so I'm hoping you're here to help, not just watch from the sidelines as me and these slops get butchered by my deceased mother-in-law."

"Talia, College Mage and Grey Warden." She gave him a curt nod, seeing how, orc-manners aside, he was a mayor; "The Bann said the undead come back every night, and you're in charge of the defense. How can I and my fellow mages help?"

"Depends, you capable of turning the lake into burning oil?"

"Sadly, not one of my abilities."

"Then see if you can't get the bloody blacksmith to start making my men some actual weapons." The man looked over at a door that had clearly been locked for some time; "Owyn's got it in his bloody head that since his daughter's locked up in the castle, he doesn't give a nug's shit about the rest of us. Drinks the day away in his forge. Convince him to get his arse in gear, and that'll be a favor right there."

"Doesn't sound too hard." She nodded, rolling her shoulders; "Anything else?"

"Conjure up a thousand Wardens for me, will ya?" he demanded dryly, the look in his eyes telling that he'd be damned surprised if she actually went and did that. She held her hands out sideways, apologetically;

"Sadly, also not an ability of mine." She shrugged; "I'm more of a 'kill it with fire' kind girl. But I'll get on that smith-guy…Oh, and can you maybe let it pass around _not_ to freak out if people see a cat walking on two legs or a grey-skinned girl? Friends of mine."

"Aha? Walking cats?" the man shook his head so the moustache flew; "Already put my granddad down. Twice. Don't think a walking cat can make me lose it now, girl."

"Good on you." She said, smiling as she left for where her classmates were waiting, hidden behind trees; "Because most people don't share that mindset."

She was pretty sure she could hear him mutter something about most people being idiots, but kept walking to where Brelyna was poking her head out from behind a birch-tree's lower branches.

"So? What's going on?" the girl asked, red eyes wide with curiosity.

"Short version: The dead are rising. Longer version: we're going to help put them back down, then we'll probably storm that big castle up there and find out who's been playing with necromancy and forgot to put his pets back in the toy-box."

"…Why do we always end up fighting dead people?"

"If you ever figure it out, don't hold out on me." Talia shot the girl a small smile. Brelyna, while usually chipper and inquisitive, sighed and slumped her shoulders. J'zargo bristled at the mention of undead, most likely because he didn't have his scrolls this time; "Come on, we're kicking a blacksmith's drunken butt."

"This should be fun." J'zargo mused, pulling the hood over his furry ears.

"Yeah well, don't get too excited." The Breton said, adjusting her satchel; "We're not going to be sleeping again until this shit's done with. Probably."

"Hmm…This one should have brought some moon sugar then…Damn." Talia nodded absentmindedly as they crossed the dirt plaza, marching resolutely towards the door labelled 'Blacksmith'.

She rapped the door with her knuckles.

Nothing.

She pounded the door till its hinges were screaming, dust flying from the cracks in the wood;

"Owyn! Get off your drunken ass and start working!"

"Go away!"

"Wrong answer, blacksmith!" she gave the door a solid kick, making a lot of noise. She was also well aware of how no one seemed to give them more than a passing glance. Either Murdoch was faster spreading word than she thought possible, or people here really just had seen far more messed up stuff already; "Put the damn bottle down and do your job."

"I said go away!" the man drunk-sobbed from the inside; "Just leave me alone. None of you care about my daughter, why should I care about you?"

"Don't make me come in there." She called, more than willing to kick in his door with some arcane firepower; "If you don't get your drunk ass working, everyone's gonna die. Everyone dies, no one's saving your little girl. Did that pass the drunk-barrier?"

"Talia, people…" Brelyna cautioned.

"Have better stuff to do than look at us." She assured her; "I asked Mayor Moustache to prevent people from beard-flipping."

"…You…you're going to the castle?" Owyn's voice, now timid, came from the inside again.

"We're here to help, so yes, it is kinda implied that we're going to the castle." The mage deadpanned at the door, and gods she felt stupid for yelling at a piece of wood; "But only if your hands grab a hammer instead of that bottle probably still in your drunken hands. Drunk."

"I…okay, I'll…if you're really going up there…"

"We _are_."

"…Then…then tell Murdoch I'll get right on it. Yes, I'll get right on it." There was a sniffle, then the sound of a bottle hitting the ground hard enough to shatter the glass; "Maker, I'll have to clean this place…"

"Work first!"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"Well…" Talia turned back to her classmates; "That was actually pretty entertaining. Come on, let's go tell Murdoch he'll get some proper weapons."

"I just don't want people to start throwing stones again." Brelyna urged, walking behind her as Talia made her way back to Murdoch. The man gave them a look, likely processing that yes, there _was_ a tail poking out from those robes, and then looked to Talia.

"So?"

"Owyn's working. He's piss-drunk, but he's working."

"Man works wonders even _when_ drunk." Murdoch nodded; "Thanks Warden, I appreciate the help. Listen, there's actually something else too, if you feel up to it?"

"Shoot."

"Perth and his men are holding near the castle-bridge. That's where most of the undead come from, but as you have probably already been told, they're hard-pressed to hold out." Murdoch gave a short glance at her companions, and Talia _felt_ how Brelyna shrunk under his gaze; "If you can give them a hand when the fighting starts, then the rest of your group could do a world of good down here. Undead bastards always start popping out of the lake at some point."

"Knights and three mages against the undead?" she gave a dry chuckle at that; "Please, this'll be easy."

The grimace on the mayor's face told her that he didn't believe in 'easy' when it came to dealing with the undead. Fair enough, really, seeing how Draugr ignored just about everything you threw at them until you started killing them with fire. Arrows just didn't do the job.

She figured possessed corpses played by the same rules.

"We'll get it done." She said, making her voice more professional.

"Glad to hear it. The sun'll be setting soon enough." He said, retrieving a few coins from his belt; "Get something to eat at the tavern. Can't have people dying because you mages went hungry."

"Much appreciated." She gave him a determined smile, tucked the money into her Septim-pouch, and started for the inn.

"Warden?" she was just about to turn back to Murdoch, then realized that it hadn't been his voice calling; "Warden Talia?!"

Turning on her heel, Talia spotted a face she had been fairly sure she'd never see again. Striding from the hill, apparently having been up at the windmill they'd passed by earlier, a man in worn, brown splint-mail approached her. His face was scruffy, a red beard in its start covering most of his lower cheeks and chin. Red hair that had once been somewhat kept, was now longer, giving the knight an unkempt appearance as it mostly covered the white bandage covering his left eye. Still, he was recognizable enough that Talia felt stunned with shock.

Alduin's scaly ball-sack!

"Ser…Gilmore?" she gaped, staring at him like it was Martin Septim himself marching towards her; "You…you're alive?"

The Highever knight stopped a meter before her, giving her a long look as if to ascertain he wasn't seeing things. Closer now, Talia saw new scars on his face, as well as gashes in his armor and a scar going out from under the bandaged part of his face.

"And so are you, to my relief." His brief smile fled, replaced now by determination; "Lord Aedan, did he…?"

"He's fine." She assured him, also while pondering that he hadn't even seemed to notice her classmates; "Well, he's a Grey Warden now, so there's that. But, _how_?"

"After Howe's men breached the gates, the fighting spilled into the corridors." Gilmore said, his voice heavy with the horrible memories; "We managed to hold them for some time, but they were just too many. Amidst the fighting, I spotted several of Howe's men, making their way to the kitchens. I…abandoned the fight, fearing they were going for your group, and followed them."

"When we were in the tunnel, I heard screams, fighting." She winced at the memory of hearing Howe's soldiers enter the larder, the sounds of the Teyrna screaming. And for Aedan, it had been the sound of his parents dying.

Gilmore nodded solemnly; "Yes. When I arrived, the Teyrn was already… Lady Eleanor was on the ground, disarmed when I came in. Howe's men didn't expect me, why should they? They thought we were all dead. I cut them down, tried to convince the Teyrna to leave, flee through the tunnels."

So…the Teyrna _hadn't_ died? The flutter of hope threatened to spread her face in a grin. The seriousness of the situation did much to deter the smile.

"She wanted to stay and die with her husband." It wasn't a question. Talia still remembered the horrifying scene in the larder. She remembered Aedan's face, his eyes when he realized what his mother meant.

"His lordship was already dead." Gilmore's lips bit together in anger, restrained rage; "I think… when she saw his body, something just… she got up and started walking for the tunnel. I had to support her, they'd cut her deep in the waist."

"You…used the tunnel, right after us?" she muttered, giving his scars another look; "Piss, if only we had waited."

"You couldn't have known." Gilmore shook his head; "Is Aedan here? With you?"

"He is, and he is as safe as I have been able to keep him." She remembered the promise she'd made to both the knight and the Teyrna.

"Thank the Maker. When we fled Highever, I managed to find my sister's house in the village. She and her husband were on their way to Redcliffe, and we joined them. I posed as his brother, the Teyrna as our sick mother." A small, grim smile played on his lips; "Howe's men didn't even give us a second glance when we passed their patrols. None of them probably even _knew_ what she looked like. Our luck, I suppose."

"What… happened to your eye?"

"Ran into one of Howe's mabari when we fled the castle." He winced at the memory, whatever it was; "I ran it through, but not before it scratched my face up something fierce. Nothing glorious, really."

"Damn…" she looked down, biting her lip; "So…if I can ask…how is she?"

"Bedridden, I'm afraid." Gilmore glanced at the house he had apparently left. Talia couldn't see which one; "She's too old to take wounds like that. We suspect Howe's got men in the village, so I haven't dared asking around for a healer. She's stable, I think, but I doubt she will leave the bed any time soon."

"Talia, who…" Brelyna asked from behind her, seemingly overcoming her anxiety; "…is this?"

"Ah, piss…I forgot." The Breton slapped her forehead; "Brelyna and J'zargo, this is Ser Gilmore, one of the knights from Aedan's castle. Ser Gilmore, and for the love of your Maker do not freak out, these are my fellow mages from Skyrim, Brelyna Marion and J'zargo."

"Are you ill, Serah Marion?" Gilmore asked, a hint of concern to his voice.

"No, I…ehm…I am a Dunmer." She muttered; "People…ehm… sometimes people here in Ferelden think we're abominations, but I'm not, really!"

"I would never assume so." Gilmore said, and for a wonder, his tone was honest; "Abominations are hideous creatures. You, Serah, are anything but."

"Oh…I…ehm…oh…" Brelyna muttered sheepishly. Dear Divines, was that girl really _blushing_ now of all times? Mara!

Luckily, the knight returned his attention to Talia almost as soon as the words had left his mouth.

"How has Aedan handled events after Highever?" he asked, this time with nothing but concern and worry in his tone; "I cannot imagine what he has been through, believing both his parents dead."

"Believe me, it was hard on him. Duncan probably tried his best to ease the journey, but…Piss, Howe really messed him up." She groaned at the memory of that night, waiting in the forest; "He hardly spoke at all on the way. Is his mother…can he see her without…"

She couldn't find the right words.

"I believe it will only do him good to see her. Yes, I think we should find him." Gilmore decided, looking around. Talia noticed he received a respectful nod from Murdoch; "Where would he be?"

"Teagan mentioned one Ser Perth. Seeing as I went to help Murdoch, I'm guessing Perth would be a good place to start."

"Excellent, let us move." Gilmore was already moving when he'd finished, leaving them to follow behind.

For a man in heavy armor, Gilmore was surprisingly fast on his feet. Talia had to keep at a jog to keep up, and reached the top of the hill, by the windmill, at the same time as Gilmore. J'zargo came next, with a panting Brelyna in the rear.

Aedan was talking to a group of men, knights obviously, in heavy steel-plate. Their leader was helmetless, with a long, blond wig flowing down his neck. The young Cousland hadn't noticed them yet, and before Gilmore could make a move, Talia signaled the knight to remain where he was.

Likely, the redhead would have assaulted Aedan with a hug, shocking the piss from his young lord. Talia, not in the slightest interested in Aedan pissing himself with shock, went ahead.

"Aedan?" she walked up, just as the dark-haired noble finished talking to the knights. Or maybe she interrupted, and he just chose her over the knights. Maybe. She didn't know.

"Talia, this is Ser Perth, one of Redcliffe's knights." Aedan gestured at the heavily armored men; "He and his men have been fighting the undead tirelessly for the past days. Honestly, do you suppose we could make them Wardens?"

Talia took a look at Perth. The man was a horrifyingly close match to Cailan, and only lacked the goofy attitude to be a perfect match. No way.

"I think we're fine as we are, apologies Ser Perth, but your men are better used for Redcliffe." She turned back to Aedan before Perth could reply. Likely, the knight had no interest in becoming a Grey Warden; "Aedan, there's something you should know."

"Is this going to be a bad thing?" he asked. Try as she might, Talia was unable to keep the smile down when she shook her head at him.

"Nope, it's actually pretty far from it." She grinned, waving for Gilmore to approach without even looking at him. Aedan gave her an odd look, then looked past her as he no-doubt noticed the redheaded knight as well; "It would seem Howe is worse at cleaning house than we thought."

Aedan just stared.

Talia could hear Gilmore's armored boots on the hard soil. They came close, and then they stopped, letting her see Gilmore from the corner of her eye.

"…My Lord…Aedan, it is…" Gilmore started.

"Ser Gilmore, is this really…" another knights, clad in splintmail as well, asked. He was shorthaired, with a muscled face and cautious eyes, a massive sword hanging over his shoulders; "I didn't dare hope…"

"Ser Jory, please allow Ser Gilmore and Ser Aedan a moment." Perth muttered, to which the other knight, Jory, nodded and took a step back.

"…Gilmore?" Aedan's eyes were rimmed with tears. Seemingly throwing nobility and tradition to the wind, he threw himself at Gilmore. The knight, only a few years older from what Talia knew, returned the embrace with vigor.

Talia and her friends watched in silence as the two reunited. She really didn't see a reason to interrupt: this was their thing, and gestured for Daveth, Morrigan and Leliana to stay back when they came up the stairs. Leliana, to her credit, took one short look at the scene and nodded, repeating the motion Talia had given them. Daveth seemed equally touched by the moment, and Mara, even Morrigan seemed less indifferent than usually.

Then again, it wasn't difficult improving on being an unfeeling _bitch_. Still, it _was_ an improvement and- _why am I even thinking this now?_

"If this is how you greet _me_, I cannot fathom how you will greet your mother." Gilmore chuckled.

"What." Aedan's head snapped back, eyes wide as he stared at the knight. This time though, Gilmore looked at the knight from before, Ser Jory. The knight caught the hint and stepped forward.

"Lord Cousland, your mother travelled with my wife and I, posing as Ser Gilmore and I's ill-fallen mother." Jory explained; "She is resting in my house, as we speak. Would you like-"

"Let me see her." Aedan's words came out so fast it was a miracle they were understandable at all; "Now. I want to see her now!"

"Of course." Ser Jory nodded respectfully, starting towards the village; "Please, follow me."

"We'll just… be there in a moment." Talia called, though she was pretty sure Aedan hadn't heard a word she said. He was already forcing the poor sod of a knight to run faster than it was supposedly possible for a man in heavy armor.

Still, she felt Aedan ought to have a moment alone with his mother. At least, now maybe the wreck that was his heart would start mending, and Mehrune take her, she wasn't going to interfere. She looked as he vanished between the houses below, a warm feeling spreading in her stomach.

"His mother is alive?" Brelyna asked, a smile in her voice as well; "That's wonderful, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" the Breton agreed, looking at the darkening skies as a similar smile spread across her own lips; "It is."

"You care for him." The Dunmer said, more a statement than a question. Talia turned to regard the other girl's red eyes, finding them difficult to read; "It is in your eyes when you look at him, or think about him. I had noticed it before. I…didn't mean to pry."

"…I suppose I do." She agreed softly. It was odd, how different it felt from all the other boys and men she had bedded. She had never actually _gotten_ to the bedding-part with him, and yet, the sensations in her stomach were new, and while she often disliked changed to her body, this was one she didn't mind.

"Somehow, I do not find that hard to believe." Gilmore said. His voice almost made her jump, as she had utterly forgotten about him still being there. Turning something between a glare and a curious look at him, she silently bade the knight explain; "Aedan has always been easy to like."

"…that's it?" she asked, a little dumbfounded; "No long tales or words of grand wisdom?"

"Not really, no." Gilmore let a weak chuckle escape him, as the rest of the group joined them. Alistair in particular, looked like curiosity was eating him alive.

"So…Aedan pretty much just almost ran us through to get back to the village." He started; "Mind sharing what's got him in such a hurry?"

"When we fled Highever, we believed both his parents dead by Howe's hand." She started, turning a glance at Ser Gilmore; "Thanks to Ser Gilmore here being a regular hero, his mother at least is very much alive and here in the village."

"I do not know if I deserve-"

"The term?" she stopped the redhead short; "Gilmore, I saw you fight, and I saw the look in your eyes when we left you in the hall. You knew you would most likely die, but you didn't even flinch. Believe me when I say Duncan made a mistake _not_ trying to recruit you."

"I suppose that explains it." Alistair nodded, looking after Aedan, though the young man in mention was long gone; "The sun is setting though. Talia, Murdoch told me he'd asked you, Brelyna and J'zargo to help Ser Perth up here. Can you manage if the rest of us hold the village center from the lakeside?"

As a reply, or something the sort, Talia opened her palm and let a bright flame dance there, a confident set to her jaw. It wasn't a smile, but she knew she could handle it. Or, at least she hoped she could. Regardless of certainty, she gave Alistair the confident façade;

"I think we can hold here, your highness."

"Good, that's-…You just _had_ to, didn't you?" he growled with little mirth. Talia gave him her trademark dung-eating grin in return, then punched him on his armored shoulder. It was getting dark;

"Don't get yourself killed, Princeling" she said, more a suggestion than a favor asked, or something akin to caution; "And make sure Aedan doesn't die either. That'd be a sucky family-reunion. Still, _have fun_."

"Right, because I'm clearly looking forward to this…" Alistair sighed. After a moment of sourness, the young bastard-prince shook his head and looked up, a renewed purpose in his eyes; "Maker watch over you."

"Me or the group?" she asked with a smirk, then replied before he got the chance; "Stendarr watch over you, Alistair."

"What, not me?" Daveth asked in a mock-hurt tone; "I'm _hurt_."

"Yeah well, _Alistair's_ the one who's getting his face clawed off by the walking dead." Talia pointed out; "You don't need a god watching over you."

"Would be nice though." The archer muttered. Morrigan huffed, a somewhat amused tone to her usual haughtiness.

"Better that Alistair wears a helmet than hope for the Maker to keep his nose where it belongs." She mused, earning an irritated look from the blonde; "Regardless, this should prove an interesting night, if nothing else."

"Maker watch over us all." Leliana said, and didn't even sound preachy. When she caught Talia's eyes on her, she added; "We need all the heavenly aid we can get, regardless of personal faith."

That was good enough for Talia, who just nodded. She watched as the other half of their group left, leaving her, Brelyna and J'zargo to support the knights. Still, at least Ser Gilmore was still there, which meant she could count on at least _one_ of the knights to be a competent fighter. She still remembered how he'd cleaved a man's head open with said man's own axe in the main hall.

"So…" she said, seeing as the night had already fallen, and there wasn't any dead guys popping out of the ground; "When does it start?"

"Any minute now, I'd wager." Gilmore said. His voice came out weird, metallic, so she looked at him. A brow was raised in surprise, seeing he was now wearing a T-gap steel helmet, mouth, nose and eyes the only visible parts of his face; "Look for a green fog coming- _Maker_, there it is."

Following his finger, Talia heard Brelyna's gasp before she even saw the cloud. It was nothing like a natural cloud, billowing forth from the gates of the castle like the Thu'um of a Draugr Deathlord. It started slowly, then picked up speed as it rushed across the dropped drawbridge.

"Ready yourselves men, the enemy will soon be upon us." Ser Perth ground out from where he stood, a more plain helmet covering his head than Gilmore's.

The cloud had already reached the hills a few dozen meters away, and Talia spread her feet into her usual combat stance, hands aflame and ready. Next to her, Brelyna gathered her hands, then spread them and called her lumbering giant of Frost into being. J'zargo started crackling with familiar electricity, his claws almost impossible to see through the concentrated lightning.

"Steady… Steady." Gilmore calmed himself, or maybe he meant to calm them. Talia decided to extinguish the flames, and instead start summoning up the fiery version of Two-Sock, a simple construct though it was. She held the spell at the ready, the unnatural colors pulsating in the night. _I have no idea how long it'll last, and I can't just spam them like firebolts…Have to be smart about this._

"Here they come." Talia wasn't sure which knight had spoken, but when she squinted, she saw the same he had: forms, shapes that resembled humans were stumbling out of the mist. They were running, an unsteady gait that reminded her of drunkards fleeing the bill.

What appeared though, was nowhere near as humorous.

The first corpse to leave the concealment of the mist was wearing the ragged remains of a soldier's armor, scraps of chainmail sunken into his or hers rotten flesh. Long, thin legs that bore nothing but bone and skin, ran towards them beneath a sunken body where the ribs were visible behind the stretched-out blackness of decomposing skin. At the end of each arm, rotten and dripping liquids, bony hands clutched serrated blades, broken shields or heavy axes. All colored with rust and rot.

The faces were the worst. Where even he Draugr held something resembling life in their faces, ghostly lights that was caused by…magic, if nothing else, these corpses held a vast darkness behind their hollow sockets, far deeper than what should have been where the eye was no more.

She released the spell.

The Blight Fire howled into being, flashing into the shape of a large wolf with a sharp crack. The knights retreated visibly from it, but kept their swords pointed the way they needed. Without even needing her to command it, which might have been an indication of soul-bound intellect, the wolf sprinted towards where more undead were now appearing, growling and snarling at those still living.

It pounced. With a raging snarl, the wolf bit into the rotten flesh of an undead's neck, whereafter the flames covering its body started growing in intensity. As other corpses started cutting at it as well, the wolf gave a final howl and detonated. The flames expanded into a large ball of fire, consuming all nearby corpses. When the flames died down, five shambling bodies dropped to the ground, smoking and charred beyond function.

"Take _that_, you piss-stain!" Talia was almost beside herself with glee. The Blight Fire actually _worked_! Well, of course it _worked_, that had never been in doubt. She was just…_surprised_, that it was so effective. Still, the five now-dead undead were trampled underfoot as the rest of the horde swarmed forward. Talia blanched at their numbers; "Oh…_piss_."

The only obstacle between them and the undead, a barrier of spiked wood set into a cross-section, was rendered more or less obsolete when the first of the corpses got stuck in them, then simply provided the rest of the many-fold undead with a carpet to walk on.

Disgusting, but brilliant for a bunch of dead guys.

The first of the corpses reached them, swinging a lumber axe wildly in its rotten arms. It was met head-on when Ser Perth surged forward, dismembering the weapon-wielding arm, then beheaded the corpse and kicked it down;

"Blessed are the Peacekeepers…" he swung again, even as Brelyna's Atronach moved to join him and the other knights. A corpse was halved, the sword cutting easily through its midsection; "The Champions of Just."

The corpses swarmed them now, five or six at a time crossing the defunct barricades. Most focused on the main threat, which was not the knights, but instead the lumbering ice-giant in their midst. Rusty weapons of steel and iron started hacking into the solid mass of animated ice, allthewhile the giant responded in kind. The massive fist pummeled down, smearing the undead over the hard ground, while its spike gouged a corpse, lifted it up and threw it off into another.

While J'zargo sent lightning, strike after strike into the raging dead, Talia pelted them with firebolts from every angle she could get. Actually having the time to throw the bolts, notably without having to dodge melee-strikes, meant she had that much more power to draw from.

And while the corpses were numerable, outnumbering her group more times than she liked to even imagine, they had the flaw of being just that: corpses. The sinew and tissue once holding them together was rotten, the bones fragile and their minds devoid of the notions 'dodge' and 'block'. As such, almost every firebolt either sent a corpse staggering in flames, or simply blew them up. The latter was the more satisfying, as it served to stagger the surrounding corpses as well.

And of course, it helped having six heavily armored knights taking the brunt too.

"This one has Seven!"

"Twelve!" Brelyna called, something of a gleeful, yet fierce tone to her voice.

"Ten, I- _Piss_, girl, how'd you get…" Talia stopped herself as the atronach kicked out, sending two of the undead flying into the cliff where they shattered and bent oddly; "…Never mind."

"J'zargo deems the elf a cheater!"

"Am _not_!" the Dunmer retorted, ducking beneath a flung spear, then sent a flash of lightning at the thrower. The undead in mention practically evaporated as the near-plasmatic magic struck it. Brelyna jumped back up, her hood fallen down to reveal dark hair freed from the buns. She didn't look particularly much like a bookish _cutie_; "See? I'm _not_ cheating!"

"Children, _please_." Talia called over them, sending a bolt of fire so precisely between a corpse's legs, because she could, that the undead went flying, one leg in each direction while the body went its own; "Behave."

"How do you think they're doing down below?" Brelyna called over the sound of battle, notably Ser Gilmore bashing the skull off the shoulder of a corpse, then kicked said corpse into its next-of-kin. The redhead then simply grabbed an axe swung at him, with the hand already holding his sword to boot, and swung said axe through the midsection of the offending corpse.

Why had Duncan not recruited Gilmore again? The man was a _beast_!

When Talia didn't reply, she was a bit winded after throwing five bolts in as many seconds, Gilmore seemed to take it as his cue;

"Ser Jory is with them, and Lord Aedan is a capable fighter." Gilmore called, sheathing his blade in the guts of a rambling corpse; "They have the Chasin witch with them too, Serah Marion, I think they'll be fine."

"You sort of…neglected half…the group." The Breton breathed, digging into her satchel. Not bothering with the concerns of it, she ripped the Elf root out and started eating it. While it _did_ help alleviate her exhaustion, it didn't feel like it did anything for her magical reserves. Damn it.

"I do not know the other girl, nor the two other men in your group." Gilmore caved in a rotten skull with the pummel of his sword, sending the corpse, an old baker if the uniform was a clue, to the ground as a useless heap of rotten bones and flesh; "Though I believe the blonde bore the Grey Warden sigil on his armor."

Talia was about to respond when she had to dodge a thrown axe from a corpse, then had to stop firing as one of the knights got in her way.

She couldn't even complain to the man, as he was beset with three corpses repeatedly putting their blades through whatever gaps they could find in his armor. The man's screams rather quickly became desperate gurgles when he was brought down. He was probably dead already, so she saw fit to blast indiscriminately at his corpse-covered form.

When she was certain _those_ dead were…dead, she returned to sender a spear of ice, because she could, to the originally offending undead. The arm-sized icicle went clean through the rotten flesh, nailing the undead bugger to the dirt-filled hillside behind it.

"That was…less grueling than usually." Gilmore panted, resting his hands on his knees as one of Perth's knights smashed the final corpse to the ground with a bladed mace, very much alike to the ones carried by the Vigilantes of Stendarr; "Who did we lose?"

"Ser Gerard." Perth replied, sheathing his sword. Talia took that as allowance to dump her tired butt on the ground; "Andraste guide him to the Maker's side."

"So…" Brelyna breathed shallow breaths as she too went sprawling; "Are we…is it over?"

"Shit, it better be…I'm in serious need of a potion." Talia breathed, cursing when her ankle protested her standing. Hence, she remained sitting; "And maybe some alcohol."

"For now, it is here." Ser Perth answered the Dunmer's question; "However, we cannot dally while the village proper might still be in peril. Ser Petro and Ser Ringert will remain here to guard this path. We others will proceed to the secondary line of defense, and pray the others have not fallen."

"What, no water-break?" the Breton cursed, even as the Dunmer next to her rolled to her feet; "…_Fine_…But they damn well better be serving free ale when this is over."

"Maybe they will, but we will have to win the night before we find out." Ser Perth replied, just the faintest hint of amusement in his otherwise stoic and knightly voice. Talia sent him a glare as she rose, feeling her blood scream for magical nourishment. Figures, she _had_ just tossed more fireballs and bolts in the last half hour, than she usually did for days.

And there was not a potion to be seen.

The group, consisting of people in heavy armor and no armor at all, made its way down towards the village proper. Talia noticed that Brelyna seemed to be almost in a jovial mood, which served to unnerve her a little. Most people who ever met Brelyna assumed understandably that she was a bookish girl, with no interest in violent activities and that she would never harm a fly.

Talia believed the saying 'it's always the quiet ones' held true here.

The scene they came down to was… well, it was pretty much as she had expected. Aedan, Alistair and a bunch of leather or mail-clad villagers were standing in what seemed to be the inside of a wall of dead. At least some twenty corpses were strewn across the central ground in front of the Chantry. Leliana, Morrigan and Daveth, joined by most of the other villagers were standing by the front doors of the building.

"Ho there, how fared your side?" Perth called. Talia wasn't even surprised when one of the villagers, a man covered in blood from heel to head, looked up and turned out to be Murdoch, hefting an axe on a shaft as long as himself.

"Just bloody fine, what'd you think?" the man spat on one of the corpses, an undead one, notably; "Didn't lose a lot, thanks to the Wardens. Still, doesn't feel like somethin' to celebrate when we still gotta clean out all these dead bastards."

"Yeah…" Talia said, kicking one of the undead corpses, this one had been dead a _long_ time, from what she could see; "Don't count on me there. I _kill_ undead people, I don't clean them up."

She kicked the corpse again;

"Nope, _not_ touching this stuff."

* * *

**So, what was the bigger surprise here? That the Teyrna is alive, that Ser Jory is here, that Gilmore is a BAMF(and also alive), or that Brelyna has dormant tendencies for extreme violence? Well, as they say, it's always the quiet one.**

**Also, it is pretty much mandatory that Murdoch is a BAMF, considering who his voice-actor was, may he rest in peace. Right, getting all sappy and shit...I mean junk. Point is, Murdoch is a badass. Case closed.**

**If you notice I am starting to deviate a lot from in-game actions and dialogue, it's because my tablet doesn't support gaming, and therefore I have to make the conversations up as I go. Well, hope you enjoyed, and once more Merry Christmas and Happy Hanuka :)**


	16. Dealing with the Dead

**Alright, so we're in Auckland now, which means I am now in the Auckland City Library, which means, you guessed it: More undead fun with Talia and friends! Yay! :D**

**On a more serious note though, life took a bit of a...detour, let's say. Stupid signs said car-park was 3m, but in reality it was a stupid 2´m. Result: tear in top of the camper, lots of swearing, smacking of doors and yelling of 'Shitty Country!' - not me, my dad. I _never_ swear. I leave that to my characters.**

**Alright, back to it. Extra long chapter, just for you guys :)**

* * *

**Dealing with the Dead**

* * *

Talia wasn't often a person easily made nervous. Or jumpy. Or anxious. Or socially embarrassed, the last one given she had grown up amongst nobles, so she knew _exactly_ what to do in _any_ given situation, as long as it was a situation that took place in the company of nobility. Like, in the safe confines of a castle or Father's estate.

This wasn't such a situation, and as such, she was nervous.

The wooden boards beneath her feet creaked whenever she shifted her stance, and the sound would lead her hands to tangle with the braid, which was repeatedly untangled and remade whenever her fidgeting made her untie it. Which was annoying. She just took it in the best stride she could, which was none at all, and ended up almost tripping herself whenever the adjacent company made as much as a cough.

"What?" she winced a little at the snappish way her voice came out.

"What?" Daveth repeated, confused as to what he had done. Talia had half a mind to make up something, just so she could set something on fire and be chased out of the house. She didn't, though.

"Nothing…" the young mage muttered, dumping herself on the wooden chair by the door.

The hallway wasn't very big, long or wide, and only held a single corridor from the stairs and to the door leading to the bedroom. Said bedroom was also where Teyrna Eleanor Cousland was currently resting, with her son also in there. The rest of the group, those that fit anyway, was waiting either in the hallway, in the main room below, or outside Ser Jory's house altogether. And it wasn't a very big house at all.

Those unfortunate enough to be in the last category faced the risk of Murdoch ordering them around. With his axe. His _big_ axe.

Dammit. She was wringing her hands, and the cat was there to see it too. Talia had tried having him kicked downstairs, but Jory's wife, Helena, was apparently allergic to cats, and Murdoch said people had started noticing someone looking oddly like a cat-abomination walking around. Therefore J'zargo was in the hallway. With her. And he saw her wringing her hands. _Perfect_.

"Talia?" she hadn't heard the door open at all, hadn't even _seen_ it, and as a result, Aedan's voice nearly made her set fire to the chair in surprise. Forcing a breath, she pretended to study her nails for a moment, regaining her calm, before looking at him. Aedan had an expression she hadn't seen on him since before the Cousland slaughter: he looked content; "Do you want to come inside?"

She looked around, forcing a grin to improve her own mood – because wasn't it said that forcing a smile made your brain _think_ you were happy and piss – and looked back at Aedan;

"Aren't I already inside?"

"I meant…uh…if you wanted to..." he trailed off, seemingly as confused as she was nervous. And anxious. And maybe just a little jumpy too. Just a little.

"I know." She broke his wagon of thought, possibly even killing the poor mule dragging it; "I am just…_Right_." She stood, trying her best to adjust her robes to be somewhat _respectable_. She was meeting the Teyrna again, after all, only this time, Aedan had probably told his mother a bit more about the life of his redheaded companion. _And really, can I even blame him? He's probably so relieved his mother is alive that he'd reveal the Joining ceremony in great detail if she even hinted at it. Damn…not to mention I never specifically _asked_ him to keep it a secret._

In short, this could go really bad.

"…Right." Aedan nodded after some apparent thought being given to it. He didn't say anything else as he gestured for her to walk through the door. She examined the woodwork dutifully, taking note of the craftsmanship that had obviously gone into making…a plain door. Piss, her mind was tumbling like the male Horkers commencing their annual gang-bang.

Inside the bedroom, which made up the majority of the upper floor, Eleanor Cousland was resting in a single-bed, placed as an alcove into the wall. On one side of it, bricks formed the shell of the chimney from downstairs, supplying the room, most notably the alcove, with warmth. On the other side, another alcove was made with sheets and covers.

The curtains were pulled aside in Eleanor's case, revealing the exiled noblewoman to be propped against her pillow and the wall behind it, the covers reaching her to mid-chest, whereafter a plain, woolen type of clothing covered the rest of her. As she studied the Teyrna's face from a distance, Talia didn't register Aedan closing the door again, leaving the two women alone. Instead she just looked. She looked at the way the Teyrna's wise blue eyes, Aedan's must have come from the Teyrn then, regarded her in much the same way. A scar was healing nicely on her cheek, and her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail.

Really, she had overdone herself with the disguise.

Talia didn't know what to say, and piss it all, the Teyrna seemed content with letting her initiate a conversation. Probably because Fereldan nobility had a code deciding that if a foreign mage saved your son from treasonous slaughter, you had to let her speak first. Blast.

Talia pulled a chair across the floor to where the Teyrna was, the damn piece of furniture scraping over the wooden boards. There, she sat down, careful to be as gentle and noble-like as she possibly could. Hands folded themselves in her lap, then unfolded and placed themselves flat down, then returning to a folded state.

"Thank you." The words surprised her, but at least this time she didn't jump on the spot. Talia's eyes went to the Teyrna, where she sat against her pillow. The woman's eyes were tired, deep bags underneath and red rings around. Naturally, seeing how the past weeks hadn't been the epitome of joyful.

When Talia obviously didn't know what to say, she wasn't being overly proud when she knew that she'd done enough for the Couslands that which service she was being thanked for would take some elaboration to discern, the older woman seemed to take pity on her and continue;

"My son is here, alive, because of what you did." Tears rimmed her eyes now, as if the very act of speaking the words threatened to reverse reality. Maybe. Or maybe it was just tears of joy; "You saved his life. There is nothing I could ever do that would repay what you have done for me. For this family."

The 'however little is left of it' was left unsaid.

"I really didn't…_do_ much, your ladyship." Talia started, feeling like each word refused to pass her teeth; "I just…I mean, Duncan probably killed a lot more of Howe's men than I did."

A pained expression, like grief mixed with happiness, appeared in the Teyrna's eyes;

"I know what happened at the Joining." Eleanor's words hit her like the bow of an Imperial Trireme, complete with ebony-reinforced bow-blade and everything; "I know what you did for Aedan. What it nearly cost you in return."

"Oh…" and that was about all she could say to that; "So…how's your side?"

"Talia." Eleanor spoke firmly after a short bout of coughing laughter. Her eyes were both soft and hard at the same time. Damn, had Mother somehow learned mind-shift and decided to take a hike for her daughter? Father had already taken a trip, so nothing would really surprise her at this point; "You defied what little I know as the limitations of magic, resurrected my _son_, and nearly gave your own life to accomplish it. _Never_ underestimate what you did."

"Well…I…" Stendarr, what was she supposed to say to _that_? "Aedan is important to me, as a friend, I mean. I don't know how much he has…told you."

"More than he'd probably wish he had." Eleanor mused, her wit seemingly very much intact still; "He also showed me the scar."

"Which was _not_ my intention to leave." Talia quickly replied. She'd even tried healing it while they travelled, but the damn coloration just stuck like a bad reputation; "I at least am pretty certain it isn't harmful, so he shouldn't be…I mean, one of the mages from the Circle looked at it and said it was fine."

Wynne hadn't examined Aedan, but seeing how the old woman had _seen_ the scarring and refrained from shouting in alarm, Talia took it as a sign that Aedan wasn't going to spontaneously combust. If Eleanor didn't believe her, the old woman didn't care enough to inquire. Odd.

There was a pause, neither woman speaking. Talia because she didn't know what to say, Eleanor Cousland because…well, she just seemed content with observing the young Breton. Talia almost resigned to the conversation being over, when the Teyrna spoke again, this time more softly, and more curious too.

"Aedan told me you are nobility." She said, and then became quiet again. She left Talia blinking, trying to process a response to that. Well…Piss. So Aedan _had_ gone and told her. _Yay, because that isn't going to complicate things. At all. Nope. Not even a little._

"I…Well…technically, I sort of attempted to disown myself, Lady Cousland." Which was the truth. Usually when a child of nobility ran off, like she had done, said child was disowned. Like she should have been. Talia still wasn't sure if Father not disowning her was out of actual father-feelings, or because he wanted to convince her to marry that dullard from Daggerfall. Either way, she'd failed spectacularly in getting disowned.

And wasn't _that_ just a weird sentence?

"Aedan did not mention that…" Eleanor said, her soft tone nevertheless filled with the same amount of inquiry as before; "Is that connected to how you crossed the ocean to Thedas?"

"He told you about- I…no, not actually." Her own voice softened a bit, though it was mostly out of regret; "I came here because some magic went wrong in the College. Instead of going a long way _south_, we were sent a long way _east_."

It felt weird, but also good, to be able to tell stuff to Aedan's mother. Mara, was it because she missed her own? Damn that piece of sentimentality. If possible, Talia would just stuff it into a chest and never open said chest again. And then chain the damn thing shut and throw it off a cliff.

"Your…College." The term seemed new to the Teyrna, or maybe just unexpected; "Mages are free, in your College?"

"They- _we_ are, yes." She nodded; "Mages from Tamriel, and this is just my own experience talking, your ladyship, do not know of the Fade as mages in Thedas do. Before I was…introduced to it, in Kinloch hold, I had never even heard of or seen a demon before. It also didn't seem to expect _me_, which just…apologies, I realize the details of magic's workings can be a bit…trivial."

"Not at all, dear." Talia winced a little at the last word. Because despite it all, she didn't feel deserving of it. A flash of pain crossed her expression; "Oren…my grandchild, he… a few days before you and Duncan arrived, he…Oren set his pillow on fire."

"I'm…not sure I follow?" Talia was a little confused. Unless…"Did he…was it magic?"

"Yes." There wasn't even a single breath wasted before the Teyrna spoke; "Aedan doesn't know."

"I…" Talia wasn't sure what to reply to that. Was it a _bad_ thing, that Oren had had magic? She couldn't see the reason, unless it was because the Chantry had something against mages as a whole, not just magic. Or, maybe it was the other way around; "Is it a bad thing to ask…why?"

"What happened to the line of succession in your family when you were born with magic?" Talia wasn't prepared for the question, though she didn't let it show. Instead, she pondered the question for a solid minute, and then came to a very simple conclusion;

"Nothing, really. Both my parents are mages, so it was expected that my siblings and I all had it as well." She played with her braid, something she stopped the moment she noticed; "My older brother is the heir, so it was a bit of a disappointment when he turned out the weakest of us. My sister never even wanted to _use_ her magic for anything but studying, and she still kick- she still bested him in all trials."

"Here in Ferelden, and where else the Chant of Light has been spread to, magic means the child will no longer be accepted as an heir." Eleanor's voice was tight with regret; "We Couslands have always been firm Andrastians, but…"

"You do not agree with the way your faith is kept by the Chantry." It was really more of a guess than anything, but it came out as a statement; "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume…"

"Don't worry, dear." Eleanor shook her head, the regretful expression gone; "Mostly because you are not wrong. Aedan, I suspect, have already let that much slip."

"He…hinted at it, back in Highever, yes." Talia said; "I just thought it was only him...Was that why, when you learned I was a mage, that both you and your husband were so…" dammit, she didn't have another word for it; "…nice to me?"

"Partly, I think. But also because I used to pride myself on being able to read people…" the woman's eyes grew distant and angry; "Though I suppose I lacked that skill when it came to Howe."

Talia wasn't even sure why she said what she said then; "Live well, it is the best revenge."

"Maybe, but I will still see that bastard _hang_ for this." Eleanor's voice was…honestly, Talia couldn't describe it. It was all sorts of determined and furious, but at the same time, the woman kept her tone conversational. Talia concluded right then and there, that Aedan had his scarier sides from his mother.

"I didn't say he wasn't going to hang." The mage interjected; "If need be, I'll even tie the rope."

Eleanor's eyes lost the distant look at that, and came back to rest of Talia. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad.

"Why, if I may ask, did Duncan recruit you, Talia?" Well, wasn't _that_ a way to change the subject?

"It is… not a story I think you would enjoy." She replied, looking away. Her fingers went to the empty soul-gem around her neck with the vial. The gemstone had been…humming, just now, as if there was a soul within it. The sensation vanished again before she could be sure, and she let the hand fall to her lap.

"I would like to hear it still, though I understand your reluctance." Eleanor nodded. She adjusted her covers a bit, and seemed to bite down a wince. She might have disturbed the wound, Talia surmised. She wasn't a healer, but… pain was easy to spot.

"How is your wound?" she asked, leaning a bit forward. Just enough to show concern, not enough to be intrusive; "Ser Gilmore told me what…how it happened." She looked down, then added a bit of levity to the mood; "He's a brave bastard, that one."

"Ser Gilmore is…" Eleanor paused as she looked down, possibly at the wound; "He is a more loyal man than I believe can be deserved by ordinary people."

"I'm still surprised Duncan didn't choose to come for _him_." Talia mused, smiling at the very recent reunion with the redheaded knight; "So, how is the wound?"

"Healing, like the rest of me, I suppose…" Eleanor grimaced as she moved to sit better; "Though I would like it to hurry up, if just a little."

"My friend is a healer." Talia said. Brelyna had never had Onmund's skills with healing, but she was still a far shot better than herself. Honestly, even with the seemingly extended reserves from the Joining, she didn't trust herself to reopen and attempt healing a potentially gaping wound.

How much wouldn't it just _suck_ to accidentally kill Aedan's mother at this point?

"Far as I understood it, so are you, are you not?" Eleanor seemed a bit, if not miffed, then just confused.

"In a sense…" she hesitated. Without much bragging, Talia _had_ brought a person back to life, which _should_ mean she was among the best healers to be found. And yet, she knew she wasn't. Not even close; "But I don't trust myself to heal anything but scrapes and non-critical injuries. If something happened…I mean, Gilmore mentioned your wound was… less than optimal." The last word came out with a frown.

"Of course, I didn't mean to make demands." Eleanor apologized. Her eyes held the same meaning for a moment, then grew inquisitive once again. Yep, Aedan was a copy of his mother; "Would your friend then be perhaps willing to help my recovery along? Just enough that I can actually _leave_ this damn bed and stop being a burden on Helena. The sweet woman doesn't say it, I know, but…"

"I'll ask." Talia said with a smile, happy with a chance both at helping, and escaping the room before the Teyrna started asking just _how_ important Aedan was to her. _Frankly because I pretty much have piss-all idea myself…Damn._

"Talia…" Eleanor's words caught her stride just as she reached for the door. The young Breton looked back at the older noblewoman, seeing the pair of strong, determined eyes locking on her own; "My son could not have met a better friend if Andraste herself had done the picking."

Talia didn't know what to say to that – should she say 'thanks'? – so she nodded and left through the door. Outside, Aedan, Brelyna, Daveth and J'zargo were waiting, looking on with rapt attention as she closed the door. Talia wasn't surprised to find both other women missing.

Leliana had asked Alistair to help her with the wounded, and wasn't _that_ a gesture of…something, and the young prince had nearly jumped at the opportunity to help around instead of just _sitting_ around.

Morrigan had vanished as she annoyingly often did, most likely to go scare some children. She seemed like she'd good at that.

"So?" Daveth was the first to speak, oddly beating Aedan to it; "How's the ol' girl?"

Talia gave the rogue a nod before turning to Aedan; "I know I've asked this _once_ already, but…how are you feeling, Aedan?"

"Honestly?" he cast his hands out a little. There was a small grin on his lips, and warmth in his eyes that she hadn't seen since that night in Highever; "I feel good. When I saw Gilmore, of course, I hoped he would have somehow saved Father too, but…My mother is here. Alive. Howe failed in his treason, and now we just need to find Arl Eamon and get him to orchestrate the whole thing."

"That's…awfully vague." Brelyna added from her place at the wall, leaning in a way that let her rest against her satchel. The scrolls had been the only thing in it, so the bag was just soft leather now. Aedan gave a shrug;

"Honestly, I'm feeling too good right now to bother with what could happen." He still smiled as he added; "I know, I know, that's a stupid attitude, but I'm just…I don't know, too relieved to give a damn?"

"Good thing Alistair's the one with the plans." Daveth mused, giving Aedan a friendly punch to the shoulder; "Imagine if this 'ere guy was given command, eh?"

"Brelyna." Talia turned the conversation, choosing to let boys be boys, and seemingly _sleeping_ cat be…well, _cat_. The Dunmer perked up at her name, red eyes attentive. She took every opportunity to let her hair, and thus _ears_ air, and had her hood down to let her dark buns glitter in all their glory.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind coming back in here with me?" Well, guessing from the surprise painted on her face, the Dunmer hadn't been expecting _that_. Talia turned even as Aedan opened his mouth; "I know, she'll be surprised at seeing a Dunmer, but imagine if I'd asked J'zargo." Never mind the fact that the cat was an even worse healer than herself, the Khajiit in mention only flapped an ear at the utterance of his name.

"If you think it's a good idea." The Dunmer girl nevertheless pulled her hood back up, hiding hair and ears both; "What do you need?"

"Not here." Was all she replied as she opened the door; "And…I don't know, try not to launch into another session on the workings of magic. Or even talk about magic at all."

If Brelyna had wanted to ask why, she nevertheless kept her silence as they both entered the bedroom. Eleanor was still where Talia had left her, except with her legs hanging from the bed. Her feet were bare, but surprisingly un-wrinkled for a woman of her age. Her eyes were focused first on Talia, being the first into the room, then shifted to Brelyna when she no-doubt noticed the darker skin-tone and red eyes.

Talia broke the silence first.

"Lady Cousland, this is my friend and fellow student, Brelyna Maryon of House Telvanni." She started out the best way she knew how: by introducing her friend with her House included. That Brelyna loathed being associated with said house didn't matter. Eleanor's eyes only widened slightly as she took in Brelyna's appearance, and as a result, the Dunmer wasn't nearly as fidgety as the other times she had been introduced to, or met Fereldans.

"Talia has told much about your kindness towards her in High Ever, Lady Cousland." Brelyna gave a polite bow, which Eleanor returned with a nod. Talia bit back a comment, because she wasn't happy having Brelyna mention the 'kindness' part. Because that was damn embarrassing and she didn't know why that was; "We were all glad to hear of your survival."

"Thank you, Serah Maryon." Eleanor smiled.

"Good, no one's screaming." Talia clapped her hands in satisfaction; "Now, Lady Teyrna, will you please expose your wound?"

"…Yes, of course." The old woman replied after a moment's pause. As the Teyrna began rummaging in her covers, Brelyna turned her attention to Talia, a question clear in her eyes.

"_What is going on?"_ Brelyna demanded in whispered Dunmeri.

"_You are a much better healer than me."_ Talia whispered back in Brelyna's own tongue. Having a Dunmer for mother brought the advantage of a multi-lingual childhood. And the disappointment when Talia had never been able to coat herself in flames.

"_Hea-! but I cannot heal grave wounds- I mean, I never even-"_ if Eleanor noticed their whispering, she didn't let it show. Brelyna's red eyes narrowed to slits as her lips pressed into a thin line.

"_You took the bloody course! You could at least _try_!"_

"_I don't like this, Talia."_ Brelyna hissed; "_I don't even have a single potion or anything to sustain me."_

"_Just try, please? Moon sugar on top?"_ Talia's plead came out with the most innocent, pleading smile she could muster. Brelyna muttered a string of Dunmeri, which roughly translated to 'Azura set you up for intercourse with a goat' and adjusted her robes: a sign that she had resigned to the task.

Good, because the Teyrna had stripped out of the covers and was lifting her wooly shirt up so that a deep, nasty-looking gash was made visible just above her hipbone. Most older women were starting to sag at the age Talia assumed Eleanor Cousland had reached, but the skin was taut and looked healthy – aside from the obvious cut, of course.

"Is this sufficient?" the Teyrna asked, holding her clothes from the wound.

"Y-yes, it seems just fine." Brelyna stuttered slightly, shaking her hood down to her shoulders. She stepped past Talia and knelt by the Teyrna's bedside. It was frankly quite amazing how her anxiety vaporized whenever a problem demanded her attention; "Hmm… this wasn't done by a professional surgeon or healer, as far as I can tell…May I?"

When the Teyrna nodded, Brelyna started gently placing her hands around and on the wound, her hands glowing ever so softly with golden light. The older woman looked on with curiosity as her wound started decreasing, ever so slightly, in size.

"Do you want to know what I am doing?" Brelyna asked with just an edge of effort to her tone. Talia wasn't sure if she was asking her or the Teyrna, but figured it was the latter and kept quiet. When her friend was in a concentrated state like this, Savos Aren could dance naked across the Hall of Elements and she wouldn't even lift a brow.

"If you do not mind it."

"Not at all." Brelyna replied, her hands gaining a glow that was a bit more powerful than before; "Currently, I am using my own body as a media for arcane energies drawn from Atherius. As the Sun is currently the connection I'm using, the Restoration-school is more efficient, and allows me to transform the pure energy into life-force with little to no effort."

"Which is totally amazing, so keep doing it." Talia interjected from the side, not even making her friend blink in response.

"Then, I can channel that life-force through any part of my body, though the hands remain the most efficient exit-point. The golden light you can see is the life-force between leaving my body, and entering yours."

"And you're not even bleeding…" Talia was of half a mind to call Brelyna a cheater, but decided the audience wasn't right for it.

"If the healer is not entirely competent, the transference might rip along parts of the mage's own life-force, which causes the skin to break and bleeding to occur." Oh, she just _had_ to, didn't she? "With the life-force now entering your body, it will seek out random injuries or injuries I have specified in advance, and speed up recovery from those injuries. As a visible result, your wound is now decreasing in size."

Talia decided she might as well just look on in silence, seeing how Brelyna wasn't listening anyway. So, instead of talking, she just took mental notes. Of course, she _knew_ just about everything Brelyna said, because it was the theory of healing, but at the same time, hearing it while said healing was being applied, offered additional perspective.

"And this doesn't require Lyrium at all?" Eleanor asked. She seemed to be very much at peace with the Dunmer rummaging through her skin and flesh. Not surprising, seeing how Brelyna's healing felt a bit like soaking in a hot bath.

"I am afraid I am not familiar with that word." A small frown appeared on her grey-skinned face. It was one of those expressions that made her look both cute and mature at the same time, and Talia always found it adorably akin to Brelyna's overall personality: Extremely gifted in the arcane, but little knowledge of behavioral demands in the real world. Except for her talents with Fire magic, Talia was Brelyna's direct opposite.

"Lyrium? Isn't that what all mages use?"

"Lady Teyrna, you must remember that magic from our lands seem to have different workings than magic here in Thedas." Talia explained as Brelyna's frown turned to a confused stare; "We do not need or use lyrium to work magic, and frankly, none of us have ever heard of it before coming here."

"There, all done." Brelyna huffed and fell back, dumping herself unceremoniously on the floor; "Azura, I need a break…"

"Damn… _that_ fast?" Talia whistled impressed. She knew Brelyna was good, but this was _good_. Which was… better, she supposed, than a regular 'good'…or something.

"No internal organs were severely ruptured, and only one rib was broken." The Dunmer huffed, wiping sweat from her brow as she dumped herself in Talia's chair from earlier; "It was really just…mending tissue, and prevent the blood from…clotting."

"I don't…" Teyrna Eleanor muttered in amazement as she felt herself; "There is not even a scar!"

"Can I stay on the floor? I'm tired…" Brelyna muttered, already gliding down the chair and unto the floor. Her buns unfolded and spread her dark hair all over the place; "Such a _nice_ floor. Much better than the College's…"

"Gods…" Talia palmed her forehead. That was probably something she should have remembered. Hell, Brelyna had even _said_ it; "I knew I'd forgotten something."

"…_night…_" the Dunmer sighed from the floor, the two other women looking at her with a certain amount of concern.

"Maker, is she…?"

"She's fine." Talia assured her. She nevertheless knelt down next to her friend; "She just…When I was made Warden, my magical reserves somehow expanded. Like, a lot. I… just forgot she was still at her old levels, which really aren't thát impressive. She just tired herself out."

Which could easily bite her in the butt if they ended up needing her conjurations. Hopefully the Blight Fire would make up for it. Maybe.

"This is…I can move just fine." Eleanor didn't sound like she believed her own words, and had to start walking around to prove it. Once more, Brelyna was a damn better healer than Talia often gave her credit for; "I can't even _feel_ anything was ever…And she'll be in no danger?"

"Not unless we toss her in the lake, no." the Breton gave a shrug, then turned to the Teyrna with a more serious expression; "Healing despite, I don't think you should leave the house until we have contained the undead and found the source. I also need to see Ser Gilmore about…" _Howe's men potentially being in the village_; "some important stuff."

"I do not like to sit idly by while my son is risking his life." Eleanor bit out, her visage suddenly once more what Talia had seen stab spines and take names in Highever. The Breton bit down a chuckle at the thought, but managed to keep it to a smile when she spoke, if a wry one at that;

"Believe me, Aedan would be a lot more in danger if he had to worry about you, your Ladyship." She said. When the Teyrna almost looked offended, she continued; "I've seen your son fight: he's damn good at it too. But if he thought you were somewhere on the battlefield and in danger, he wouldn't care about his own safety. Trust me, when I say that I will not let him come to harm…At least, I'll do my best to make sure he gets back alive."

"I…Forgive me, you are right." The silver hair shook a bit as the Teyrna shook her head at her own words; "I just abhor the notion of staying safe while my child endangers himself for others."

"Nothing to forgive, my Lady. Aedan is just lucky his mother isn't a mage." She gave a weak grin at the memory of Father suddenly appearing; "My Father searched most of the continent before resorting to a crime syndicate to track me down. And then he projected himself across the ocean just to tell me to stay safe and remember to wash my hands before dinner."

"He sounds like a caring father." She said, then seemingly picked up on the slightly hostile tone in Talia's words; "You do not agree much, I take it?"

"The sole reason I enrolled in the College was because _he_ wanted to marry me off to some nobleman's son in Daggerfall. I didn't approve, and ran away from home."

"Dearest, yes, I had almost forgotten." Eleanor shook her head with a silly smile on her lips; "You just carry yourself so utterly different than any other noblewoman I have ever met, it is difficult to remember."

"That's the general idea." Talia nodded, looked down at the sleeping Brelyna and sighed; "I'd better get Daveth to carry her to the inn. Murdoch offered to pay for our stay, so hopefully we can dump her there for the time being."

When the Teyrna didn't offer more than an amused smile to that, Talia took it as her permission to fetch the lanky archer. Daveth gave the Teyrna the most respectful gesture the Breton had seen from him yet, then tossed Brelyna over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and marched off for the inn_._

"Mother?" Right, of course Aedan would borderline _barge_ inside when Daveth was carrying an unconscious Brelyna out. Really, she should have seen it coming. Just like with Brelyna's reserves being somewhat limited. But she hadn't.

In order _not_ to be caught up in an overly emotional re-reunion, Tali exited the room the moment Aedan entered it, bidding the Teyrna a hasty 'till we speak again', nudged Aedan's shoulder and then hurried the piss out of there.

"Gods…" when she was outside the house, Talia slumped against the wall. Her butt found a simple wooden bench to rest on. Purely accidentally, her butt had found the same bench as Ser Gilmore was currently taking a breather on; "I'm absolutely _beat_. And thirsty."

"I am afraid I only have ale, nothing suitable for-" Gilmore started, gesturing with a leather-pouch containing liquids. Talia snatched the drink from him, taking a long sniff at the contents. Gilmore looked mildly surprised; "…a lady."

"It's…barley, right?" she just made an educated guess. Most of the ale to be found in Skyrim was made of hops and wheat, since that was the more cold-resistant grain to be found north of Cyrodiil.

"…Yes, ehm…help yourself?" Gilmore still appeared a bit miffed; "Forgive me, I should have stopped assuming…well, you know, that you would be anything like most women."

"What gave me away, the fireballs?" she grinned as she put the opening to her lips. Gods! She wasn't even aware how _much_ she'd missed alcohol! The ale flowed down her throat in gulps, and she savored every mouthful before handing the container back to Ser Gilmore; "It's usually the fireballs."

"Those… might have played a part, yes." Gilmore admitted, scratching his beard. His voice didn't match his appearance at all, because frankly he looked like a harder bastard than even Murdoch. Eye-patch, scars and a beard, those just didn't match with his gentle voice; "Though frankly I believe your general behavior is clue enough."

"Yeah well…I'm the sassy-but-cute one of the trio. J'zargo's the arrogant but oddly reliable one, and Brelyna's the bookish-yet-lethal one." She shrugged and rested her head back on the wall. Even with her hood down, she didn't even care that her head was most likely resting on dried cow-shit. Or brick wall. Those two could be remarkably hard to discern from each other.

"I did see Serah Maryon being carried off by the young archer just before." Gilmore's voice changed just a little. Concerned or curious? "Is she quite alright?"

Concern, then. That was curious.

"She's fine…or, she _will_ be fine." Talia corrected herself, seeing how the Dunmer couldn't even _walk_ right now; "She healed the Teyrna's wounds, it just tired her out to do it. So, Daveth's dumping her in a room at the inn, and she'll get some sleep there."

"Truly?" Gilmore perked up, eyes…_eye_, widened in surprise; "I should have asked sooner for aid then. Does this mean her ladyship is fully recuperated?"

"Still tired, I think, but she was on her feet when I left her and Aedan in the bedroom, so I'll take a wild guess and say she'll be just fine now." Talia shrugged and beckoned for the ale, which Gilmore gave her; "Ahhh… You know, you Fereldans may have a messed up view of magic, but you make some damn good booze."

"That will be one less concern then." Gilmore sighed, taking the flask back and taking a swig; "Ser Jory will be much more of help when he will not have to worry himself with the Teyrna being bedridden in his house."

"Jory, that's the guy with the big two-hander, right?" she vaguely remembered the musclehead of a man being dragged down the stairs by a frantic Aedan.

"Ser Jory won the grand melee in Highever, you know." Gilmore stated, not even as a question; "That was…what, two years ago? He asked his Arl, Arl Eamon that is, for permission to leave Redcliffe and live in Highever." He took a sip and handed the flask to her; "Maker's luck that he did. Had we not been able to find my sister's house, I suspect it would only have been a matter of time before Howe's men found us."

Talia took the flask to mouth, only to find the thing empty. She sent a mild glare at Gilmore, one he merely smiled weakly at, before tossing the flask back into his lap. Watching the village go about its business around them, the two sat in silence for a while.

Everything would be so much easier if they just had a single, just _one_, Breton battlemage here. While J'zargo's dream had always been to become Arch mage, Brelyna's was to become a famous scholar. But neither of those was a _battlemage_.

Talia's goals had been to one day measure up to Aveline Rosenne de Malley, the first woman to become a battlemage in Bretoni history. Which also made her the first woman in _Imperial_ history to make battlemage. Those in the college who knew her were more than aware of Talia's _tiny_ worshipping of Aveline. Because it totally wasn't because she'd had a painting of Aveline on her wall back in Evermor.

"So…" she started, eyes lazily following the villagers as they stacked the night's fallen, friend and foe both, on the pyre. The smell was a bit overwhelming, but those stacking corpses seemed indifferent to it. Damn, poor sods; "What happens now?"

"Assuming Teagan survived the night, I believe he will have a plan for you wardens to infiltrate the keep…" Gilmore frowned as the rotten corpse of a reanimated child was tossed on the burning wood; "At least, that remains my hope."

"And you?" she asked, glancing at the redhead. It was funny, in a way, how much Gilmore looked like a sympathetic, and one-eyed, version of Aveel. Gilmore looked to the skies where the sun was rising, meaning time was probably approaching eight in the morning.

"While I follow the lead of Ser Perth, my highest priority is the continued safety of her ladyship." The redhead said quietly; "If it comes to it, and the undead overwhelm the village, I will abandon the fight and ensure the Teyrna makes it out safely."

"If only the guards back home had _half_ the loyalty you do, Ser Gilmore." She sighed. Gilmore chuckled weakly at her statement, but whether he found her reminiscence or her compliment funny, she couldn't tell.

"I'd like to think I'm just particularly good at guessing what the Maker is going to throw at me next, and then duck when it comes flying at me." He smiled, and for just a moment, Talia was painfully reminded of Aveel's smile, back before heritage had entered the picture and her brother became a power-hungry, paranoid bastard.

"Right…Let's go see if we can't find Teagan." She said, mostly to change the subject and shake the bad memories. Gilmore nodded, tied the flask to his belt and followed her.

They found Teagan, as well as Leliana, Alistair, Morrigan and Daveth, by the windmill where they'd fought the undead just a few hours earlier. Leliana and Alistair both had grime and blood caking their arms from hands to elbows, and Daveth was keeping a certain distance. There also was a woman, dressed in a fine, white dress and with her blonde hair pulled into a knot on the back of her head.

And for some reason, she and Alistair were scowling at each other.

"You can't be serious! Teagan, it's obviously a trap." Alistair threw his hands around, like he was swatting at flies.

"The fact that _he_ realizes this, and you do not, speaks either volumes for your trust in this woman, or ill for your intellect." Morrigan mused, her face partially hidden beneath a red hood; "For all we know, t'is her we should suspect for the rising dead."

"What, an Orlesian noblewoman capable of _doing something_?" Daveth exclaimed in mock-disbelief; "Surely, you must be jesting, Morrigan?"

"It is a plea for the life of a child!" Leliana broke in; "Surely, if we accompanied Teagan, this would satisfy all?"

"Okay, uh, _hi_?" Talia interrupted. Faces both surprised and disinterested, the latter was merely Morrigan, turned to look at her and Gilmore; "So, what's going on?"

* * *

"This is madness, we should _never_ have listened to Isolde!" Alistair complained, his armor making noise as he shuffled through the _very_ tight passageway. Talia ground her teeth, tired of him repeating himself again and again.

"Alistair, _shut_ _up_. You are making more noise than an Orc with a nail up his ass."

"And now Teagan is _alone_ in the castle." The prince went on; "Oh sure, let's all listen to Isolde, she's always been right about _everything_ she's done."

"This one gets the feeling you do not like the Isolde-woman." J'zargo moved with little to no sound or effort; "and that you share a history beyond today, hmm?"

"Isolde's the _reason_ I grew up in a stable, and the reason I was shipped off to the Chantry." Alistair growled; "Until Eamon married her, I at least lived in the bloody _kitchen_. Isolde shows up, _bam_, out with me, the suspect bastard."

"Magnus' smelly _socks_, I think I stepped in something."

"Be glad you're not in front." Aedan huffed from up front. His shield was on his back and his sword in his hand. The passageway was too narrow for the sheathed sword, not to mention walking around with his shield out; "I'm breathing through spider webs here. Just so you know."

"I don't really like this sort'a dark'n tight places." Daveth muttered from his place at the rear; "Reminds me too much of Denerim."

"Denerim is not this dark, nor this enclosed." Leliana argued from her spot, second-last in line.

"Was talking about the dungeon, Lils."

"I know." She replied, and the tone in her voice declared a change of subject, one Aedan seemed happy to provide. Because Leliana's voice was a tad too serious and dark-ish for anybody's comfort;

"Quiet, I think I see… There's a door up ahead." His voice took on a little optimism at a potential conclusion to the hour-long walk they'd been on now. _Whose brilliant idea was it to infiltrate the castle by taking a hidden passageway that went _under_ the bloody lake anyway?_

Right. _Teagan_.

There was a sound of creaky wood, followed by a muttered curse as the door refused to open. A second went by in silence, then Aedan's boot kicked the door open with a crash of breaking wood. Light flooded the corridor as wooden splinters flew wide, followed by the young Cousland stumbling into the next room, followed closely by Alistair, then J'zargo, herself and Morrigan before their two archers made up the rear.

"Oh _great_."

She couldn't see what Aedan was talking about, but she could _hear_ the gurgles and snarls she'd come to connect with the presence of walking corpses, and even as Talia exited the hidden corridor, she saw Aedan, Alistair and J'zargo make short work of each their undead opponent.

"You know, this is _exactly_ why necromancy gets such a bad reputation." Talia huffed as she kicked one of the heads loose from its shoulders; "every psychopath and his sister thinks that _just_ because he found some old tome, he can summon the dead. Because what could _ever_ go wrong?"

"Isolde _did_ say there was a foreign mage on the castle." Alistair seemed to chew on the words; "We should probably find him and get some answers."

"Well…I'm actually right over here." A new voice called, coming from one of the cells at the end of the hallway. Talia didn't know the voice, but she was still somewhat certain it sounded _familiar_ somehow. Still now sure; "And I didn't do any necromancy."

Talia wasn't the first at the cell, Alistair had that one covered, but when she made it through the group, the sight that met her…well, it was definitely _not_ what she'd expected. Mainly because she hadn't expected to recognize the speaker.

"_You_?!" she gaped, and gawked, pointing a finger at the young mage inside the cell. It was that other apprentice, she'd forgot his name, from the Tower.

"Wait…you're the new apprentice, ehm…Talia, right?" the young man tried, clearly just as surprised to see _her_ as she was to see _him_. His previously young and fresh face was now haggard, and his appearance showed overall clear signs of malnutrition. His black hair was unkempt and hang over his eyes, and his face was covered in a beard that made Ser Gilmore's look nice and tidy by comparison.

Clearly, he wasn't high on people's list of mouths to feed.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Daveth asked, a cross between an amused smirk and a thoughtful frown on his expression. Talia ignored him, and forestalled other questions by beating them to it;

"You're that kid the templars dumped me next to. John, right?" she was fairly sure it had been something with a 'J', and John was oh so common a name you could probably find Argonians bearing it.

"Jorwan, actually, but I am not really surprised you forgot about me." He gave a weak chuckle, looking at his hands where the nails were either too long and dirty, or bitten off, and his fingers looked like they'd been broken and then reset. All of them; "Seems like everyone's forgotten about me these days, and I'm not so optimistic I suppose _you _people came here for me." He looked briefly at them all; "didn't think so…"

"Arkay's piss, Jorwan, what are you doing here?!" the last time she'd seen him, Jorwan had been seemingly quite content with his life in the Tower, deluded as he was; "And why are you in a cell?

"Trouble with the Tower." He muttered vaguely.

"_I_ had trouble with the Tower, and _everyone_ in it." Talia said; "and I'm not in a cell."

"Well…I may have been the cause of said trouble." Jorwan admitted, a small frown on his haggard face; "Trivial as it sounds, I fell in love with a girl."

"Love is no crime, certainly not to the Tower…is it?" Leliana asked, unsure.

"Said girl happened to be a Chantry sister. We wanted an actual life, to get married, _live_ outside the tower." The mage continued.

"The templars would have tracked you down by now." Alistair said; "so I'm guessing you did something to lose them?"

"We knew about the phylactery, yes. That's where the trouble started. One of my friends helped us get into the basements, where they kept the phylacteries. We destroyed mine, but… Greagoir was waiting when we came back out, and so was Erwin. And a _lot_ of templars." Jorwan's fingers tapped against the bars to his cell, something that somehow gave Talia the impression that he could _easily_ have escaped already; "After that, I…Sod, I guess things really can't get worse now, can they?"

"Why do I get a _bad_ feeling when he's saying that?" Aedan muttered into his own fist.

"Judging by the walking corpses, and the fact that Lady Isolde mentioned a Blood mage being responsible for it, I'm taking a wild guess at you being a blood mage." Alistair said, his usual wit gone for a moment; "Did I get it right?"

"I…am a blood mage, yes, but the corpses _aren't_ my fault." Jorwan insisted; "I only found out about them when the Arlessa came down here and demanded I undo the spell. I thought she meant the _Arl_! I had no idea what was going on."

"Which, of course, you told her." Talia remarked. She still didn't get the reason for him being in the cell still. Isolde hadn't exactly made the best of impressions on her, given the first impression had been the blonde insulting Alistair, demanding to know what _he_ was doing there.

Also, of course, utterly ignoring when everyone said it was a bad idea to take Teagan to the castle alone.

"I did." Jorwan looked at his hands; "she didn't believe me. the torture only ended…I think, maybe two hours ago."

"_Torture_!?" Leliana exclaimed, beating Alistair to it with so little pause that their voices were almost in unison. Jorwan winced at their raised voices, looking down at his hands again;

"…First thing they broke were my wrists. Can't cast spells if I can't use my hands, right?"

"…Okay." Talia spoke in a low voice. She was _seething_ with rage, but couldn't find a tone to fit it. She knew her Father sometimes employed torture, but _never_ as a means of interrogation. It was also reserved for the worst of the worst, rapists, mass-murderers and child-killers. Jorwan looked even younger than Aedan, and Isolde had had him _tortured_? "Before I rip the door off its hinges, Jorwan, please, tell me _exactly_ what happened here, will you?"

"I…when I fled the tower, I met a man, a noble I think, who said he worked for the Regent. He could ensure my freedom if I served the throne." Jorwan averted his eyes from them as he continued; "he told me Arl Eamon was conspiring against Ferelden, working to undermine the country. All I had to do was to take out the Arl, _no one_ else had to suffer, that's what he said."

"_Take. Out_ the Arl?" Alistair growled, but kept himself from stepping forward; "Take out _how?_"

"…Poison." Shame seeped into his voice; "I gave him a poison that would make him fall into a coma, a very deep sleep. I figured he'd be put on trial after the Blight, that the Regent would prefer it that way. But…when I realized that Arl Eamon had never been working against Ferelden, the corpses had already started rising, and the demon was ensuring nothing _could_ wake the Arl."

"Demon?" J'zargo mused. Jorwan gave him a look, and it really was more like a look of recognition than nothing else. The Khajiit frowned at the focused attention; "What, does J'zargo have something on his face?"

"Thought possessed cats only happened once…" Jorwan mused wearily, then looked back at the group; "Not that it matters. Listen, you need to find the demon and slay it, or at the very least banish it. That's the only way the dead will stop rising."

Talia took a step forward, rolling her shoulders as she did so she cast a look around at the group; "Alright, find the demon, kill it, repeat if necessary. Got it. Questions?"

"…What _did_ happen at Ostagar?" Jorwan asked. Talia sent him a look that said 'I meant the others', and the imprisoned mage looked down; "I was just curious…"

"I've got one, actually." Aedan stepped closer to the cell; "you said someone, a noble, who claimed to work for the Regent ordered you to do this. Who?"

"I've never been outside the Tower, how should I k- _wait_, he…he introduced himself as a Teyrn, but he didn't give a name." Jorwan tried. Talia shifted her feet, feeling how rage _pulsated_ from Aedan. And it really wasn't hard to figure out who the Teyrn had been, seeing how Loghain _was_ apparently the current Regent. That just left the question: had Howe wanted to expand his new reign, or was Loghain getting paranoid?

"Alright, Jorwan, you might want to step back." Talia said, declaring question-time to be over before anyone else could speak. She removed the ring marking her as an Aulus – a ring she had kept solely because it had been a nameday-gift from Mother – and pocketed it, then flexed her fingers. Jorwan cast a nervous look at her, stepping back to the rear of his small cell; "Haven't done this in a while."

"Done what?" Jorwan asked meekly. Instead of answering him though, Talia grabbed the handle to the cell-door, a contraption of solid iron, and placed her other hand on the mechanism of the lock itself. Then, she started focusing her magic into her palms, but in a different way than when she would toss fireballs at unlucky sods. Her skin was somewhat resistant to fire, but the risk would only have been from the ring getting too hot. The magic itself, using the warmth in her palms to melt through the lock, was completely harmless to her.

No one spoke as she worked, and only Jorwan kept casting worried glances at her. Then again, weeks of torture could make _anyone_ jumpy, she supposed. After several tense minutes, Talia felt her palm connect with the inside of her fingers as she made it through the metal, and she yanked the last bit away. Iron, when at a melting-point, was disbelievingly easy to bend. Letting go of the now molten lock, Talia stepped back with a huff of breath and shook her hands. The gripping had left them somewhat _stiff_.

"Alright, here's what's going to happen: Jorwan, you stay here and wait until someone fetches you, and then one of us will have a look at your hands, and you'll help wake up the Arl. Sound good?" Talia said, not really caring if Alistair disagreed. He might be Senior Warden, but this was as much a mage-matter as it was a Warden one, and she believed she held some authority there, at least.

"I'll do whatever I can to help." Jorwan said, but with sad fact was, with those hands of his, he wasn't going to _be_ any help until Talia had a moment to either heal his wrists, or get Brelyna out of bed.

"I know you will, so you'll stay here. Alistair, lead the way." She pretty much ordered. Gods, was she glad he wasn't the prince wasn't the kind of person to press his authority. 'Least, he didn't _seem_ like it.

"Letting the blood mage go? _Bad_ idea." Alistair grumbled, glaring daggers as the recently freed mage. Jorwan didn't looklike he could harm a _mouse_ at this point; "Just saying."

"Don't care if he's a piss-mage." Because honestly, 'blood mage' sounded so ridiculously ominous that there was just no way Jorwan fit that description; "For the time being, he's staying right here until we kick some demon-ass, and then he'll come right up like a good boy and heal the Arl. Right Jorwan?"

The mage in question nodded eagerly, though he was still clearly far too drained to put any real energy into it. Satisfied, Talia gave Alistair a push the right way, and the Warden took point.

"J'zargo seems to remember promising the drunken smith that we would search for his daughter." The cat mused aloud as they passed through a new corridor, only difference being this one had regular doors instead of barred cells; "This one wonders where she could be, if alive at all."

"Yeah well, she's probably dead, all things considered." Talia shrugged, keeping her voice neutral as they checked the doors along the corridor; "But, you do have a point. We should probably search for her, at least her body, while we're here."

Ripping open a new door, Talia was greeted by a yelping, young and blonde woman. The girl, because she really was just that, was dressed in a servant's uniform, and had deep bags beneath her eyes. Seemingly, she had not slept for a few days.

"Please don't kill me!" the girl screamed, protecting her face by crossing her arms in front of it. She seemed to realize that the intruders were _human_, and living at that too; "I…you are…who are you?"

"The Ghost Busters, someone sent a courier about pestering corpses." The Breton said dryly, examining the girl. Aside from the obvious lack of sleep and food, she didn't seem to have suffered any harm; "Are you one of the servants here?"

"Y-yes, my name is Valena, I- _everyone_ just started _dying_, Oh Maker, what is happening?"

"Valena…are you Owyn's daughter?" Alistair asked. Talia blinked, mostly because _how_ the hell had Alistair figured that out, and also, maybe she should start trying her luck at reversed predictions after this. They certainly seemed effective.

"My father, is he alive?!" Valena's expression was a curious mix of hopeful and panicked at the same time.

"Damn, that was easy…" Talia breathed; "Yep, he's alive, drunk and thinks nobody cares about him. Also he thinks you might be dead, so maybe you should just run along back to the village?" she pointed at the hidden passageway; "There's the exit."

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Maker's breath, I'll never forget this!" and she was off, the last word barely spoken before she jumped into the darkness of the passageway. Talia quirked a brow;

"Should someone have told her to mind her-" there was a soft _thud_ from the passageway, followed by yelling and swearing. Talia wasn't sure why she'd even bothered asking; "never mind."

"Let's get moving, we need to end this." Alistair brought them back into focus, starting out up the stairs. Aedan was right behind him, sword at the ready while Talia just jogged along, letting the rest of the group follow at will.

"Is J'zargo the only one to find the lack of undead curious?" the cat remarked as they reached the top of the stairs, now standing in a short hallway that cornered to the right just up ahead. J'zargo audibly sniffed the air; "Something foul-smelling is close. Up ahead…and to our right."

"I swear, that nose of yours…" Daveth chuckled as he notched an arrow on his bow-string, keeping it down but ready; "wish I had it."

Daveth's voice was apparently just a notch too loud, and Talia cringed when a rotten gurgle responded to their presence by showcasing five staggering corpses, all dressed in scraps of armor or servants' uniforms, rounded the corner

"Wish you'd be more quiet." She retorted, already charging a firebolt in both hands. Alistair and Aedan stood between them and the corpses, this time acting as a wall instead of engaging directly. Talia appreciated it, as it meant she, Daveth and Morrigan could start flinging fire, arrows and bright spheres of light at the undead. The Breton looked around, unable to spot Leliana.

'Why do I even bother?' Talia thought to herself as the other redhead appeared out of the shadows behind the undead, slicing both daggers in a broad arch that led to one of the rotten skulls falling from its failing body. Instead of 'bothering', Talia just kept tossing fire at whatever undead was still standing. Which turned out not to be a whole lot. Between the seven of them, five corpses weren't even a challenge, and the last one fell to the ground, leaving uncertainty as to whether it had been Aedan or Alistair killing it the most. _Boys…_

The next few minutes passed in a blur, with everything from bear-sized mabari to creepy ghosts with scythes attacking them. While it was obvious that none of the Fereldans enjoyed slaughtering the hounds, there was no way around it when the beasts, seemingly driven mad, charged down the hallway with bared teeth and pitch-black eyes. In the end, they came through with nothing worse than Aedan limping after one of the dogs had found his legs to be particularly delicious, something Talia cured with a firebolt and wash of healing.

Followed by some self-healing, because her hands were bleeding _everywhere_. Gods, she was going to end up dropping from blood-loss at this point, wasn't she?

"Alright, this is the storage-cellar." Alistair remarked as they came into a cold, damp cellar filled with barrels and crates; "Shortest way to the main hall is the large door behind us, but if we want Ser Perth's help, we need to get to the main gate and open it for them. _Then_, we can take the hall."

"Dunno about Perth," Talia remarked as she absentmindedly yanked the lid of a crate. To say she was surprised to find a large batch of Elf root in it, was an understatement. She just silently stuffed as much of it into her satchel as possible, then followed the others as Alistair, at point, forced open a door. Sunlight beamed inside, revealing a large courtyard beyond; "But as long as Gilmore gets in here, this'll be over with quickly."

"Got a lot of confidence in that knight, do you?" Daveth asked with a smirk as they filed into the open air.

Talia's reply was cut short when an arrow embedded itself in the wooden door with a _twang_, followed by J'zargo seemingly discovering the ability to fly. The Khajiit yelled in shock and surprise as he flew towards an armored figure on the opposite side of the courtyard.

"J'ZARGO!" Talia yelled, even as the cat stumbled and rolled across the dirty ground, managing to come to a stop with his usual, cat-like grace. Said stop quickly turned to a reflexive roll as the armored fighter struck down with a sword twice the size of Aedan's, just barely missing the cat.

"Morrigan, Daveth, Aedan, take care of those skeletons!" Alistair called, gesturing at three approaching skeletons, each armed with rusty swords, as well as half a dozen skeletons armed with bows at the top of the main stairs; "Leliana, get that gate open! Talia, with me at the Revenant!"

The what?

"Way ahead of you!" she called instead, leaping into a sprint, allthewhile she started flinging firebolts at the, Alistair's name for it, Revenant. The armored man seemed indifferent to her attacks, and shrugged off her firebolts like insect bites while swinging, stabbing and lunging at the cat. Thank the gods for J'zargo's flexibility, really.

Armor despite, Alistair reached the Revenant-man before her, crashing into him shield-first with the force of a charging mammoth. The attack staggered the yellow-armored bastard enough that J'zargo could leap out of his reach, followed immediately by the cat joining Talia in circling the enemy, pelting him with fire and lightning, and generally making him regret the day he decided to _fuck_ with College mages.

Don't. _fuck_. with the College.

That was a rule people always seemed to forget. On the other hand, it wasn't like they tended to get away to spread the word.

When the Revenant bashed Alistair in the face with his shield, knocking the Warden away with a cry of pain, J'zargo jumped onto the bastard's back, claws sheathed in crackling lightning. _That_ seemed to piss the man off, as he instantly began swinging and grapping for the cat. J'zargo held on though, magical energy raking across his form as he sent strike after strike directly into the bastard's spine.

Curiously enough, said bastard didn't even make a sound, whereas most would have been screaming in pain by now.

Instead, the Revenant seemed to shrug in a 'oh well' manner, then bent his arm backwards the _wrong_ way, and grabbed J'zargo by the tail. Idiotic as it had always seemed, the tail was a Khajiit's greatest weakness. Grabbing a Khajiit hard by the tail was essentially like grabbing a man hard by the balls. Talia's eyes widened in horror as the Revenant brought his other hand, the one holding a _large_ sword, back. And without even the slightest bit of remorse, stabbed forward.

Talia wasn't exactly sure _what_ happened in the next six seconds.

First thing she knew, the tip of the sword stopped just as it pricked the cat's fur. J'zargo too, stopped moving for a moment, and a thin stream of water seemed to drip onto the ground beneath him. The Breton, even years later, never even _considered_ making fun of J'zargo's terrified urination. If the Revenant hadn't _frozen_ in place, also _why_ had he done that? The cat would be dead now.

Then, as they all seemed to realize that the bastard had been stunned, and that said stun had been cast by Morrigan_, _Talia flew up and kicked the Revenant in the face with a flaming foot, dragging a sweeping trail of fire after her as her boot met the bastard's helmet. The boot then continued, as did the helmet, when there was no head nor neck to break, and the armored _ghost?_ started swinging at them at random, no longer possessing eyes to aim with. J'zargo, now sprawled on the ground, merely did his best to get out of the way, not that his Breton friend blamed him.

Arrows started _twanging_ as they bore into the moving suit of armor, and Aedan joined the fight by bashing the Revenant backwards with his shield. Alistair, now sporting a nose bending the _entirely_ wrong way, joined as well, chopping and slashing at the Revenant's arms and body, occasionally kicking it as well. Talia, sensing that her fire wasn't doing a whole lot of good, switched to ice and started pelting the armor with flows of cold, freezing joins and caking the bastard to the point of encasement in ice.

The headless bastard broke through the encasing, starting to lumber towards her. When Talia decided she did _not_ like getting too close, the armor decided she _did_. The Revenant spread its arms wide, and Talia could feel something like a snapping tug on her soul. _Oh pissing-!_

Alistair stopped _whatever_ it was, spreading his arms wide as well. A pillar of light seemed to smash down from the skies, and slammed the Revenant backwards. Talia skidded to a stop, hold broken, and started lobbing fresh ice and fire at the bastard. Leliana suddenly appeared behind it, hands low as she slashed through the knee-joints from where the armor didn't cover.

One knee buckled under the armor's weight, while the other held, and the blinded undead swung at Leliana, who simply vaulted backwards, out of reach. Still, the fight was over at this point. With a kick to the chest, Alistair sent the Revenant to the ground. With a two-handed grip on his sword, the prince stabbed downwards through the rusty, corroded armor, and the Revenant _finally _seemed to just give up and die.

"Gods…damn…" Talia sank to her knees, even as the sound of armored boots meant the knights had arrived – a bit _late_ in her opinion – and looked around her. Aedan was nursing a bruised cheek, Daveth a place where an arrow had embedded itself in his thigh, and Alistair was cursing softly while clutching his nose; "I really _knew_ I'd regret having Brelyna incapacitated at this point…Piss…"

"Ow…Ow…_Ow_…Anyone got a potion?" Alistair asked; "just a small one?"

"Ey, 'least you just got punched in the face." Daveth complained, to which Talia agreed; "You happen to notice I got _shot_? Tali, you any good at healing?"

"Not really, but I can remove the arrow and stop the bleeding." She nodded, taking a look at the archer's wound. She cast glowing hands on his leg, simply feeling instead of pouring life-force; "…missed the artery, but I'm betting it tore some tissue up."

"I'll be walking?" he sounded nervous, not that Talia blamed him. She'd met enough guards with overlapping complaints to know that arrows to the legs, especially the knees, were dangerous business.

"Walking, yes. Running?" she shook her head; "not until Brelyna get her hands on you, that's for sure."

Daveth flashed her his usual, suave grin; "Good thing I'm not using my legs to shoot a bow then, eh?" to which she had half a mind to smack him on the back of his head, but instead just focused on repairing the wound and torn tissue. Wasn't _hard_, but it took time.

Despite wanting to heal Aedan, and check on J'zargo, Alistair's injury was still the next-most serious, which was a really good thing. Talia wasn't even overly confident when she slapped a hand over his face, bit down the pain and focused on _not_ ripping her own life-force along with the stream. A short gasp was all the reaction she got as the nose straightened itself back out, and the blood on his face dried out and flaked off.

Aedan, however, just waved her off with a smile; "I'm fine. Go check on J'zargo first, okay?" to which she nodded, silently grateful.

J'zargo was standing around, seemingly trying to adjust on his stained robes. Talia didn't say anything at first, allowing the ashamed cat some privacy. Concern for her friend became too much though, and she walked over next to him, coming to a stop with soft steps.

"Hey, J'zargo."

"This one…I…would like you not see me." he stuttered, seemingly contemplating a jump in the well to clean himself; "Go heal your boyfriend."

"Have to make sure my friend's okay first though." She countered, giving the usually annoying cat a small smile; "…almost lost a life there, didn't you?"

"It was…_close_, yes. J'zargo is not so proud, nor stupid that he claims to have been in control." The Khajiit ground out, relief and adrenaline tinging his voice; "Could…could you possibly _not_ tell the elf? This one would prefer not to be further shamed."

"Shamed?" she knew why he was, but still acted shocked. Mainly because there was nothing to be ashamed of; "J'zargo, you kicked his ass until he broke his own arm to get you, and even then, you didn't scream or anything."

"Khajiit do not…'Screaming' is not a thing we do." He muttered, looking at his hands like he couldn't fathom still having eyes. And hands; "We ehm… just make like kittens, which is even worse."

"Piss, I'd have screamed." She gave him a nod, as if to say 'it's okay'; "and I'd have pissed myself too. And then I'd be on the ground, crying in a corner. You're _standing_."

"…perhaps…" he muttered, giving her a sideways glance; "…and you will _not_ tell the elf?"

"What, afraid she won't think you're badass anymore?" Talia cracked a laugh at that, clapping J'zargo's back. That was about the fourth time in all the time she'd known the cat she'd done _that_; "Besides, you fought a _bear_. I couldn't really say anything to top that."

"Mmm hmm…" J'zargo muttered, some of his usual tone back in his voice. Good enough. Arrogant bastard as the cat could be, he was also someone Talia trusted with her life, no questions even asked. She made the trip to Aedan in five steps, one for each meter, and started checking his injuries as well.

"So?"

"Just some exterior bruising, and a loosened tooth." She sighed, no small amount of relief in her voice; "You feel any nausea, headache, anything?"

"Nope." Aedan replied with a pained smile; "would like to _not_ lose that tooth though."

"Easily done." She smiled, caressing his cheek as her healing went to work. Resetting a tooth was barely work, even for her. Aedan's face blushed the most adorable red when he realized her touch was more than just that of a healer's; "There, all fixed. Cheek too, although the damage was hard to find, you know, with how red your face is."

"I…uh…Maker's _socks…_" he stammered, visibly annoyed with himself; "I didn't mean to…I mean…blast…"

"You're just about adorable, you know that?" she cooed, patting his cheek; "don't even change, Aedan."

"Right, because all men want to know they're _adorable_…could be worse, I suppose." Alistair grinned, obviously enjoying the chance at a back-jab from the group's collective teasing earlier.

"We should make haste for the Hall." Perth saved Alistair's ass by interrupting; "The Arl may be there, as may the Bann and the Lady Isolde."

"Right, lead the way Ser Perth." She agreed, glaring daggers at Alistair. She wasn't even sure _why_ she did it. She just did.

Gods, this was a messed up day…

But…at least it couldn't _possibly_ get any worse.


	17. Dealing with Demons

_History of the Empire,__the Great War. _

_Chapter 3_

_The Imperial navy of the Mede Empire – 4E 172 - Today _

_During the Great War in 4E 172, a massive naval battle took place on the waters of Lake Rumare. The Aldmeri Dominion had blockaded the canal leading from the sea to the Heathland, and as such effectively choked the populace of Cyrodiil, rather than face the anchored navy at the Imperial City, for much of the war already. _

_In a decisive maneuver, Admiral Decanus Aventis of the Second Imperial Fleet lured the blockading Aldmeri vessels into the broad waters of Lake Rumare, where the numbers of the Imperial Fleet would allow for a far more level battle than the choke-point set up by the superior, but less numerable Aldmeri warships. The lure consisted of presenting the elves with the First Imperial Fleet, which had ceded half its warships to the Second Fleet by decree of Emperor Tibus Mede II. _

_When the elves followed the Imperial warships in the hopes and belief that the opposing ships presented the entirety of the Imperial navy, the bolstered Second Fleet struck the elves from the east, catching the Aldmeri Dominion in a hammer-and-anvil ambush. _

_While the First Fleet eventually was forced to withdraw to the banks of the Imperial City, the Second Fleet managed to circumvent the besieging Dominion warships, and escaped to sea. While this maneuver initially saw Admiral Decanus Aventis imprisoned for desertion after the Great War, he was later not only pardoned, but reinstated when it became known that his tactic had effectively wiped out the main forces of the Aldmeri navy. _

_As it was common belief that most of the Second Fleet had been destroyed in the battle, its ships were allowed to slowly trickle back into Lake Rumare and other Imperial harbors. When the Aldmeri later discovered this, a demand for its actual disbandment would have meant a Second Great War, and thus the Imperial Navy is to this day just as potent a fighting force, as it was before the days of the White-Gold Concordant._

* * *

**Dealing with Demons**

* * *

Leading the group of armed warriors and mages, Alistair was first at the large doors leading to the grand hall of Redcliffe. Talia, and Aedan, were right behind him as well. Aedan because, well, he was a noble, so there was probably some concern there and- _or he could just be a warrior, and _supposed_ to be in front._

Gods, she hated when she started overthinking shit. Looking back, she caught J'zargo's look for a moment, then turned as Alistair put his boot to the large door and kicked it in. Talia allowed herself a small grin at the show of violence, not sure why even. Maybe it was simply because she wanted this over with, and took every exaggerated gesture as proof that she wasn't alone in that. The knights just followed in disciplined silence as they filed in, ready to meet another onslaught of undead bastards. Or innocents.

Really, it was hard to make a line in the proverbial snow on that one.

When they entered the grand hall, the first thought in Talia's mind wasn't '_Oh, so there is Connor, or is it Conner?'_ and neither was it '_Ah good, neither he nor Teagan seem injured'_, and it wasn't even '_So there _are_ surviving guards?!_'.

Instead it was a simple: _Why the Piss is Teagan dancing around in his smalls?!_

From the other murmurs and gasps of disbelief, she was fairly certain she was not alone in that observation either.

"Mother, who are these people?!" Okay, and that was _not_ how a boy Connor's – she decided to stick with the 'or', unless someone corrected her – age was supposed to sound; "Are they here to take away my fun?!"

"N-No, Connor, I-" Isolde began with a trembling voice. Damn, she was scared of her own son? Definitely not a good sign. The kid snarled and waved for the blonde woman to shut up;

"Silence woman, I'll ask them myself." He declared and took a step towards them. Talia could hear a low, menacing hiss coming from beside her, and notice J'zargo's tail was completely fuzzed up. The Khajiit's eyes were locked on the boy, who didn't seem to care beyond a mere glance at the cat. Instead he focused – because Mundus _loved_ toying with her – all his attention to Talia, even though she wasn't even in the front; "_Who_ are you, _why_ are you here?"

"Oh crap…" Daveth muttered silently; "Kid's a demon…"

What? How the piss was that supposed to work? Hadn't the templars killed Onmund in the tower because _they_ had accidentally turned him into one? Didn't that mean becoming a demon, or abomination or a cookie-monster or whatever they decided on, required a Harrowing or something? _Magnus, I hate whatever you decided to do to their magic…and I _love_ what you did with ours._

"Not a demon, Daveth…an abomination." Alistair ground out with regret filling his voice. Did he know the kid? "Connor's probably the actual cause of the undead attacking. Maker, why him of all people?"

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, MUD-BLOOD MAGE!" the kid roared, tingles of darkness spreading from him like smoke from a fire.

Oh no, he did _not_ just call her that!

Talia pushed herself past the heavily armored boys, and stopped about two meters from the kid, glaring straight at him.

"What…did you just call me?" her voice was so low that she idly doubted anyone but the brat had heard her. Her eyes were hard as flint, fire behind them as she glared at the equally pissed-looking boy. Connor didn't even reach her chest, yet had the _fucking audacity_ to challenge her like this?

"Muddie-blood! Muddie-blood" Teagan laughed from where he'd dumped his - clearly snapped – corpus on the stairs leading to the raised plateau; "She's a muddie-bloodie! Hahahaha!"

"Shut up, Uncle!" the boy commanded, and Teagan fell quiet. Connor turned his eyes back at her, seemingly ignoring the others behind her; "Why are you here, Breton?"

"At first I was here to help Alistair find Eamon, but now…" she growled and took a step closer to the kid; "For your sake, you better be possessed from your toes to your ugly hair, because _nothing _would save your hide from me if I find out you just insulted my mother consciously." The threat was whispered, but when the kid just started laughing at her, like he didn't _even care!_ she grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, prepared to toss his ass at the closest wall.

She hadn't been prepared for _him_ to launch _her_ into said wall.

"Talia!"

"Uncle, dispose of them." She could hear Connor's voice from somewhere beyond the haze of pain currently shooting up her side. She'd hit one of the support-beams _hard_, but had managed to turn as to avoid cracking her spine.

"You… putrid little… _smalls-stain_…" she growled, struggling to breathe fresh air back into her lungs. Gods beyond Mundus, that little _shit_ had broken one of her ribs. Almost immediately, shouting and the sound of metal-on-metal broke out in the hall, and a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders; "I'm going to…_piss…_"

Just breathing hurt like being kicked by a mule, and the pain lowered a haze over her eyes as she tried getting to her feet. Waving off the helping hands, who turned out to be Ser Jory, she shifted against the beam and tried her best to stay clear of the fighting.

"Don't kill them, they're possessed!" she could hear someone shout, a woman, but didn't recognize the voice. No one seemed to answer, or at least _she_ couldn't hear it over the pain, but one by one, she could see the uniformly grey shapes of the guards fall to the ground, and the awaited puddle of red did not start spreading below them.

"Teagan!"

"…I…where…how?"

Someone started applying healing to her, even as she struggled to follow the conversation going on. The magic felt alien, completely foreign to her body, which meant it wasn't J'zargo trying to help her, though she could see his brown robes somewhat clearly through the pulsating haze. A fresh flare of magic, accompanied with a sharp, blue flash, sent her recoiling in a wave of nauseating pain as she could feel her broken ribs, in _plural _even, reset themselves inside her chest.

"Sit _still_" a woman growled, the tone very much like Morrigan's but so devoid of haughtiness or disinterest that it _couldn't _be her; "Your trashing is making my work most aggravating."

Okay, so it _was_ her. No one Talia had met so far talked like that, aside from the bitchy witch.

"I…_am_ sitting- Piss!" with a final pulse of agony, the last of her broken bones settled into place, and breathing no longer wrecked her body with pain. As the haze lifted, she looked up to see Morrigan's usually disinterested expression instead being one of furrowed concentration. Talia rubbed her chest, looking around.

Teagan was, while holding his head with one hand, being helped to his feet by the other, by Alistair. The prince in mention was speaking to Isolde allthewhile, his voice too low for Talia to pick out the words, though she did recognize it as him being majorly pissed off. The guards were all waking up as well, most of them clutching wounds sustained before the 'don't kill them' order had been shouted, but none looking like they'd been tossed like a bag of apples by a twelve-year old.

"Okay…" Talia joined them, gritting her teeth as some residual pain left her body. Morrigan's healing had left her _stiff_, and every step hurt; "What, the fuck, was _that_?"

"T'is quite obvious, is it not? the boy has fallen to a demon's promises, and now is but an abomination." Morrigan said, her voice once more back to being disinterested, and maybe also a little haughty. Talia gave her a mild glare, but that was mostly for the tone and not the words;

"Is that why his voice sounded like a damned Daedra?" she asked, looking between the gathered. When none answered, seemingly because Morrigan didn't bother and because no one else knew, she shot a glare at Isolde instead; "Okay. You. Explanation-time."

"There…there's a demon." Isolde began, her eyes flickering as she hesitated, which seemingly prompted a scoff from their resident witch;

"A demon which has taken over the boy, clearly." She locked yellow eyes with the Arlessa; "The question is: how did this come to be? Surely, _not_ through incompetent decisions?"

Two minutes later, Talia was gawking in disbelief. Not at the impossibility of the situation, nor was it because Isolde had wanted her son out of the Circle – personally she sympathized with _that_ one – but for the simple fact that Isolde had simply stood back, allowing a demon slash Daedra to harass and kill the villagers supposedly under _her_ protection.

It didn't exactly _improve_ her opinions on the woman, who had ignored her at the first meeting, and then been revealed to have tortured Jowan, the mage currently waiting in the dungeons. Also, every second spent with the blonde woman, Talia's dislike of her increased exponentially.

Isolde showed _no_ regret or responsibility for the havoc wrecked upon the village. None at _all_. Which, coming from a family responsible for one of the major cities in High Rock, Talia felt sickened by. She knew that her Father, bastard though he might be, took the greatest care and responsibility for his subordinates and the citizens below him.

Isolde wasn't worthy of her place, though _that _observation could be voiced later.

"Okay…" Alistair ground out. Clearly, he was just as annoyed by Isolde as the Breton; "Right now it doesn't matter _who_ is to blame for this." The way he looked at Isolde still said enough that he fully blamed _her_; "What matters is that we find a way to get rid of the demon. Any ideas?"

"Killing the boy, cruel as it might seem, _would_ suffice in banishing the demon." Morrigan suggested. The glares she received for that one made her roll her eyes; "T'was but a suggestion, there's no need for glares."

"Yeah, how about we file that idea under 'N' for 'Not happening'?" Aedan shot her down, ire clear in his voice. Talia guessed it was still the memory of Oren that made him so vehemently against it. He breathed, calming down before he looked at the three mages present; "Mages can enter the Fade, right? Could one of you go in and kill the demon _without_ hurting Connor?"

"I'd really rather_ not_ see the Fade again, if it's all the same to you."

"Right, sorry, I forgot about that one…" Aedan rubbed his brows, smearing some blood from his gauntlets; "That leaves us with Morrigan and J'zargo."

"She's Chasin, I won't have her in my son's head." Isolde stated, as if it was even important _what_ Morrigan was.

"Since when the _Piss_ does it matter if she's Chasin or not?" Talia demanded, her temper still flaring from being tossed like a doll by a small boy; "She's the only mage who's got _any_ relevant experience with your _Fade_-thing."

"T'is true, I forget your kind do not know much of the Fade." Morrigan said to the College mages. J'zargo huffed though, a small grin starting on his features. Considering his fur and moustache more or less made it difficult to _see_ his lips, it was simply her knowing him that let her spot it;

"This _Fade_ you mention so often…J'zargo would like to see it. Maybe he could learn magic not known in Tamriel?"

"Huh…" Talia muttered, a finger to her chin as she pondered it. J'zargo _was_ the one among them best suited to fight demons, considering his specialty was the very same lightning she herself had found most effective against the demon she'd encountered in Kinloch Hold. She turned to Alistair, seeing how he _was_ the templar-trained in their group; "Could that work?"

"I don't know…" Alistair pondered, both of them pointedly ignoring the way Isolde glared at J'zargo; "You were in the Fade, right?" at her nod; "and with magic apparently being more or less the same for everyone in _that_ aspect at least, I think it could."

"You are _not_ sending an _Abo_-!"

"Khajiit." J'zargo snarled, cutting Isolde's rant off.

"W-what?!"

"J'zargo is a _Khajiit_." He exclaimed, pointing a clawed thumb at his chest; "This one is _sick and tired_ of idiots calling him an abomination! J'zargo is a College _Mage_. And if you call him an abomination _one_ _more time_, J'zargo will tear your throat out."

Talia couldn't help a laugh at Isolde's paled expression. Divines, it was just _so_ good! The entertainment-value of it almost made her forget just how shitty the situation was.

"Way to tell her, Cat." She grinned, rolling her eyes when she saw Alistair send her a mild glare. Teagan, however, just observed the entire thing with a mixture of disbelief and slight concern; "So yes, stop with the names, please. Because they suck, and you're not exactly on my good side as it is."

"_Who_ do you think you are to-!"

"I am Talia Aulus Geotien, born to the most Ancient and Noble House Geotien, Second child to Omluard Geotien, Lord Governor of Evermor. Second in line to the Seat of Evermor, and student of the most distinguished College of Winterhold." Gods, did it feel _great_ to be able to press another noble straight into the floor with her titles and heritage; "I _outrank_ you, _Arlessa_ Isolde. So _shut_ _up_ when we're trying to help your ungrateful ass!"

"Okay, so _that_ was an impressive title and all, and now maybe we can all chill down and stop shouting?" Daveth interrupted, stepping between the two women, both glaring daggers at the other.

"Teagan! This _girl_ dares to insult me! There is _no_ place in Thedas called Winterhold or Ever More, is there?" Isolde was just about getting close to a punch to the face, the way she couldn't get a hint. Talia's fists curled and uncurled at her side, wanting to send the irresponsible woman to the floor.

"…Not that I am aware, no. But, Isolde, she's not-" Teagan started, but Isolde had already turned away from him, facing Talia once again. Her eyes had lost all traces of worry or regret – not that the latter had ever _been_ there in the first place – and were now set with pride and determination. _Would it hurt my oath if I punched her in the face?_

"I am from _Tamriel!_" she yelled, straight into Isolde's face. The woman blinked with surprise at the redhead beating her to speech; "Across the pissing _ocean_!"

"A likely story." Isolde scoffed; "Why am I not surprised one such as you would lie at every turn?"

While Talia would have liked nothing more than to knock the stain on nobility to the ground, Aedan's hand grabbed her clenched fist at her side, squeezing it with enough meaning that she got the message: don't smack the bitch.

"Grudges aside, we need to deal with Connor's possession." Alistair broke in. He stepped between the two women, his armor making up a more effective bulk than Daveth's light chainmail; "Isolde, you said it started, when?"

The disgrace of a noblewoman blinked in surprise, having the audacity to look insulted still, then looked at Alistair with a defensive gleam to her eyes. Yep, _not a shred of responsibility_.

"When Eamon was poisoned, Connor wanted to help. It was _all_ he wanted!" Isolde made it sound like Connor was the one being blamed for the whole mess. Which, in a way, was true. Still, Isolde had done _nothing_ to stop the demon – and Talia _really_ wanted to find a book with a clear definition on what exactly a demon _was_ – and as such she bore just as much blame as Jowan had for poisoning the Arl.

More even, seeing how Jowan had done what he'd done in good faith, and was more than eager to do whatever he could to right his wrongs. Shame that he couldn't, what with Isolde having broken his wrists to prevent any sort of magic.

It was a curious thing, she briefly noted while listening to Isolde defending her actions, that mages in Thedas were apparently relying solely upon their hands to do magic. While true that the hands were the best outlet for arcane energies, Talia was more than capable of sending flames outwards from her feet, and even – though it would scald the roof of her mouth – breathe it like a dragon. Just, not anywhere _near_ what a dragon actually _could_ do, and not even for long enough to use it alone in a fight. Fire breathing in itself was so complicated and energy-consuming that very few ever actually bothered with it in the first place.

"Is there any other way to fight the demon, other than sending one of us into the Fade?" Alistair asked. While she at first thought he was looking at her, Talia noticed the former Templar's eyes were upon Morrigan.

"I assume you do not consider the option of killing the boy, so no, there is no other way." Morrigan shook her head; "What remains are different options as to how one enters in the first place."

"I thought you people went to the Fade whenever you sleep?" Talia pondered aloud, receiving a look from Morrigan that could best be compared to Scholar Aventis when she wasn't performing to expectations in history-lessons.

"True, all who dream enter the Fade, but one cannot control where one's mind wanders in the realm of spirits." The witch's voice actually lost its haughtiness and became more serious. Of course, Morrigan _had_ known what J'zargo and Brelyna were, so it was likely she had a basis of information about all stuff Tamrielan; "By entering the Fade deliberately, through the use of a magical ritual, it is possible for a mage to control the Fade much more accurately than usual."

"Just our luck that the nearest Lyrium-shop is closed for the week." Alistair huffed, a tone in his voice making the joke, or the _attempt_ at it, clear; "And since I really don't want to risk our current number of mages to, you know, suddenly drop…I am not sure what to do…"

"We need Lyrium, right? Mages and all that's bound to have lots of lyrium in the tower." Daveth suggested, and the way his eyes glanced apologetically at Talia meant he knew she didn't want to go back there. Frustration flared inside her when she realized he was right. Didn't mean she _liked_ it any more for that reason, but she realized he was right.

"Kinloch hold is at the very least five days travel from here, and that's if we march from dawn to dusk." Alistair muttered, his voice taking on that tone that was halfway between irritation and wit; "Even then it'd be ten days before we're able to return."

"Ten days is much time for a demon to run unchecked." Leliana said, her thin eyebrows furrowed in concern; "Is there a way for us to stem the source of undead while gone? If not, the village might die in our absence."

"Good point." Alistair nodded, turning to the mages of the group; "I know it's a bit much to hope for, I _think_, but is it possible that one of you know how to seal in a powerful demon?"

"Demons are basically beings of magic, right? I mean, when possessing someone, they are just magically powerful?" Talia asked, fingering her chin in thought. If that was the case, they would be similar enough to Daedra that maybe a Daedra-oriented sealing would work on them as well.

"Physically powerful too, if they turn into a full-on abomination, but yes, that's basically what makes them so unfairly dangerous." Alistair nodded. Talia was of half a mind to point out that the demon still in Connor's form had tossed her across the room, _like a pissing doll, even!_ But refrained from doing so.

"Then I think Brelyna might know how to do it." She just didn't want to explain _why_ the Dunmer, and basically _every_ Dunmer mage knew how to seal in Daedra. It wasn't going to help anyone, and it would only be more rummaging in history that was painfully embarrassing for the citizens of Morrowind; "If I can get a good vial for a potion, then I can make her a pepper-up…I think."

"Think?" Alistair added with a hint of amusement in his voice, as well as concern. Talia gave him a mild glare at the comment;

"I'm not used to working with Elfroot." She retorted, annoyed that everyone expected her to be a superior alchemist when she didn't know her _damn ingredients_ properly. It was easier back home, because no one had tried cutting her open all the time, which meant she had had time to work in peace.

"There is another way…" the new voice was unexpected, mainly because it belonged to Jowan, who had apparently decided _not_ to wait like a good boy.

"_YOU!_" Isolde snarled, her eyes like fire when she as well noticed Jowan; "How did you get out of your cell!?"

"…I-"

"I let him out." Talia cut him off, stepping between the two. Isolde's burning eyes shifted to her, and close by, Talia could see several of the Fereldan knights shift cautiously, clearly wary of the "blood mage". Because _everyone_ could tell that Jowan was dangerous. His gaunt cheeks, sleepless eyes and broken hands just _radiated_ danger; "If you have a problem with an extra mage around, take it up with _me_. I honestly believe you have tortured Jowan enough."

"Tortured?" Teagan sounded surprised. So, he _hadn't_ known? The man turned to glare at Isolde, who seemed unused to being the center of _his_ ire. Or, _anyone's_ ire, really. She didn't seem like she often was told 'no'.

"He _poisoned _my husband!" she yelled, pointing a rude finger at the adolescent mage; "He planted the demon in Connor! _He_ is to blame for everything that has happened!"

"I'm _not_." Jowan exclaimed with a voice much weaker than Isolde's, for the obvious reason that he hadn't eaten in days, most likely; "I didn't even _poison_ the Arl, I just put him to sleep. And I didn't have _anything_ to do with the demon: You broke my hands before that even happened!"

"My brother is merely _asleep_?" Teagan demanded, his voice uncertain if it wanted to be harsh and accusing, or relieved. Probably; "Then why can't we wake him?"

"The Draught I used, it's…It was meant to kill him, but I altered it so the Arl would just fall asleep- it was supposed to be easily countered, but…"

"But what?"

"When I realized something was wrong, that the Arl wasn't actually working against the crown, I had already been thrown in the dungeons. Even if I'd been asked to help, I _couldn't_." Jowan lifted his broken and badly set hands up for show; "I just don't understand…I altered the draught so even _I _could reverse it."

"So it was meant to be easily reversed?" Alistair asked, his eyes less hard than they had been in the dungeon. Likely because there was not a trace of lie to be found in Jowan's voice, and the expression on Isolde's face confirmed what the mage had said.

"…Yes." Jowan nodded hesitantly; "The only way I can think of to explain why you can't reverse it would be that something is keeping the Arl in the Fade…What kind of demon is it?"

"A Desire demon, from what I can determine." Alistair looked worried at the mention. Talia frowned, trying to recall what Duncan had said about this kind of demon. Or was it Alistair? It had been when encountering the bandits, and both encounters had been so similar that it was hard to remember which had been which. Desire demons were the ones looking like women, right? But Connor's voice hadn't exactly been that of a woman, so…Piss, she hated Thedas and its demons. Daedra were so much more simple to deal with.

"I was afraid of that…" Jowan muttered weakly. Shaking his head, he looked up at the group, eyes moving with the uncertainty of one having spent too long in pain; "The demon is the only reason I can think of that would keep the Arl from waking."

"And if it isn't?!" Isolde demanded, her voice hard and ugly for a woman. Jowan turned sad eyes towards her, not a hint of revenge in them at all.

"Then…I hope your knights find a cure out there, because I don't know what to do then…I'm sorry…"

Silence reigned for a long moment, the only sound being the shifting of feet or armor moving whenever one of the knights moved around. Talia glanced at the armored group, finding Gilmore to be the sole redhead of the group. He and Jory were also the only ones wearing the brown-armored mails.

"…You said there was another way?" she asked, seeing as no one else seemed willing to speak first. Jowan turned to look at her, a deep gratitude mixed with shame in his eyes. As he clearly considered his words, the shame seemed to win over; "I'm not going to like it, I suspect?"

"Blood magic." Alistair ground out before Jowan even had a chance to speak. Nevertheless, the young mage nodded slowly;

"…yes. There is…power, much of it, in blood." The mattered hair hung over his face as the mage stared at his own, bare feet. Several of them were lacking nails, looking to have been torn out deliberately; "It's not a good option, but it would mean you wouldn't have to leave for over a week." His words meant he had apparently been listening for longer than Talia had believed.

"There's a catch to this, right?" Because there was _always_ a catch to stuff that seemed too good to be true. Jowan nodded, his eyes averted from hers; "There's always a catch."

"It is… _unlikely_ that whoever's blood is used will survive." Right. _There_ was the catch, obviously. One life for another, was that it? Shit, that meant Kinloch was the better option, didn't it? Piss, she didn't want to return to that place yet, not until she felt confident she could raze it and live to tell the tale.

"Right, so we're _not_ doing that." Alistair dead-panned, as if that had even been in question. Was this why people talked about blood mages like they were Molag Bal incarnate? If so, Talia was starting to see why. For all the differences in culture and distance, the blood magic of Thedas was starting to share a lot of traits with the blood magic of High Rock.

"Much as I personally would rather _never_ see that place again…" and gods, she hated saying this; "Kinloch tower seems our best bet. Piss, that means I'll have to figure out a pepper-up for Brelyna."

"Should I retrieve her from the inn?" Ser Gilmore suggested, speaking up from the first time since the whole thing had started; "It will be quickly done, and you could prepare the potion meanwhile."

"Duncan had his priorities wrong, no offense Aedan." She gave him a smile that told the young noble she was just joking, much as one _could_ right now.

"None taken." He replied, a bit less amused than her; "Teagan, is there a place Talia can find supplies for potions?"

"I never looked for it, I'm sorry." The Bann replied with a bit of shame. Jowan though, cleared his throat. Or maybe he just coughed. He didn't seem recovered enough to deliberately claim attention.

"If… my place hasn't been disturbed, there should be everything you could need here, in the castle." Well, wasn't _that_ just convenient?

"Lead the way." She nodded, ignoring Isolde's demands and arguments as Jowan led them from the room.

His gait was like that of a drunkard, and his pace was slowed by his injuries. Still, he seemed to know the way well enough, and was silent as they entered a small, somewhat tidy study, with a thin layer of dust covering most objects. Jowan didn't seem to want to mention it, but obviously his place had been searched through by others:

The room itself wasn't much bigger than her own room back at the College, and the farthest corner was dedicated to a bed, joined by a small nightstand with an open book splayed open on its wooden surface. Separated from the bed, which seemingly was the only soft thing in the room, a large table took up most of the room, upon which was placed vials, stands and conical glasses. The wall on the far side of the table was decorated with ingredients of all sorts, hanging from the ceiling or in pouches on hammered nails.

Talia surveyed the room with a critical eye, and found it acceptable. J'zargo, who had most likely just followed to get away from Isolde and all those wary eyes, wandered between the hanging ingredients and let out small sounds whenever he found something curious or strange.

"What do you need?" Jowan asked when she didn't make to speak or move.

"Going to make a draught that'll restore both Brelyna's energy, give her some constitution to pull this, your hands included, off." Talia said, though she spoke mostly aloud just to give voice to her thoughts. It was a bit of a habit she'd picked up from three years of studying in Winterhold, but it gave her the ability to have, as Mirabelle had put it 'simulated conversations'; "Will need ingredients for the potion, custom recipe of mine. J'zargo, are there antlers, elf-root and wheat?"

"Talia is doing the speech-thing again." J'zargo muttered. Right, the cat always thought it was annoying, because it made him feel like she did it to appear detached and superior; "No wheat…"

"Wheat?" Jowan asked, a bit of confusion in his tone; "What do you need wheat for?"

"Important component in potion, it's- I'm _not_ doing the 'speech-thing', Cat!" she glared at the Khajiit as he fished out familiar and not-so-much familiar ingredients. The cat just hummed and placed a large, intact antler on the table; "Anyway, wheat necessary for substance of potion, while antlers act as binding reagent, as well as the stamina-restoring component of the potion. Elfroot merely for…_Mara's piss_, I _am_ doing the speech…Stop that snicker, Cat."

"This one doesn't know what Talia means." J'zargo replied in that all-too-familiar tone that meant he relished in the small victory.

"The Elfroot is for the regenerative abilities of the potion, correct?" Jowan asked, taking her attention off the cat.

"Yes, I…J'zargo, is there any Mora Tapinella as well?"

"Ask the crippled mage. He lives here, does he not?" the cat grumbled back, paws going through sacks, pouches and hanging ingredients. Foreign flowers and glowing mushrooms hung down in thin strings, giving off a curiously spicy smell.

"What is Mora Tapinella?" Jowan asked before she could.

"A mushroom, commonly found growing on dead trees. It's useful in magically restorative potions." Her explanation was basically the same as the one found in most basic alchemy textbooks, and Jowan probably wanted to know what it _looked_ like; "Thin stalk, light-brown cap and frills underneath the top?"

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with it, but…if it is meant to be magically restorative, I have something else." Jowan seemed to be sinking into a ponderation of sorts, regaining a bit of seeming normalcy. Disregarding J'zargo, Jowan reached up, winced with pain from his hands, and plucked a pouch from the upper wall-racks. When he opened it, a sweet, sugary smell wafted out. It was just a little nauseating, and came from dried, blood-black flowers.

"Something smells foul…but sweet too, like fermented moon sugar…What is it?" J'zargo came up from behind Jowan, his nose moving as he sniffed the air.

"Black Lotus." He held up one of the flowers; "It's…commonly found by the Stormy Coast, but the Arl had a small supply here before I arrived. I know your magic works…different, but there is a chance it could work."

"I'm…not sure." She took the flower from him, examining it against the illuminating torches. The petal was soft and fleshy, even despite it being obviously long-dried. Then, to Jowan's obvious surprise and horror, she took a bite. The mage remained stony silent while she chewed on it, all color drained from his face. True, she _could_ taste a slightly poisonous hint, but three years of alchemic study had included permanent antidotes for just about every poison one could come across.

"Why is the blood mage looking like he saw a Daedra?" J'zargo mused, obviously finding Jowan's expression funny.

"It's fine." Talia rendered judgment. There was definitely arcane restoration in the plant, but it was of a foreign nature, and had a strong bite that some would likely mistake for either a nervous poison, or a stamina-potential potion; "It's weird though… I don't know if it'll do a whole lot for her magica reserves, but it isn't poisonous."

"Why…why…why did you just…_eat_ it?" Jowan stuttered, to which Talia just smiled innocently. She'd have to get his hands and injuries healed soon, or he'd be easy prey for Isolde or some malicious cunt with a grudge against mages.

"It's to discern its properties." She said sweetly; "Career alchemists, like me, start our apprenticeships off by subjecting ourselves to ever kind of antidote known to the Empire. That way, when we start putting random stuff in our mouths, the risk of it making us puke blood is slim to none."

"And…and if it does?"

"Well…" she mused, pretending to be considering his question, then added an innocent, white lie; "That's why there's not a whole lot of us 'Career Alchemists'." Whatever blood remained in Jowan's face seemed to flee at that moment. Poor guy; "This should do fine."

"Do you want J'zargo's assistance in this?" the cat asked, stepping to the side as she took up position by the assembled ingredients; "Would be a good chance to see interaction with new ingredients, hmm?"

"Sorry, Cat, but I'm soloing this one." She gave the Khajiit a casual shrug; "I want to make sure I get this right."

"Don't trust J'zargo's skill, is that how this is, hmm?" he didn't _really_ sound offended.

"More like 'too many brewers fuck up the ale', really." She didn't look up as she spoke, already working on cutting through a piece of the antler with a finger-focused flame. It was better than any saw she'd ever heard of, and damn handy too. Antler cut to, she dumped the piece into a small mortar, ground it and the other ingredients to a fine powder, and started scraping it off into the conical vial of boiling water J'zargo, despite her words, had set to work. Honestly, sometimes she actually considered giving the cat a lot more credit than she did; "Jowan, could you…oh, never mind."

"Hands, I know…" he sighed, casting a sorrowful look at his mangled pair; "I wish I could be of more help."

"Suggesting the secondary option for Fade-entering, and taking us here is enough, Jowan." She looked up to look him in the eyes. The youth she'd seen in them during her brief stint in Kinloch, had been replaced by torture-induced maturity; "You are not a bad person, regardless of what people seem to think."

"A 'good person' doesn't poison, perhaps fatally even, the Arl of Redcliffe…" he averted his eyes from hers; "I just wish I knew why the man told me to do it…"

"Grey hair, slight of build, dark-colored clothes?" She asked, still looking at him while her hands worked per automatic. Jowan nodded slowly, hesitantly like he feared she would lash out at him if he spoke; "That'd be Arl Howe, right…"

"You know him, then?"

"And not in a good way, hmm?" J'zargo added, to which she replied with a foot on his toes. Cat-paws, while possessing sturdy padding underneath, was delicate on top. The Khajiit winced and hissed, taking the cue to shut up.

"Before we came here, before Ostagar even, Howe turned traitor and attempted to slaughter the House Cousland, the Teyrnir of Highever." She still had the scenes and sounds burned into her mind; "Suffice to say, he has an agenda of his own. One that doesn't seem to align with Ferelden's…and done."

"What?" Jowan seemed surprise at her chance of subject, and didn't catch on until she lifted the vial. The liquids inside, currently cooling, had a distinct azure color; "Oh, you're…finished, already?"

"J'zargo long-since stopped trying to compete on alchemy with the Breton." The Khajiit grumbled, finding a cork in a small drawer before handing it to her; "There is more sense in competing with the elf for best conjurer."

"That's right, I'm _that_ good." She allowed herself a grin, stopping the bottle before placing it on the table; "Right, so we give this to Brelyna, she heals your hands and…well, your _everything_, and you help us with whatever we need…_if_ we need it, okay?"

"I will. Anything to make this right."

"Good." She grabbed the vial and led them back up, remembering the way he'd taken them down to get here. Devoid of life, and with a slight smell of rot and corruption, the halls of Redcliffe castle didn't exactly invite for long-time stays. J'zargo automatically fell behind Jowan, presenting the illusion of escorting the "dangerous blood mage" around, while in reality none of their companions seemed wary of him. _Okay, maybe except for Alistair, but that's more his templar-childhood, I think._

"J'zargo is curious about something, if the mage will answer."

"Yes?"

"You said there was power in blood…" oh boy, Talia could already see where this was going, and hoped Jowan could too; "Why all this caution and fright for your blood magic? Magic is but a tool, no? It's the caster one would do well to be wary of."

"There is, and there's a perfectly good reason for blood magic to be reviled too." Jowan's voice held regret, but it was deeper than anything recent, far as she could tell; "Ideally, a blood mage could just draw on his own blood for power, but…"

"But they want _more_ power and start using that of others, right?" They were close enough to the hall now that she could hear shouting, one of the participants being a woman, most likely Isolde; "People _always _want more."

"Yes…I never did though." She turned a doubtful eye to the young mage, who managed to look back and not blink. Huh, so he meant it? "I only used my own, and only once, but that's all it takes to be named malificar and monster. Even if the Circle doesn't have me executed on the spot, they'll still make me Tranquil."

"Tranquil?" Talia turned to face him, but whatever response he'd have given was cut off when they stumbled into the hall, and thus no longer had the sweet thing called 'privacy'. Bugger all, but she'd have to ask him later, and instead turned to look at the rest of the hall's occupants. The knights were making room for Ser Gilmore, who had apparently been carrying a halfway dozing Brelyna in his arms. Well, that's not something the Dunmer had tried before, of that Talia was fairly certain; "Good, you're here."

"Abo-" Isolde started, and stopped just as abruptly. Despite her curiosity, Talia couldn't be bothered to look for the cause of the irritating woman's halt of speech, and instead walked up to her fellow student, potion in hand. Brelyna, for all her obvious irritation had having been woken up, was for some reason fighting down a violent blush;

"What's going on?"

"We need you to help us lock up a demon-brat." Talia knelt where Brelyna had dumper herself, extending the azure-filled vial towards the cross-legged Dunmer; "Bottom's up."

"Don't tell me it's your pepper-up…" Brelyna sniffed at the opened vial, her expression frowning in displeasure; "Ugh… it _is_." Still, all other complaint could seemingly wait as the girl up-ended the potion and emptied it down her throat. Just another thing people never associated with Brelyna: the girl could knock drinks with the best of them, or at least the best of those in the College; "By Azu- never mind…I feel…funny. There's something new in it, isn't there?"

"Elfroot. I couldn't find any good stuff for the magica-rejuvenation, so I just added an extra measure of antler and Elfroot. How do you feel?" she helped her friend up, then stood back as the girl's vaguely visible pupils dilated slightly. Taking a shaky breath, Brelyna shook her hands and rolled her shoulders. A common symptom of the fresh energy-rush;

"Ready. I'm rady- ready, I mean. Wow, is it just me or is the room spinning? Hi, I'm Brelyna or…Blast, you knew that and…ugh, I feel…" Note to self, apparently: less antler next time. Brelyna seemed to calm down a bit, and took a deep breath; "Huh…Okay, what's this about a daemon-bread?"

"_Brat_, girl. We have a possessed boy we need locked up, and you're pretty much our best shot at it lasting." Talia explained with a smile creasing her lips. There were days she just wanted to pounce on the girl, especially when she had those adorably awkward moments. Still, she reigned in her fantasies with the simple knowledge that Brelyna didn't swing that way, damned as that was.

"Oh, right…" her dark skin settled in ponderous folds for a moment; "It _would_ have been pretty odd to lock up a bread…So, um…where is he?"

Damn.

"I…don't know." Gods, didn't she feel stupid for having missed that detail.

"He still likes to stay in his room, I'm still not sure why." Teagan answered for her; "Ser Jory and Alistair are at his door now, making sure he stays inside."

"Oh…Hello, I'm Brelyna Maryon." Teagan blinked, clearly confused as to the unexpected greeting; "I um…don't think we've been introduced yet."

"…I…No, we haven't." he turned a concerned glance at Talia, who could just shrug and mentally note down not to drug her friend again before work. It seemed to have the tendency to get awkward; "Are you capable of sealing the doors, Serah Maryon?"

"Of course I is- _am_." She shook her head once and adjusted her robes. Damn, there was _definitely _too much antler in that potion. Annoyingly, it was actually just because the Mora Tapinella usually acted as a counteragent to the drug-like effects of the pulverized antler; "Lead the way."

"Ah, Tali?" Daveth whispered as he pulled her a bit aside from the rest; "What…_exactly_ did you just give her?"

"A pepper-up. Piss-all is that I lacked the thing counteracting the euphoria-inducing effects of the antlers…I need to find a counteragent, seeing how I didn't have access to Mora Ta-… a mushroom."

"…right…" he looked around; "Any chance there's any left?"

"What are you, a Khajiit?" she cocked her head and gave the archer a chastising look. He didn't reply, and hurried back in line.

Following Teagan and Isolde, the latter constantly casting looks at the newly arrived Dunmer, the group reached the door where Alistair and Ser Jory were on guard, both of them looking a little uncomfortable at their posts. Jory more than Alistair though, which was odd given the man's sheer bulk, as well as the massive two-hander strapped to his back.

"I'm sorry, but Connor's been a naughty boy, he can't come out and play." Alistair quirked, nodding to them in greeting. His surprisingly actual response was J'zargo and Daveth respectively choking on laughter.

"Must you be so unserious?" Ser Jory asked in exasperation; "I realize you being familiar with templar abilities at least gives you some comfort, but this is no laughing matter."

"Wow, you're a _big_ one. Much bigger than Urag." Brelyna stopped by Ser Jory, oblivious to the way he winded upon seeing her up close. It was likely the first time he ever _saw_ a Dunmer, and the red eyes _did_ have the tendency to unsettle people; "So, we have a boy to lock up?"

The fact about Dunmers was that they had a peculiar reaction to most drugs, Skooma included. Instead of getting high and 'commence the lollygagging', they just lost the barrier between thought and spoken word, meaning _everything_ they thought was sent straight out verbally.

_Brelyna on drugs: best entertainment_ _ever._ Talia chuckled to herself, then straightened when she noticed J'zargo looking at her. Damn cat; "Do you know what to do?"

"Your braid's untied, loo- I mean, yes." Brelyna stopped herself, shaking some of the effects off. Perhaps; "Right. Anyone got some chalk?"

"…I do" Jowan piped up, hesitantly stepping up to the Dunmer. She gave him a sweet smile, almost like when a little girl was handed candy, and took the chalk from his open palm. Jowan just stepped back and did his best not to be noticed.

"What is the chalk for?" Aedan asked, one hand scratching the side of his face bearing the tattoo – she'd have to ask about that some day – while looking at the Dunmer with rapt attention.

"_Damn_, you're hot- not as hot as Gil- _Talia_, when this wears off I'm getting you back." Brelyna shot a glare with her ruby eyes before palming her face. Aedan and Gilmore both seemed to be choking on a mixture of laughter and embarrassment, and both for different reasons; "Please tell me _no one_ heard that?"

"No one heard that." J'zargo replied, his voice so plain he could have been telling the truth, if he wasn't so obviously making fun of her. Brelyna nodded at that, her senses apparently sufficiently dulled that she accepted his words at face value;

"Good. I'm going to draw up a seal used to suppress Dremora, so it should be useful here as well."

As she talked, Brelyna began sketching symbols on the door. Symbols of both Dunmeri and Imperial origin began decorating the door, and Nordic runes, though few, also took up positions in what started looking like spiraling sentences from the center of the door, merging with a doubled-arched ring on both the door and around it;

"The inner arch is primarily to secure the integrity of the door itself: Dremora are physically powerful, so even if their arcane side was prevented use, they would still be able to escape by violence alone. The Dunmeri runes are specifically targeted to energies hostile to the caster, while the Imperial and Nordic deal with integrity and elemental magics respectively."

When she was done, the door and its respective doorway looked more like a piece of Altmer art than a piece of a household. Runes in white covered it almost to completion, and the air seemed alive with a heated shimmering. Finally, to complete her work, Brelyna tore a hand first sideways, then vertically down before the door. The air rippled with energy, and the symbols caught a purplish-white glow that made them appear almost ethereal.

Talia gave a low whistle in approval.

"There. That should hold for at least a month. It was a month, right?" the Dunmer clapped her hands together to dust off the chalk.

"Do you ever_ stop_ being awesome?" the Breton couldn't help the smile on her face. Despite her timid looks, Brelyna was arguably the more powerful of any student Winterhold had entertained in the last three years; "Don't answer that, you'll upset J'zargo."

"If…if Connor tries breaking through, will it hurt him?" Isolde demanded meekly, placing a hand above the wards by the door. The air hummed in response to her interaction, and she withdrew the hand almost immediately; "Well?"

"Brelyna performed well, seemingly." Morrigan tossed her two-Septims in, repeating Isolde's gesture though with a markedly different result. The air shifted and rippled, and the witch withdrew her hand as sparks flew from the symbols to her hand. Zapped, the witch wasn't even angry, instead just nodded in approval; "the barrier reacts with Fade-bound magic just as easily as it would that of Atherius. This will hold."

"Good." While Talia felt merely proud and relived, she didn't miss the way many of the others sighed or exhaled in relief; "That's one less loose end."

"Are we playing the rope-game now?" Brelyna mused, an innocent smile on her face. Talia honestly had no idea if it was the drugs still speaking, or if Brelyna was taking her payback right here and now; "Does this mean _I _get to tie _you_ up this time, or is it J'zargo's turn?"

Apparently, payback was a bitch.

"W-what?" several of the men in the group sputtered or grew red, but most of their reactions were pretty well summed up by Alistair's words, though he managed to _not_ redden like a tomato. Fighting the urge to set the ceiling on fire, Talia inhaled sharply and sent the girl a glare, one she returned with nothing but a smile. _I have been too good a teacher…_

"Never mind." She shook the embarrassment off; "Brelyna, would you mind healing some injuries?"

"Are you wounded?" the smirk was gone from the Dunmer's face, replaced by instant concern for her friend. Talia just shook her head and glanced at Jowan, who was still doing his best at obtaining non-magical invisibility;

"No, but he is."

"Oh…I don't remember you, actually…are you new here?" Brelyna asked, then shook her head, again, and got rid of some drug-effects, again; "Sorry, my mind isn't all clear right now. What's your name?"

"…Jowan, I…am more or less to blame for much or what has happened."

"_All_ of what ha-Eek!" Isolde's accusations were cut off by a single spark of electricity from one of J'zargo's claws. The woman reddened with outrage, but miraculously managed not to throw a fresh tantrum.

"You don't look like…Oh…" Brelyna's words trailed off as she fully examined Jowan's condition. Broken bones, missing nails and bruises, malnourishment and sleep-deprivation; "Azura, _what_ happened to you?"

"He put the Arl to sleep, so the Arlessa had him tortured. Please just heal what you can: we need to get to Kinloch, and we really can't leave soon enough." And didn't _that_ just feel weird to say?

While Brelyna hesitated for a moment, her eyes wide with surprise, then disbelief, anger and finally resignation, the Dunmer just went to work, not a word spoken as she bathed Jowan in golden light. While Talia doubted her friend could help with the malnourishment or the sleep-issue, at least it seemed like bones were rapidly resetting themselves, and several toe-nails started growing back in their empty places. Bruises healed up, and Jowan worked his mouth as _teeth_ started growing from where he'd apparently been robbed of them as well. _Gods, just how evil do you have to be to _do_ something like this?_

"There. All done." Brelyna sighed. She took just a second, the blink of an eye to look around, but Talia saw it for what it was. She was proven correct when the Dunmer then seemingly lost her footing, and collapsed into the rapidly outstretched arms of Ser Gilmore. The poor man looked just as lost as Brelyna _appeared_ exhausted; "Carry me back, please? Too tired to walk…"'

_Who are you, and what did you do with my shy bookworm of a friend?_

"I…I mean… Of course." Gilmore stammered, his bearded face reddening in tone with his beard. He looked at the rest of the mages;" Uh…_where_ do I take her?"

"She is a friend of his lordship Cousland?" Ser Jory surprised them all by speaking up. He seemed the type who wasn't exactly fond of words as opposed to action. When Aedan nodded, the knight did as well; "Then we will gladly let her rest in my house. Helena will not mind some company, I believe."

"Thank you, Ser Jory." Aedan nodded; "Your kindness does you honor."

"It is my honor, my lord, to help however I can in this endeavor." Ser Jory insisted. His voice was contradictory to his size, and if she hadn't been in the room with him, even as a visibly confounded Ser Gilmore carried the pretending Dunmer out, Talia would have been looking for a man of much smaller stature.

"Okay…" she ran both hands through her hair, tossing red bangs everywhere, even as weak sparks lived and died between her hairs._ I need a bath. A proper soak; _"If this will hold him in…how does he eat?"

"Connor hasn't eaten anything since the demon took him over." Isolde for once proved useful, supplying them with useful information instead of screaming and accusing people; "it…sustains him, somehow."

"Good enough. Alistair, does that mean we're leaving right away, or actually get to sleep a few hours first?"

"We should let Bodahn and his son purchase the supplies they need before we can leave. Runes especially, if you're serious about wanting to learn how it's done from Sandal." Alistair scratched his head with a gauntleted hand; "Even so, after this whole mess…" and here he looked straight at Isolde for just long enough to get the meaning '_your mess_' across, then looked back at her; "I think it would be best if everyone rested up, just enough that we're not actually walking corpses…"

"…Alistair…" Leliana sighed. The former templar smiled sheepishly at her tone, moving the hand to his neck instead, rubbing for all he was worth;

"Oh, too soon?"

"…_gods_…" Talia breathed, running the palm of her hand across her face; "I'm heading back then, if it's possible. There's only so much room in your house, Ser Jory, so I'll see if I can find a place at the inn instead."

"It is no trouble, really." The short-haired man insisted. In Talia's increasingly exhausted state, the way he carried on was almost starting to seem adorable.

Which was a sure sign she needed some sleep.

"Why don't you sleep in the castle?" Teagan's suggestion almost dropped the mage flat to the ground, and in turn earned the snide chuckling of Morrigan and J'zargo. Great, the last thing she needed was for _those two_ to join forces against her.

Especially not when Brelyna was still high on whatever that potion had turned out as, because it sure as Oblivion hadn't been the regular pepper-up…_Oh piss, I _knew_ there was a reason she behaved like that with Ser Gilmore! The bloody antlers, they'll act like…Never mind, I don't really care if they end up shagging._

"Ah, I dunno…maybe because it's still sort of _haunted_ by walking corpses?" she tried in turn, returning to Teagan's proposition.

"Actually, all the corpses just…dropped, when you broke whatever spell the demon had over me and the guards." The Bann replied, stroking his chin; "Currently, the castle is no more haunted than usually. And with the amount of guest rooms empty, there's more than enough room. _Right Isolde?_" The way he voiced that last bit made it clear that the woman didn't really have a choice in the matter, which she as well seemed to realize and resign to.

"…Yes, Teagan." She muttered in defeat; "the castle seems safe again, as does hopefully the village." _Right, because you care_ so much_ about what happens to the villagers, don't you?_

"Then we accept, Bann Teagan. Your offer is most generous." Talia gave the man a small , respectful bow, pointedly ignoring Isolde; "I hope you will take no offense if I would like to see the bed as soon as possible?"

"Not at all." Teagan actually chuckled, which she supposed he'd earned, given how his nightmare now seemed over. His eyes hardened again, not much though, when he realized Jowan was still there; "Still, the question remains what to do with the Blood mage."

"Jowan." Talia corrected him, mostly out of a weird sense of fellowship with the broken mage, than outright desire to argue with the Bann. Teagan glanced at her and nodded, but didn't correct his earlier statement.

"As the wounded party here is not me, but my brother, I would prefer he do the judging in this matter." He sighed, rubbing his brows; "I _would_ have you sent to the dungeons again, but…it would seem the only intact cell somehow lost its door."

It was _so_ _obvious_ that Isolde wanted to argue what he said, mainly because Talia also knew that the hallway had been rowed with perfectly intact cells, that it was hard to keep a straight face. Especially because Teagan seemed to take her side over Isolde's on the whole matter. Likely, it was the revelation that Jowan had merely put Arl Eamon _to sleep_ that had mellowed him this much.

"Still, when the Wardens return with members of the Circle, I suspect they will want to exact a judgment of their own." He spoke with less enthusiasm, like he was honestly feeling sorry for Jowan. Not that the mage in question seemed to care, really. Jowan had the look of a man who would do anything to make up for his sins, unjust punishment included.

Which wasn't something Talia was very keen on seeing done to him.

"Listen, I want to find a bed and dump myself, so I'm just going to make this quick, and then you can complain _in the morning_, if any herein person so desires." She pushed herself off the wall she'd been resting against, and straightened up. Nobility meant she knew how to get shit done _her_ way, at least, most of the time; "Alistair, if people from Kinloch wanted to drag me back to the tower, could they do that?"

"…No?" he didn't seem to know what she wanted to know for; "As a Grey Warden, you have immunity in regards to the Chantry, unless you unleash a regular abomination upon Thedas, in which case other Wardens would handle matters internally."

"And if I'd killed someone before Duncan had recruited me, could he still have done so?"

"Yes? Reminds me of a story that- why do you want to know?" he was starting to get suspicious, she could tell, which meant she didn't really have time for more questions. She turned towards Jowan, who was still looking like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Then, by the rights bestowed upon me as a Grey Warden …" what was it Duncan had called it? Right, he'd said it was called the 'Right of Conscription'; "…I hereby invoke the right of Conscription upon the Circle mage Jowan, of Kinloch Hold."

Stunned silence reigned for almost a minute before anyone managed to get their jaws working again, something Talia noticed with no small amount of smug satisfaction. Most stunned of all, however, seemed to be Jowan, who stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief.

"I…what?" Jowan stuttered, eyes still wide as saucers; "B-but, why would- I mean…"

"Talia, are you sure that's a good idea?" Alistair tried, hands dancing around as if he didn't know what to do with them; "I mean, true, as a Grey Warden you have the right to conscript, but Jowan's a blood mage. Even the Wardens don't look kindly upon that sort of magic."

"B-but, if he's a Grey Warden, we can't-" Isolde started, which caused Talia to snap a toothy grin at the reckless blonde;

"Can't what, punish him? Torture him some more?" she waggled her ringed finger at the woman; "That's _exactly_ why I'm doing it." She turned back to Alistair, and the rest of the group as a result too; "If there's one thing I've learned, both at home and here, it is that you _cannot_ have too many mages on your team. I don't plan on recruiting any docile buffards in Kinloch, since they _like_ it there."

"Eamon's going to flip his beard when he wakes up…" Teagan muttered, rubbing his closed eyelids. That was the first time Talia had realized that the Bann had at some point gotten his clothes back on again. Also that he unwittingly used one of _her_ lines about his brother. _I still think Aren flipped his beard when he found out we were missing though. I wonder how they're all doing, back home…_

"Done is done." Aedan stepped in as the Bann and Alistair both seemed ready for a new volley of arguments; "A conscription cannot be undone, or…_un_conscripted I suppose. Jowan, you are called upon to enter the Order of the Grey Wardens. What do you say?"

Gods, was he just _hot_ when he pulled authority like that? Yep, he was. And he didn't even seem to realize it, which just made it even better.

"I…" he swallowed; "I will do what I can to help… _What_ do I do?"

"For now? Nothing." Talia reassured the younger mage, patting him on the arm. She had no clue as to _why_ she did it, just seemed like a nice thing to do for the kid. And really, he was still just a kid, even younger than she'd first thought Aedan to be; "Just recover, get some sleep and be ready to leave for Kinloch whenever we're ready. Daveth?"

"Yeah?" the archer nodded, stepping forward with his bow strapped to his back, string taken off already. He didn't seem like he was at all capable of bearing a grudge, which made him the perfect guy for the job.

"You mind making sure Jowan gets something to…actually…" she turned to Teagan; "None of us have eaten since before this whole mess started. Where's the kitchen?"

While the question was received with initial confusion, all Wardens present quickly joined in on the request, which led to Isolde launching into a fresh tantrum, because why not? and Teagan leading them to the deserted kitchens where food was still remaining undisturbed. Not surprising, seeing how the undead didn't really need to eat.

"There is something I don't understand, Talia." Aedan started after the group, Jowan included, sat at a table stuffed with whatever they could procure in the room's larder and pantry. Jowan hadn't gotten rid of the urge to hide himself yet, which was a little worrying, but not surprising. The Breton looked up, watching the mage for a few seconds before turning to Aedan.

"You want to know the real reason why I conscripted Jowan." She stated, because she didn't really need to guess. The young noble nodded slowly, his eyes intent on hers. Usually, that would send her abdomen tingling when he did that, but she just had too much stuff on her plate right now, no pun intended; "The secondary reason is what I said up there: We need as many mages as possible."

"And, the primary?"

"I suppose…" she wasn't really keen on saying it while there were others, Jowan in particular, around, but there wasn't much to do about it now. Resting her chin in one hand, and toyed with her knife in the other as Aedan watched her from across the table; "I'm just a good person and wanted to help him. Is that so hard to believe?"

From the look Aedan gave her, it was clear he didn't buy it. Not that he didn't think she was a good person, that much he'd made clear more than once, much to the chagrin of her bad consciousness, but because the answer was delivered with far too much enthusiasm. Piss, he'd probably call her out on it now.

"No, I suppose that makes sense." He said instead, resting his chin on both hands folded above the table; "It's just… Alistair wasn't wrong when he said even Wardens look…uncomfortably, at blood mages."

"Blood magic is like all magic, no?" J'zargo joined in from where he pulled his face out of the ale-mug, wiping foam from his whiskers; "If one uses blood magic to give a man his leg back, would that magic be evil or no?"

"Point." Talia nodded at the cat; "Necromancy is frowned upon in Ferelden, right?"

"And in most of Thedas, yes." Aedan nodded; "Is it not in Tamriel?"

"Like with blood magic, it depends on what it's used for." She didn't deem it important to mention that basically all users of 'blood magic' in Tamriel were either Thalmor or belonged to a crime syndicate; "If you raise a bandit from the dead to fight for you while you get to a safe distance, it means you've survived the fight and the bandits are dead. Ethics like 'Necromancy is evil' or 'Blood magic sends you to Mehrune Dagon's personal cistern' just don't work in real life."

"That's…one way to look at it." He mulled, a finger before his lips in a thoughtful pose; "I suppose we'd better hope the Chantry never gets word of Tamriel then, huh?"

"Why, you think they'd throw a tantrum?" she grinned as she downed her mug in one go, then slammed the wooden mug down with enough force to send an apple flying off her plate; "Send missionaries or call down Andraste's wrath upon us?"

"More like an Exalted March, I fear." His voice wasn't exactly as cheery as it could be, which meant this 'Exalted March' wasn't a good thing. Maybe; "Have you heard about those?"

"Is it like a procession of priests marching like an army? Or a pilgrimage?" J'zargo guessed, and those were actually quite good guesses, she had to admit.

"Not…exactly like a pilgrimage, no." the young Cousland muttered. With a sigh, he drew his face up from where it rested on his hands, and placed them both on the table; "The best comparison…I don't know. An Exalted March is when the Divine, the leader of the Andrastian faith and the Chantry, declares holy war on someone. Usually that involves armies from all other parts of Thedas attacking whomever angered the Chantry."

"Wait…" frowning, Talia pierced a piece of hard cheese with her knife and started waving it around at the male members of their group. Gilmore included, seeing as he'd been called back with news that he could dump Brelyna in one of the castle's guest-beds. The knight nodded solemnly, as if confirming what Aedan had just told her; "Are you saying that if your highest priest or priestess gets pissed off at someone, anyone, he or she can just declare continental _war_ on them?"

"That's the gist of it, yes." Alistair nodded from where he'd stopped cutting cheese. Upon further observation, she notice he'd taken _nothing_ but cheese. Talk about having a fetish, alright. Not that it mattered one piss-pot in the current scheme of things;

"But- but that's _insane_!" she exclaimed, keeping her voice normal despite its intensity; "Even the pissing _Emperor _needs permission from his council to declare war on people, and he's the _Emperor_. Unless you stuff a god or something inside your Divine, it's just a person. Persons, in case you missed it, are very much fallible."

Not to mention that Father was most likely still observing her, somehow. If he caught wind of this 'Exalted genocide' thing, he'd alert the Capital, and any sort of invasion fleet from Thedas would be pummeled to debris by the Imperial navy. Hopefully.

"Talia makes a sound point. This one fails to see how your system could work…" J'zargo added in, then shrugged; "Not that J'zargo really cares. It is not his land, he doesn't need to bother with its religion."

"You…" Talia bit her lip as she processed his words; "Dammit, you've actually got a point there…Besides, as you said, it's not like the Chantry will ever get the chance to do that."

"I didn't say _that_." Aedan protested, mildly miffed; "Just…never mind, I shouldn't have brought it up to begin with."

"Nope." She lifted her mug, having filled it again; "So, to us. For a job well done."

"We're not _done_ yet." Alistair argued. Talia did the mature thing, because she could, and stuck her tongue out at him; "Never mind…"

That night, after having been led to each their respective chambers by a still miffed Teagan, Talia lay on her bed, stripped to her undergarments and looked into the ceiling. Two-Sock, who'd been kept hidden for most of the day's chaos, was resting on her duvet, his ethereal head placed on her abdomen as he looked up at her.

At the Familiar's exaggerated yawn – because he didn't _need_ sleep at all – Talia looked down at him and wiggled to better have him lie on her chest. He didn't actually _weigh_ anything except for when he wanted to, and right now he did. The weight was a familiar comfort in a place with new smells, sounds and people, and it wasn't the first time since coming to Thedas that she doubted she'd have lasted this long without the Familiar keeping her safe. Sort of. She was too tired to really give it much thought, and considering where they'd be leaving for tomorrow, she'd rather just get some sleep done, and as much of it as possible.

It wasn't until an hour later that her door was opened, and a hooded figure slipped inside. The figure stood over the sleeping mage, not a word spoken or sound made as the stranger deposited what he'd come to deliver on the foot of her bed, then stood back and was silent again. With a sigh not even a Mabari could have picked up, the figure nodded a silent greeting to the Breton girl, backed out of the room and shut the door behind closed.

It had all taken less than a minute, and no guards remained in the castle to challenge the hooded man as he made his way down the hallways to the least used parts of the castle. When he reached his destination, the man pulled up his sleeves to reveal dark and intricate tattoos and runes covering pale-skinned arms, before a rip of his hands had the symbols glowing like Magefire, and the air snapped upon itself as a sickly green rift opened in it. Beyond was the realm of spirits, Daedra and foreign magic.

Wasting no time for hesitation, the man stepped through the rift. Not even a second later, the tear in the veil closed itself again, leaving no hint it had ever even been there.


	18. It's a kind of Magic

_Giants…really?_

_Few places in Tamriel are giants as common a sight as in Skyrim. Likely, this is because the giants simply prefer the solitude and peace the more Mer- and Jor-scarce lands offer. Frankly though, the truth is that we don't know, and likely won't until someone figures out a way to converse with the towering people. For as so many encounters in the wilds have shown, Giants are not the fearsome monsters mothers, mine included, tell their children off to make them behave. _

_Unless you actively appear as a threat to either their herd or their belongings, the giants look upon us smaller mortals like we ourselves would perceive sheep or bunnies._

_It is, however, very much the case that their relatives across the eastern ocean do not share in their pacifism. And they have tusks._

_I remember, the first one I ever saw was when we travelled between Redcliffe and Kinloch hold. For the tower, that is, not the villages around…I need an eraser for this thing…(Memo to self, ask Josephine or Dagna if such a thing exists). _

_When the giant first appeared, I was, quite honestly, not scared at all. Nope. This thing is for honest thoughts only. Like a diary, sort of. Everyone but me were cowering in fear, but I didn't fear the giant. Nope. Not one bit. Even though it was at least twice the size of the gentle ones wandering Skyrim, and had tusks. Already mentioned tusks…also it wasn't wearing clothes. At least Tamriel's giants wear loincloths, but these ones? As of yet, I have never seen one wearing anything but its skin. _

_Okay, so a rundown of Thedasian Giants…with the Chantry's version included, for once._

_Giants, according to the Chantry, are humongous, humanoid beasts roaming Thedas from the Northern Orlais to Southern and Central Ferelden. They are known to be omnivores, preferring either plants, carcasses or livestock, as their size makes them ungainly runners. Humans who venture too close, for assorted purposes, are known to have been devoured as well, though I personally have not seen this. _

_A standard adult will range from nine to eleven meters in height, with females being the smaller, though superficially similar in appearance. Both genders seem to possess a sagging chest, making identification somewhat difficult pre-mortem. As both genders also share various tusk-sizes, this cannot be used for classification either. Bugger. _

_Each hand possesses, confusingly, varying amounts of fingers. This could lead to the discovery of sub-species, though insufficient evidence is available. The larger subjects seem to posses only three fingers on each hand, while near-Tamriel sized subjects possess up to six fingers on each. Reason unknown._

_Observation of more than one giant at a time, as opposed to the species in Tamriel, leads to the belief that these creatures lack any semblance of societal structure, and are thus viewed as solitary beings. This then leads to further questions yet unanswered: Do they use a mating call for attracting the opposite gender? Do Giants even mate? Is there another form of reproduction we do not know of? Why are only male giants also observed in Tamriel? Is there a connection? _

_All in all, giants in Tamriel are peaceful beings, while Giants in Thedas suffer from a severe superiority-complex, and take little shit from anyone. _

…_Still, I have yet to see them smack a person into orbit. Small blessings, I suppose. _

_Section from 'Recollections of Thedas, Fauna' by Talia Aulus, 40 Dragon._

* * *

**_It's a kind of magic_**

* * *

Time spent between her leaving High Rock, and arriving in Winterhold had taught Talia a very valuable lesson, especially when sleeping in places she didn't really trust: First thing when you wake up, summon Two-Sock.

When she did, and the snap of air signaled her Familiar's arrival from the sound alone, she forced herself to sit up, throw off her covers and open her eyes.

"'Morning Bo-…Eh?" Two-Sock was happily lolling his tongue at her, eyes going between her befuddled expression and the somehow materialized bundle at her feet. The wolf seemed completely amused and bemused both as he watched her reaction to finding something where there hadn't _been_ anything when she went to sleep. Mainly because she'd locked her door with a ward that wasn't exactly possible to break without magic; "What."

The bundle itself looked innocent enough, all wrapped up in a dark-green fabric of some kind. Talia was about to dismiss it as her just having overlooked a pillow casing, when she noticed woven patterns in the fabric's edges. When she shuffled closer, because telekinesis hadn't been on her list of stuff to learn – as opposed to J'zargo – her bare feet touched against a wooden cylinder, like a stick or a spear.

The covers were flung off instantly, and Talia almost fell out of bed when she saw what the stick was. She couldn't even really come up with a proper sentence or an appropriate string of curses at the sight. _Because Holy Mara-fucker!_

The staff, and by Magnus' hairy balls it was a staff, looked as long as she was, one end forming a decorative stump of golden metal, while the other ended in a flat-tipped blade, almost like a halberd. The length of the staff was covered in strips of soft-gleaming metal shaped into Bretoni runes of Fire and Lightning, and there even was a smaller set of runes dedicated to reaching into Oblivion. Fire, Lightning, Conjuration and a blade.

"Eight Divines at an orgy!" while not exactly eloquent, not to mention blasphemous, it was the best she could come up with. Her fingers ran tentatively over the smooth surface where the thin runes of steel and ebony didn't cover the wood, eyes not really believing what she was seeing.

Most likely, she was still dreaming. She pinched herself just to make sure, and widened her eyes even further when the pain made her grimace. Looking around the room to see if reality was about to unravel itself, which would confirm the dream-theory at least, her eyes fell on a small note fastened to the bundle of cloth- _clothes_. The bundle was actually some sort of clothes, which was interesting but could wait until she'd seen if she could read the note or not.

The message stopped her breathing for its entirety when she saw the words.

"_Talia, my beloved Daughter."_

There was no way Father would ever use the word 'beloved'. The note was from her Mother, and the realization made her bundle up inside, feeling a surprising amount of homesickness out of nowhere.

"_Your Father told me of what transpired, of where you are. I never wanted to see you removed from us without your consent, thus we never sent men to Winterhold as we knew your desire was to remain there. But for me to realize that uncontrolled magic took you from me, that it could have killed you-_"

There were splotches on the parchment, dried but still colored places where water had been;

"_I have never been as proud and simultaneously fearful for you. Where you are, I cannot reach. I can't go to you and comfort you, I cannot see you like your Father might, I do not know. I can only pray that what little aid I can offer will be enough to see you through your choice."_

Gods, why the Piss was the words becoming difficult to…tears, damn tears, _stop_ forming. Talia hated herself, just a little, for being so weak as to cry like a child at just seeing her mother's words.

"_Know that no matter what, no matter where you are, you are my daughter. You are a part of my life that I would die to protect, and you will always be. _

_May the Divines keep you safe, and may Azura keep your sleep free of nightmares. _

_I love you."_

Talia hadn't even realized how her body shuddered with tears until Two-Sock placed his head in her lap. Her tears fell through his head and landed on her legs, but the comfort he provided was appreciated. She sniffed and forced air down her lungs, fighting the urge to curl up around the letter. It was a piece of home, another home than the attempt at forced marriage.

It was a piece of the home she had grown up in: a warm, loving home where her mother would be a gathering point of compassion for all her children, and her father would be the immovable figure who could solve any problem, banish anything that threatened to disturb the peace.

So she just remained seated as she was, cross-legged and breathing. Just breathing. That was, for the moment, all she _could_ do. The staff was, while still in her hands, momentarily forgotten as her brain tried restarting itself.

"…_Dammit_…" she cursed softly, no mirth in the word at all. Right now, she'd give anything to be able to snuggle into the warm and loving embrace of her mother, and piss on the fact that she was a twenty-one year old woman. Right now, she just felt like a child.

Two-Sock whined quietly, his lower jaw resting between her thighs as his deeply ethereal eyes looked into hers. She knew that some people found the ghostly eyes unsettling, but to her they were just filled with unexplainable love and intelligence. Not having her mother on hand, she instead opted for the next-best and hugged the wolf around his neck. The Familiar returned the gesture by nuzzling her cheek with a tongue that, despite being both ethereal and transparent, was warm and wet on her skin.

"…_Shit_, we've really done it now, haven't we?" she muttered into his ghostly fur. The resultant whine was delivered with a tone of understanding, and she fought the temptation of wiping her nose in his fur, like she' done when she was nine years old. Mostly because he might see it as her being childish. Instead she just hugged him fiercely and pulled a bit away; "…I suppose that means…this is from her?"

The wolf grunted and shook his head in that way humans couldn't, then jumped from the bed and started pushing at the bundle with his nose. Talia obliged his curiosity, which was a good way to fight homesickness, and started unraveling the clothes-pile.

It turned out to not just be clothes, but also a pair of boots and a pair of vambraces. Both were reinforced with steel, and bore additional runes for reinforcing magic. The clothes themselves were dark-green robes of some sort, and decorated with intricate weavings along the edges. The design of the robes themselves was fairly similar to that of her College-issued apprentice robes, with the exception that the material was slightly thicker, and felt stronger between her fingers. The entire piece was _swelling_ with magic, despite its somewhat plain appearance.

When Talia finally managed to pull herself together and spread out everything on the bed, her mind finally processed what she was looking at: Fire, Lightning and Conjuration runes on a bladed staff, and a set of garments clearly meant for both protection and magical reinforcement…

"_Holy_ piss…" she managed to whisper. It felt like if she used the word 'Battlemage', it would make everything that had happened since she woke up, just seem silly and immature. So she refrained from using the word out loud, as opposed to the way her dulled mind was waking up with a mental scream as she beheld the dress-up of a Battlemage of High Rock. _I am not even- Do I put it on? What would Aedan thi-_

A series of soft knocks on her door almost made her set her present aflame in surprise, though she managed to correct her aim at the last second. Instead, the ceiling was scorched, but as it was made of stone, nothing came of it aside from the sooth-mark.

"Who is it?"

"It's me." the voice was Aedan's; "Are you awake, can I come in?"

She was pretty sure there was sort of universal joke ongoing right now, and she was the butt of it. It was probably Sheogorath laughing his insane ass off somewhere in Oblivion right now. _Arsehole_;

"I'm asleep, can't you tell?" she forced her voice to be sassy, instead of wracked with homesickness, and a shot of healing energies managed to restore her to something that didn't look like she'd just been told her dog had died; "You can come in, the door's…not locked."

Wards, such as the one she had placed over the entrance, had the finicky ability to obey its caster's commands, even if the command wasn't an actual command. Maybe there was a bit of intelligence in them, who knew? Fact remained that when she said he could enter, the ward must have dispersed, seeing how the door didn't blow up in a pillar of fire.

This was also when Talia realized she was still in her smalls. Sadly, the 'Wait don't come in!' died in her throat as Aedan had already opened the door.

"Are you re…" his words trailed off as he sounded like he was choking on something; "Andraste's _smalls_-"

"Yeah, 'oh look, an almost naked girl!'" she groaned, turning slightly away from him. Aedan looked like he wanted to both look at her, and rip out his eyeballs in embarrassment at the same time. Not an uncommon reaction, actually; "Right. Sorry, my morning's been a bit…unusual."

"Is that why you said I could just come in while you're…you know?" he tried. His eyes constantly looked everywhere but her, and then glanced _at her_ for just a second before looking away again; "Because I really didn't mean to intrude on- I mean, I didn't know that, if I'd known you…Have you been _crying_?"

The question caught her off guard, enough that she turned towards him out of instinct, then grew self-conscious and tried covering herself up again. Dammit, he could see that? _I thought I'd…never mind…_

"Maybe…" she sighed and let her arms fall down her sides, even as she resigned herself to getting dressed with him in the room and started fishing up the new robes. Might as well use them; "Just…don't tell the others."

"I won't." He replied, and she finally looked back at him. Since the discovery that she'd apparently been crying, his eyes had stopped fleeing every time they landed on her, and were instead now locked on her face, probably.

"It was…" she hesitated, and used the time it took to pull on her garments, then the robe, to come up with words. Because words were somehow becoming really hard to find, right now; "I got a letter."

"Did someone you know…Wait, how'd you get a letter if no one here knows you and…" His mind caught up, if the narrowing and then widening of his eyes were to take as a sign; "Was it a letter from home?"

She nodded, not really wanting to show him Mother's words. Because they were embarrassing. Sort of. And they _weren't_ embarrassing. Sort of.

"My mother sent me a letter…usual stuff." She forced on a smile, which ended up a sad excuse for one, but still a smile nonetheless; "…and some new clothes."

"You miss her."

It wasn't a question. And it wasn't as much a statement either as it was an offer of sympathy and understanding. And the warm, fuzzy feeling started making a mess of her stomach again, for which she blamed Aedan and his damnable concern for her.

She nodded again, and bit her lip hard.

"You didn't sound like you missed home much, when you talked about it earlier." He said, stepping a bit closer now that she was dressed. She cursed herself mentally for not even having had the notion of exploiting the probably one-time-only scenario.

"I didn't, really." She replied, looking up at him. Not that he was _taller_ than her, not by more than an inch or two, at least, but because she'd been hanging her head in…shame? Embarrassment? She wasn't sure; "I only remembered the home where my parents wanted me married off to someone I'd never even met…I didn't remember the part where I grew up loved and cared for."

"But the letter reminded you?"

"Sort of, yeah…" she admitted, a thin smile sneaking its way through her expression; "I just…I don't know _how_ the letter, or the rest of the stuff came here, or even who brought it."

"Does…" he hesitated; "Do you want to return home, to leave Thedas again when this is over?"

That wasn't a question she liked thinking about. Mainly because regardless if she said yes or no, it would have something to do with him. Also because he sounded a little scared when he'd asked it. So, she did the best thing she knew how.

"My mother is the same as Brelyna, have I ever told you that?"

She dodged the subject. And changed it. Aedan's expression told her that he wasn't happy with the lack of reply, but at the same time that he wasn't going to press it. Likely, he knew a bit of what she was thinking, and understood why she didn't want to reply. Yet, at least. A reply was just too final for her to give it.

"No, I didn't." He said instead, resigned to the change of subject; "You don't look like Brelyna at all, though."

"Dunmer traits, elven traits in general rarely get carried over visibly to their kids if the partner is human." She replied. Aside from her slightly paler-than-usual-Breton skin tone, there was nothing to suggest she wasn't pure-blooded High Rock; "I know, first question is if I'm related to Brelyna. While that's a fairly common assumption…"

"Here it's actually the case?" he tried, to which she nodded, and to which in return, he frowned slightly; "She's my cousin, a bit far out. That's also why the demon in Connor called me what he did. Because of my mother's race."

"I'm not surprised." Aedan admitted. Talia blinked, having_ not_ expected him to be…well, 'not surprised'; "I saw how you reacted when he, _it_ called you that. I figured it had to be something to do with your family since you reacted like you did."

"And then I got body-slammed by a kid." She chuckled without humor as her eyes left his to instead inspect the steel vambrace, idly admiring the intricate runes grafted into it; "Not my finest moment."

"…So…do you want to come down for breakfast? Daveth found a cabinet with bread and cheese, and some sausage if you want." Aedan offered it with the probably best smile he could, given the situation, but it was the way his eyes expressed mild worry for her that made Talia embarrassed again. Gods, how much time had she wasted with this already?

"Sounds good." She just said, and grabbed the staff from her bed.

When she rested it over her shoulders – she wasn't quite sure how to best carry it around, she noticed a faint tugging on the staff. Following the tug, she discovered – upon looking at a mirror as best she could – there was a line of weave going across her back where the tugging was strongest, and when she simply let go of the staff above the different weave, a sort of arcane wrapping emerged from the robe and tied the staff to her back; "…Damn."

"From your mother?"

"It's…sort of, yeah." She tried moving around, and realized that the staff hindered her movement in no way whatsoever. With something akin to a growing smile, she followed Aedan as he led her through the corridors; "It's actually military issue. Only battlemages get to carry this kind of stuff around."

"That's…good, right?" he didn't really sound certain, but then again, magic was illogical to people from Tamriel alone, so Tamrielan magic was bound to be even stranger to the Fereldan walking with her.

"It's good." She confirmed, and felt how, even despite how the day had started out weird and confusing, it might actually not end up being that bad.

"Breakfast" actually consisted of just whatever she could eat, seeing how the food they didn't eat would be wasted, even after Alistair had stuffed as much as he could into their backpacks and pouches. To her annoyance, Talia found her Elfroot-bundles in the satchel had been sausage-infested when someone, Alistair, had dumped a large pork-sausage into her belongings.

After that, and answering the annoyingly inane questions concerning where she'd gotten the staff from, not to mention her new robes, Talia went to Jowan's study for supplies while the rest went to the village to make their farewells with whomever would take them. In Aedan's case: his mother.

And Talia suspected somewhat that Brelyna would want Ser Gilmore to accompany them, even though he couldn't.

Having gathered everything she could get away with stuffing into pockets and spare-compartments in her satchel, Talia rejoined the group at the gates of Redcliffe village, where Ser Gilmore, Teagan and Murdoch were seeing off their group. Bodahn and Sandal had acquired a new wagon, stuffed with all sorts of…stuff, she supposed, and Sandal looked like an eager seven-year old visiting a sweet-shop.

He was just downright adorable, as always.

Seeing how Murdoch _hadn't _cleaved Jowan from the shoulder down, she assumed he wasn't aware of just _who_ the young mage was. And, if she had her way, the mayor _wouldn't_ find out either. It would be a pretty bad day if it started out with Mayor Moustache killing one of their group.

"Best of luck to you." Murdoch said when Talia joined them; "Here's to hoping we're all still alive when you get back here."

"We'll make all possible haste." Alistair replied, his tone serious and firm; "Even so, the village should be safe now."

"Right, demon-kid's all locked up." The man nodded. So, he knew about _that_ part then; "Just glad you didn't have to kill the little shit. Would be awfully ironic to save the kid by killing him, plus the people around here actually like him."

"Murdoch." Teagan's voice was stern, to which the mayor rolled his eyes.

"I said it'd be a shame, Teagan."

"It's not the 'shame' part you should keep to yourself around others, mayor."

"Right, right." The man didn't sound like he meant it, and his demeanor helped Talia's mood a bit more; "Well, daylight's burning. Off with ya."

"Keep safe, Serah Maryon." Ser Gilmore offered, to which the now-no-longer-high Dunmer blushed a bit and nodded. She muttered something Talia couldn't hear, and turned around to follow Alistair as the Senior Warden started leading them north, towards Kinloch Hold.

"What, no 'keep safe' for me, Ser Gilmore?" Aedan asked in a mock-hurt expression. Gilmore cracked a fond smile as he looked at the youngest Cousland alive.

"With her keeping your arse out of the fire, your lordship, do I really _need_ to?" the redheaded knight nodded at Talia, who felt conflicted between setting his _arse_ on fire, and hugging the man for having saved a part of Aedan's home. When he caught her gaze, Gilmore just chuckled; "Let a man have his fun, Talia. I meant only good."

"Keep yourselves safe, One-eye." She grinned back. Gilmore's expression grew more serious, likely because he understood the plural meaning in 'yourselves' and nodded. Well, he _was_ more than just eye-candy, he knew the stakes. Especially seeing how he'd not only survived the first battle, saved the Teyrna, smuggled her out of the castle, past Howe's patrols and managed to hide her in a village that was – according to a map Talia had been looking at while travelling with Duncan – almost as far away as one could get while staying in Ferelden.

Even as the gates disappeared from view in the distance, Talia's walk was filled with dozens of questions, most of which revolved around why Duncan hadn't recruited Ser Gilmore on the spot.

The rest of her mental questions and doubts concerned themselves with _what_ she was supposed to do when they reached Kinloch. _There's no way in Oblivion I'm just greeting Irving like nothing' happened. _

She'd rather shave herself bald with a rusty spoon.

"So…" Daveth started as they'd been walking for a few hours. Talia almost wished they'd gotten hold of some horses, but every horse in Redcliffe had been killed in the first days of the undead onslaught. Ironic, really, that she'd prefer horses now of all times. Sort of. She wasn't really sure _where_ the irony was, but she was fairly sure it was there somewhere; "The staff's special, I understand?"

"As I said at the meal, yes." Talia didn't mind Daveth being curious, not at all, but his shoddy memory was a little annoying. That, or he just wanted more information. More information, she supposed, wouldn't hurt seeing how it stayed in the group. _I could also maybe use it to start explaining stuff to Jowan, seeing how _I _was the one who dragged him into all this._

Still, the new mage was likely more grateful than not to be able to make a positive difference, even if he knew _where_ they were going. _I wonder who's looking _least_ forward to this. Me or him?_

"It's a staff meant for battlemages of High Rock." She continued; "The different runes amplify different aspects of my magic, and allow me to actually defend myself in close quarters as well."

"With the blade?" Jowan asked cautiously, walking stiffly after his bones had been reset. It was still better than yesterday though, so there was that; "I have never seen a bladed staff before."

"That's because most mages in Thedas don't like to get up close and personal." Alistair added as a help. Well, that was a new bit of information, or at least _confirmation_, seeing how she already had had an inkling that this was the case; "Talia's different, as are J'zargo and Brelyna."

"J'zargo still does not like getting too close. Once was enough." The Khajiit muttered. A small patch of fur had been ripped off his cheek during his bout with the Revenant, but he'd refused healing. Apparently, it was because female Khajiit liked scars. Who'd have thought?

"Agree." She meant it too, because annoying as the cat could be, the fear of losing him had made her blood run cold when the Revenant was about to stab him. She idly fingered the designs on her staff, around the leather-grip; "Still, the point of the blade is that the mage can use it two ways."

"Stab _and_ slash?" Alistair mused, a smirk on his face. Likely, he knew that wasn't what she meant, and got a kick out of teasing her about it. Or something like that. Piss if she could read his mind. So she just stuck her tongue out at him, which made the Senior Warden chuckle.

"That's _one_ function, _Princeling_." Oh, how it was oh so satisfying the way he frowned at her nickname for him. It definitely made up for his amusement; "The other one is the blade itself. Yes, it's simple steel, but if you observe it in the right light…" she lifted the staff into the air so it caught the sun's rays trough the canopy of trees along Lake Calenhad; "You should be able to see the shimmering film on the blade itself, yes?"

"I don't…Ah, I do…" Jowan noted as he was the first to spot the yellow flicker on the metal; "What is it?"

"A repellant." She said, and stopped, not entirely sure how it actually _worked_. Unseen by the others, she gave Brelyna a pleading look. The Dunmer smiled, clearly amused;

"It's a centralized ward, basically." The girl's ruby-red eyes shone with satisfaction when she could let her fingers run over the start of the blade itself; "If you see here, this rune is an anti-elemental rune. It doesn't differentiate what sort of magic you depend on, as long as you use said magic to make either fire, lightning or ice. While the theory that all magic is the same has clearly been proven wrong, elements remain the same no matter how they are used."

"So, it is like a shield?" Leliana asked, eyes curiously wide as she examined the staff and its blade. Probably mostly the blade.

"Ah…sort of." Talia rubbed her neck while holding the spear relaxed as she walked; "Shields just block hits, right? This thing is more like…Do children in Thedas ever play 'Round Ball'?"

The silence as the group looked at her, to put it mildly, was deafening. She could even hear Bodahn's steps in the back of the group, soft and light as they were.

"…I'm…sorry, play what?" Aedan was the first to speak. Talia, as well as J'zargo and Brelyna, had to fight hard to suppress the laughter. Disbelief too, but mostly laughter. Brelyna was the first to fail, and giggles soon became outright laughter. Contrary to how most people perceived Dunmers, their laughter was some of the most melodious and innocent one was ever likely to hear.

Provided it was not _malicious_ laughter, of course. And it had to be a woman. Men sounded like all the rest. Or maybe it was just Brelyna's laughter that was melodious and pleasant to the ears. Who knew, really?

"Okay, I said something funny. Got it." Aedan grumbled, but didn't sound actually annoyed. More miffed, if anything; "What was it?"

"Nothing, nothing." Brelyna giggled, spinning lazily in circles as she walked. The hot sun bore down through the green ceiling above, bathing the group in warmth as they walked. The shadows from above made it difficult to keep eyes on the Dunmer as her form was a flurry of dark and light; "It is a children's game from back home. Most of Tamriel's young play it by hitting a ball of gum with a solid stick."

"It sounds rather pointless, to my ears." Morrigan made her opinion known. And once again, Talia was reminded of why she wasn't all that fond of the witch. Still, she'd proven herself in Redcliffe, if nothing else. It was more or less due to Morrigan's magic that Talia wasn't having a slumber six foot under; "Then again, most games for children seem just that."

"Well, considering that the game was the likely inspiration for the very ward on Talia's staff, I wouldn't call it pointless." Brelyna noted, stopping her lazy spins as she instead fell back between the Breton and Leliana. Now that she no longer worried about competition from the redhead, Talia found that she actually kinda liked having her around. Leliana was sweet, caring and had hardly uttered a single preaching sentence since their arrangement was made that night.

"A fair point." Morrigan admitted. Talia did a mental dance at that, relishing in the witch admitting a mistake, even if she didn't. sort of. Damn, this was hard.

And she suddenly realized she'd never gotten to make use of the village's inn. For once, in a town, she had missed her chance to drink herself into a stupor with whatever Fereldan goodies there might have been to be had.

"Stendarr's bloated balls…"

* * *

A great many places in Denerim, the Pearl and the Gnarled Noble in particular, boasted posters from the Lord Regent himself, proclaiming that all who had knowledge of the whereabouts of any and all Grey Wardens were bound by duty to report it to the palace.

What had transpired at Ostagar was largely unknown to the commoners, but the fact that Teyrn Loghain had issued such a warrant must have something to do with it, surely. It was common knowledge that the Teyrn, now Regent, was not fond of the old Order, and thus the warrant could mean all sorts of things.

Were the Wardens traitors? Was the Regent looking for them for aid? Who, aside from Loghain himself, could know?

The other piece of news, and also the hottest piece of gossip amongst nobles and commoners alike, was the upraising of Arl Rendon Howe from his status of Arl, to the prestigious title of Teyrn. The word was that the former Teyrnir of Highever had conspired with the Orlesians, the _Orlesians! _The resentment amongst Fereldans of all ranks and places was vivid at the sheer mention of those mask-wearing bastards.

The sentiment was that, if the Couslands had really conspired with them, they deserved whatever came their way. And more power to Howe for having been the one to unveil the treason, and in the middle of the largest Darkspawn raid in generations even!

The new Teyrn in mention was currently standing with his hands behind his back, suppressing the temptation to glare at the elf before him now.

"You understand the importance of this mission, I hope?" Howe demanded; "It is of the upmost importance that this rebellion be quelled before it spreads."

"Yes, though I must say, this is not my usual mission." The elf grinned; "then again, the Crows have always been good to their word."

Howe sighed inwardly, despising the fact that he had to resort to this, _elf_, to get some actual work done. The Antivan Crows were rumored to be the best assassins outside of Tevinter, and their price certainly seemed to suggest the same. It better, he'd spent less on a year's salary for the entirety of his personal army.

"Do you know _exactly_ who to target? Where to find them?"

"Your source in Redcliffe said they recently left for the north, no?" when Howe nodded, the elf, Zevran was his name? continued like it was the most casual thing in the world; "My guess would be they are headed for Kinloch hold, a journey of five days at least. I believe I can intercept them before arrive. That would be, how is it said, most preferable, yes?"

"Yes, yes, that certainly would be 'most preferable'. Anything else?"

"Just my amusement. This does seem to go against the orders of your 'Regent' does it not?" Zevran's tone was snide and arrogant, like all his race. Howe's face remained neutral, hiding his contempt for the elf behind a mask of disinterest; "Still, you do not pay me for asking questions."

"Quite right." Howe snarled; "Now, get out."

"Always a pleasure, Lord Teyrn." Zevran left the room with an elaborate bow, leaving the Teyrn to breathe deeply before straightening his attire.

The Couslands thought they had evaded him, did they? Well, there was more than one way to wipe out a line.

* * *

A few days later, on the Imperial Highway, the group had finally left the Hinterlands behind, and now walked through the far less favorable area that stood between them and the Tower of Magi. Lake Calenhad was always to their left, and served a way of maintaining their course.

The nights at camp were spent with cooking and summarily going to bed. Often though, like tonight, the group would engage in spontaneous banter, story-telling and even song. Leliana had demonstrated the previous evening that not only did she have the face of Mara's chosen, she also had the voice to boot.

Talia hadn't admitted it, hadn't even _hinted_ at it, but when Leliana started singing, even if the words were foreign to the Breton, Talia felt her stomach heat and her fingers twitching with a strange…feeling. It had almost been religious, the way she felt when listening to the Sister. Like Dibella herself had taken up residence in the redheaded priestess.

Now, the evening was spent with a strange sort of entertainment. As they hadn't encountered a single bandit or Darkspawn on their way, Talia had been forced to seek other ways of training her skills. Especially with the new staff. Tried as she had, she'd never found much ease in using staffs for magic. It had often clashed with her way of fighting, even if said staff amplified her magical powers.

But the Battlemage staff she now wielded was different. Oh, it was _definitely_ different. She held the weapon confidently, steadying herself as she faced her opponent.

"I shall begin when you are prepared." Morrigan was standing roughly ten meters away, hands spread out and ready to unleash her Thedasian magic. _Thedasian… that _is_ what it's called, right?_

Honestly, she had no idea. Not that she really cared either, this was just a practice round, to test her staff without the risk of getting killed with fire. Shameful as it was, this was the first time she actually had to try out the repelling ward on the blade. _Score one for determination and drive, huh?_

"Ready."

She filled her voice with a lot more confidence than she felt, and the smirk on Morrigan's face – that was actually a little disturbing, she _liked_ shooting at the good guys? – told her that the witch knew it. Talia just braced herself and watched as Morrigan's hands came together in something of a fist above her head, then slammed down like with an invisible hammer, if slightly less violently. From the arch of Morrigan's hands, a fireball sprung to life and sailed through the air towards the Breton.

Wielding her staff like a spear instead of the staff it was, the mage breathed and swung the weapon as the ball of fire, roughly the size of her head, came within reach. The blade whined through the air, twisting as she half-spun the staff while swinging, and hit the magical flames.

Feeling something like if she'd hit a small, thrown stone, the fireball was smacked away like was it a physical object, and Morrigan was forced to leap out of the way as the fireball sailed right past her and burned a sizable hole in the tree behind her. Then, the witch had the balls to smirk and nod, like it was _her_ accomplishment.

"Not a poor swing." The witch offered what was likely to her a huge praise; "T'is fortunate that the blade actually _is_ capable of repelling, to it, foreign magic, lest it would have melted away."

"I've been wanting something that could do that since the pissing Emissaries at Ostagar just slapped my fireballs aside." There was a bit of a tingling sensation in her stomach, and her feet. And her hands. Like after a bout of Skooma. It was almost like some of the arcane energy had been siphoned from Morrigan's spell and into the staff. The fire-runes along the staff felt a lot warmer than the ones of lightning now, which was a surprise; "Made in High Rock. There's a reason that's preferred over 'made on the Summerset Islands'."

"Because everyone hates the Thalmor." J'zargo mused, drawing a grin from the redhead; "J'zargo thinks even the Aldmeri hate the Thalmor."

"Nobody likes a super-racist." She added, nodding sagely as she readied herself for another bout of Morrigan's spells; "Alright, let's try with ice this time."

"If you so desire." Morrigan returned to stand in front of the charred tree - It was a miracle it hadn't caught fire – and took up her stance; "It would only be right to warn you that there is considerably more…unpleasantness, from this spell, even scaled down. Make sure you are prepared."

"What kind of ice are you going to be using?" she asked, feeling a bit of trepidation at the prospect of Morrigan spraying her with raw cold, instead of a solid mass. There was a reason she didn't like ice, especially when used _on_ her.

"I will send a thin stream of frost at you. It is not deadly, even in combat." The witch let a pulsating, white glow dance over her palm; "It should be concentrated enough that your ward can catch its entirety."

"Yay, cheating." She shook her head and just sighed, bracing for some unpleasantness; "Okay, I'm ready."

Morrigan responded by reaching out with single palm, from which a stream of icy cold burst forth. It was, for all intends and differences, similar in appearance to the what was used in Tamriel. Talia tipped the bladed end of her staff slightly downwards, hitting the stream with its flat side. The film coating the blade shimmered with a blue glow against the flow of frost.

But it held, and seemingly absorbed the spell. After a few seconds, Morrigan ceased the spell and relaxed her stance. Talia breathed hard, feeling slight vibrations in the staff as she placed it blade-upwards on the ground. Her eyes narrowed in ponderation as she observed how the ice-related runes on the higher end of the staff – all wrought in ebony – glowed with the same, if cold, intensity as the fire-runes had just previously. _That's definitely strange. _

It had to be something to do with the elemental nature of the spells. That said, it meant there was no way of predicting how the staff's runes would react to spells not of elemental nature, like that creepy stuff the emissaries in Ostagar had thrown at her.

"Do you wish to test a bolt of lightning as well?" Morrigan didn't sound terribly excited at the prospect; "As I know, your school of Destruction contains those three types of magic, restricting as it is."

"Bring it on." Gods, she hated lightning too. The reason she liked fire was because it was tangible. It was something you could see and feel, sort of, and it was something you could dodge. Cold, she didn't like – but she didn't _hate_ it – mainly because it was less physical than a fireball. Still, a spike of ice was something you could still dodge, and even parry with a solid enough shield. _Lightning,_ on the other hand, was immaterial. It had no mass, no recoil and couldn't be parried. It was faster than the human brain could react, and as both her fellow students had demonstrated on the undead in Redcliffe, it was devastating on organic targets.

"I shall lessen its intensity." The young witch promised; "Should it hit you, it will be a shock, but harmless still."

Talia wasn't given a chance to reply, as Morrigan almost instantly began the slow dance of hands as she dragged them through the air. Sparks of electricity began gathering in her gripping palm, and with a final jerk, she shot her right hand forward, sending forth a thin, blue-white lightning that reached Talia before she even had a chance of gasping.

It was more or less out of pure luck that her blade was already in position, as the bolt of lightning would have otherwise struck her straight in the chest. Instead the lightning smashed into the waiting steel. Arcs of electricity danced up and down the appropriate runes, sending harmless sparks out at pulsating intervals before becoming nothing more than a pulsating glow.

"And that concludes today's show." Talia breathed. She hadn't been aware of how she'd been holding her breath, only now releasing it into the cold night air. A few of the onlookers clapped as if they'd witnessed a simple play, and she gave a mock-curt bow at the audience.

"Is the glow going to dissipate on its own?" Jowan asked as he mustered the courage to step forward. Talia cocked a brow as she looked at her staff again. The blade was still shimmering with frost, and the runes still pulsated dully with electricity; "…or is the staff storing the magic somehow?"

"…Huh." She offered in return, changing the staff between her hands; "Let me just try something out."

She didn't say _what_ she wanted to try out, mainly because she had no idea if it would even work. So she took up a solid stance and concentrated on the elemental cold trapped in the blade. Then, aiming at a tree across the clearing, she swung the staff behind her back in an arch and focused like she would if releasing an attack from a regular staff.

A single shard of ice short forth, roughly the length of her arm. It made almost no sound as it hissed through the air before impaling the trunk with a _Chack!_ And an almost immediate shattering of the cold blade. As a feral grin spread on her lips, teeth and all, and she continued the swing with an overhead version that saw a firebolt surge from the staff as well, exploding into the canopy of the threes before her.

She was probably pissing off every single Spriggan in a radius of ten miles right now, but she was far too satisfied to really care. She had a staff that, aside from being useful to repel shit with, could also suck up elemental spells and store them! _If I ever see High Rock again, I'm going to hug mother AND Father!_

"Amazing." Brelyna exclaimed, red eyes wide as she stepped closer; "The runes have stopped glowing?"

"Seems like it." Talia nodded, smiled and then tossed the staff at her friend; "Here, knock yourself out: I'm getting some more food. Anything left?"

The next day bore some actual result, sort of, in that the horizon finally spewed out the silhouette of the grand tower. Talia simultaneously couldn't stand looking at it, and at the same time couldn't help but doing exactly that.

The Tower held some of the worst memories she had ever experienced, mainly because they had cost her a friend through three years. Onmund had been brutally slaughtered, and what for even? Mages from Tamriel had no "connection" to the Fade, as mages here put it, so Demons from the Fade would never tempt them unless someone, such as _Irving_, forced them into the Fade by lyrium. Bastard. Him and all of his templars could burn in Oblivion for all she cared.

"I never thought I would return here alive." Jowan muttered from next to her. As she was about to question why he'd walked up to her, Talia realized it was she who had slowed down enough to match him. Odd.

"Dead, then?" she asked, offering the recovering mage a small smile. Jowan was a good sort, in hindsight she'd seen that even back at the Tower the first time she'd met him. She'd just been too outraged and furious at the time to notice it, suppose.

"That or tranquil." Jowan shuddered at the last word; "I honestly would have preferred just being cut down then."

"There it is again…Tranquil, why is that a bad thing to be?" Jowan's eyes widened at her question, and she could see raging confusion behind them; "Remember, I'm not from Thedas: I don't know what 'Tranquil' means, other than being calm."

"I see…" Jowan didn't say more for almost a minute, and it wasn't until Talia started thinking his thoughtful expression was just a way to avoid answering that he actually did so; "Tranquils…If a mage is deemed too dangerous, or unable to control his powers, the Templars at the Tower makes him tranquil."

While she didn't miss the fact that Jowan used 'his' and 'him' in his examples, Talia's curiosity was starting to be replaced with wariness. Somehow, she _knew_ that she wouldn't like the full explanation. And still, she _had_ to have it. Had to know.

"They calm him down somehow?"

"I suppose you could call it that." Jowan's voice was devoid of any humor whatsoever, and his expression betrayed a personal experience of some sort with this; "Being made Tranquil means the Templars cut you off from the Fade. It's meant to seal away your magic, but it does more than thát. It stops you from dreaming, from feeling…You stop being _you_, and just…exist."

Talia didn't speak immediately. Often, this would be caused by her mulling something over or pondering about it, but this time it was something else: She was horrified.

"They _What?"_ Brelyna's shocked voice came as something of a frightened whisper behind them, and Talia turned her still wide-eyes face around to see her friend share the expression. J'zargo was next to her, eyes wide and his tail looking like he'd been electrocuted.

"I'm sorry, I…didn't realize how shocking it must be to hear of this the first time." Jowan tried to comfort them, most likely Talia and Brelyna since J'zargo's only tell that he was just as horrified was his tail. And Jowan likely didn't know that; "I mean, sometimes it's better for the mage, I think…Some people ask to be made Tranquil if Demons harass them too much. Being Tranquil means the Demons won't possess you, _can't,_ I think…Still, most prefer death."

"Is this…How can this…_barbarity _be condoned?"

"I take it mages don't have to fear Tranquility in your homeland, then?" Jowan tried a weak smile. Talia wasn't sure if she wanted to hug him for having endured a world that so obviously hated mages, or punch him in the nose for trying to defend it.

"Pissing straight we don't." Talia forced her voice down so as to not make the entire group stop and stare. She hated when people stopped and stared. Instead, she grabbed Jowan and her classmates and dropped a few good meters back, out of proper ears' reach; "you shouldn't have to fear it either!"

"Do demons go after mages in Tamriel?"

"We don't _have_ demons in Tamriel, Jowan." Brelyna argued. Good point, which once again made Talia thankful she'd been born on the right side of the ocean.

"Then that might be the reason. Tranquils are not in danger from demons, and those who ask to be made Tranquil are usually the ones the demons go for."

"We have Dremora instead, Jowan." Talia interrupted him. Jowan's eyes narrowed slightly at the word 'Dremora', but Talia continued before he could speak; "Considering I beat the snot out of not one, but _two_ demons in that tower, I don't see them as _dangerous_. Dremora or Daedra, on the other hand…"

"…_are_ dangerous." J'zargo finished for her, a light snarl in his voice.

"Are they like demons or something far worse?" despite the gravity of the conversation, Jowan was obviously trying to steer it towards something _not_ connected with the tower looming in the distance.

"Yes." Brelyna said, her voice strangely monotone. Talia already knew enough about Dremora, or Daedra, _creepy fucks_, so she did her best to drone out the Dunmer's explanations, and instead focused on how Jowan's expression slowly changed from merely curious, to horrified, then back at curious, disbelieving and finally looked like he wanted to tear out the past half hour's memories from his brain and toss them over the side of the road.

"Andraste have mercy, how do you not live in constant terror of these things?"

"Mostly it's because there are some things more powerful than regular Dremora." Talia explained next, idly listening to the sound of gravel and stones roll around beneath the feet of their more armored compatriots; "Dremora are more or less like a regular soldier compared to the Daedric Princes."

"Do I even want to know?" he was starting to sound less curious and more angst at the mention that the Dremora, who in their own right were superhumanly powerful, were mere grunts compared to the Daedric Princes.

"Hey, not all the Princes are bad." Brelyna hurriedly shot in; "Lady Azura looks out for the people of Morrowind, and Meridia despises everything undead. Malakath is the supreme god of the Orcs, and Sheogorath is more a prankster than anything else, really."

"…a prankster?" Jowan lightened up a bit. He probably thought Sheogorath sounded like an okay guy.

"Who likes to take his vacations in the head of dead people, is utterly insane and has a cheese-fetish that would turn anyone lactose intolerant. We call him the Prince of Madness."

"Can we please talk about something else? I'm almost _glad_ we only have demons in Thedas then." But Talia wasn't done, not yet;

"Yes. Why the fuck is this 'Tranquility' even allowed?" Talia's expression was set in a growl, but not at the young mage. Said growl was made into an angry-surprised one when she smashed into Alistair's armored backside, tumbling them both to the ground; "Ali- _piss_, what was that for?"

"Ow, and be _quiet_." He whispered. Talia wanted to punch him right then and there for not even bothering with an explanation, but instead actually listened to him and complied. Then she looked ahead.

"Piss in my boots…" she whispered, slowly getting to her feet. The rest of the group, even Morrigan, was likewise stopped and silent.

Up ahead, having just lumbered out from the shadowy tree-line of towering pines, a largely humanoid creature had stopped to stare right back at them. At first, Talia had believed it to be much closer than it actually was, and had thought it was a human being. Then, she realized the creature was a good fifty meters away, stood some ten meters tall, and had a humongous set of tusks emerging from its head.

"What…the Hell is that?" Daveth muttered quietly, his voice tense as his hand went for his bow. Talia couldn't imagine _arrows_ being of much help if that thing decided to make lunch of them. Whatever it was, it _dwarfed_ the giants back in Skyrim.

"A giant." Alistair replied in the same tone as the archer; "Don't move. No sudden movements, no flailing your arms in terror, and _no_ screaming."

"If _that's_ a giant…what the piss are the ones in Skyrim then? _Tall Orcs_?"

Alistair didn't respond, and Talia didn't really blame him. That creature, the giant, looked like it could shrug off a javelin to the face and then eat the offender like a bean. She decided this was a case where violence wasn't going to work, and her usual _kill it with fire_ tactics weren't going to be much use.

That was also when the Giant decided to jump where it stood, and Talia nearly soiled herself – but she'd _immolate_ anyone who dared mention it – when the Giant reached behind its back, as if reaching for a weapon. Piss all, what the shit kind of weapon could a creature like that even _use_? A battering ram as a club? A ballista as a crossbow? A great-sword as a toothpick?

Instead though, it just seemed to be scratching an itch on its back. However, what briefly seemed a peaceful action was revealed to be something quite different when the hand came back, bringing with it a screaming man wiggling like a worm in the giant hand. The man, a human from what she could see, was desperately slashing and cutting at the giant's hand with a pair of daggers, to little avail.

"Poor sod…there's nothing we can do…" Alistair muttered, watching the scene play out with a sympathetic look towards the doomed man.

"Maker have mercy…" Leliana whispered close by, her tone horrified at what she saw. Not that anyone blamed her though. Even Morrigan seemed uneasy at the sight, and the man's screams made Talia's toes curl up with every shrill plea for the pain to stop. From the way he dangled, it wouldn't surprise the Breton if the giant had pulverized the man's legs in its powerful hand.

Honestly, it was amazing that he was still conscious.

"Shite, is't gonna eat him?" Daveth asked from behind the hand covering his mouth. The usually suave and witty archer was stony in expression, though his eyes revealed the revulsion he felt at the scene, and the aforementioned prospect.

As it turned out, the Giant wasn't particularly hungry. Instead, it seemed to give an extra squeeze with its powerful fingers, and the man threw up a trickle of vomit that fell like a macabre waterfall of red and yellow to the ground far below. Then, even as the man seemed unconscious at last, the giant shrugged and horizontally discarded him.

By 'discarded', it was meant that the hulking creature threw him across Lake Calenhad, with the sound of churning ground beneath its feet being the only thing to break the silence. The man vanished as a small spot over the lake, and the giant gave one last stare at the group before wandering back into the forest.

They didn't stop for camp that night.


	19. Kinloch Hold

_I think, if there ever was a part of the Chantry I did not mind, the organization that is, not the faith, it would be the revered mothers, as they are called. I was surprised the first time I arrived in Denerim, when I actually met one face to face._

_They share so many similarities with the priestesses of Mara back home. They preach compassion and forgiveness, and I actually once found myself paying attention to one of their chants. I don't remember which one, just that I didn't…dislike it on the spot. _

_Leliana said it was a sign that the Maker's love extend even to lands where "he is not yet known". I'm still not sure how exactly to interpret that, and I'm not about to just wander up in that tower of hers. Mainly because of all the stairs, but also…_

_Too. many. ravens._

_Regardless, point of this entry is that we recently visited Val Royeaux, the Capital of Orlais. As we walked through the 'Sun Gates', for a moment it was like I was back in Evermor. The colors, the music, the clean streets…We were there to meet with the Revered Mothers – and for some reason that's with capital letters – when one of Cassandra's colleagues, Lord Seeker Lucius, assaulted the Revered Mother Hevara, then left the city with all its templars. The Order claimed the city was not worthy of its protection, and just…walked away…_

_Once again, the Templar Order proved unable to carry out their apparently simple duty: Protecting._

_Just like back in Kinloch Hold…_

Journal Entry: Turdas, Second Seed.

* * *

**Kinloch Hold**

* * *

"So…no one finds this just…I dunno, a _liiiiitle_ suspicious?" Talia was the first to speak, looking around with a forced smile on her face, and a twitch to her eyes.

"What, surrounded by armed strangers with swords and bows?" Alistair replied, his usually witty voice just as forced as hers; "Noooo, what's so suspicious about that?"

"You're right, it must be me just being paranoid." She sighed, feeling her body tense up in preparation for a fight.

And the day had started _so_ well. They'd even been sleeping soundly after marching an all-nighter the previous day. No one had wanted to sleep anywhere near that giant's apparent place of residence, which had led to them all as one more or less just collapsing when they'd finally reached the easternmost joint in the highways, where the roads to Denerim, Ostagar and Highever met.

For some reason, the next day, three hours north of that was also where a frantic woman had come up to their group, shouting about bandits and ransacked carts and stuff. Seeing as they _were_ going that way, the Wardens and co had decided wordlessly to help out the poor damsel in distress.

Which of course meant walking straight into an ambush after leaving Bodahn and Sandal waiting behind.

"I'm a little more worried than you, if that's alright?" Jowan said meekly, hands ready to cast spells in defense. Talia somehow doubted he would last long against the amount of arrows pointed his- Oh. Never mind then. Brelyna seemed to share her concerns, and threw a bout of Oakflesh at the youngest mage.

Daveth held up his hands; "I ehm…don't suppose you guys wanna parley?"

"That is for pirates, Fool." Morrigan scowled, her own staff out and pointing at the obvious leader of the ambush, an elf.

"Parley?" the elf laughed, a disturbingly good-natured laugh at that too. He was currently brandishing a pair of long daggers, and a feral grin on his lips; "I wasn't paid for that, I'm afraid. Kill them, the Cousland dies here!"

Oh. What?

Talia's eyes shot to Aedan, trying to figure out why the piss this elf wanted _him_ dead, of all people. Not that she was given a whole lot of time to figure that one out, as arrows started flying that very next instant. Not exactly the _best_ way to start your day, she admitted freely. Still…

"Talia, focus on their mage!" Alistair called, catching an arrow meant for Morrigan with his shield; "Daveth, Leliana, focus on their archers, rest of you with me!"

Sure. It wasn't like she had a better plan, and she wasn't really up for arguing. Not now, anyway. Instead though, Talia whipped her staff forward blade-first, focus on the Oblivion-runes at its midst. At her command, an atronach of fire snapped into being, celebrating its creating by flinging firebolts at the closest robber. Satisfied that her creation could fend for itself, Talia flung a fireball towards the only ambusher wearing a robe, even as she in turn started sending bolts of fire towards her.

"Return to sender!" Talia yelled with glee, smacking the first bolt away. It went terribly awry, but as long as she wasn't in its new trajectory, that was good enough. Suddenly, a warm, safe sensation welled up in her, and a blue, glowing symbol appeared at her feet, courtesy of Jowan, apparently. Huh. Not that she minded, not really, but the symbol looked so much like a lightning rune-trap that she almost jumped in surprise when it appeared.

"Arrow to the knee!" Daveth called, side-walking as he fired shot after shot, moving opposite from Leliana who seemed to take longer between each shot, but instead managed to penetrate armor with each arrow fired. Damn; "Arrow to the balls!"

"Must you be so-" Morrigan scoffed, but was interrupted as a blade came swinging her way. She bent over backwards, sweeping her staff low and hard enough to knock the man's legs out from underneath him, then electrocuted the man through the gap between his helmet and armor; "frustratingly childish?"

"Arrow to the face!"

"Meh, let him." Talia shrugged, sending a burst of lightning from the tip of her staff, for the first time _ever_ amplified to a potent level, straight at the opposing mage. The woman, who was actually the _very same bitch_ who'd called for help, leapt out of the way as the lightning bolt smashed into the cliff-face behind her. When screaming started, the Breton couldn't even take credit for it.

Brelyna was… well, she was in her _different_ mood, safe to say. The girl herself wasn't doing much more than staying out of the way of arrows and thrown knives, but _she_ wasn't the actual source of the anguish either. Her frost atronach, once again the dominating figure in a fight, was smearing enemy highwaymen over the grassy hills with each pummel, shrugging off most of the attacks. J'zargo was right next to it, weaving about with feline grace as he electrocuted one man, then grabbed another by telekinesis before flinging him across the clearing. Talia even saw him do just that to the loud-mouthed elf, landing the ambusher in a heap by one of the broken carts.

Yep, she should _definitely_ have tried learning telekinesis.

It wasn't really like there was _time_ for smartass observation either, though, as one of the fighters appeared to have decided on helping his mage, pointedly by trying to point his sword through Talia's stomach. She wasn't keen on that though, and smacked _him_ in _his_ with the butt of her staff, then whacked him over the arm with the other as he came at her undeterred. _Gods, I hate people heavy armor!_

Why was it that not only the ambush's sole mage, but also its sole _walking fortress of a man_ decided she was worth the most? Shit, it wasn't like she was the one the elf had yelled 'kill, kill, kill!' at, was it?

Aedan might just have heard her thoughts, as he seemed to choose that moment to kick the man attacking her in the back of his knee, forcing the heavier fighter to the ground with a yell of pain, then bashed him in the face – helmet notwithstanding – with his shield. Talia decided that'd do just fine to keep _that_ bastard occupied, and turned her attention back towards the enemy mage.

Who, for some reason, was merrily bashing her own brains out on a big rock.

The sight was so weird that Talia actually paused for a moment, then realized Jowan was doing…_something_, with his hands, eyes closed in concentration. When the woman's head cracked open like an egg, the dark-haired mage gasped and swayed on his feet, breathing sharp and rapidly.

Piss, whatever the fuck_ that_ was, she was suddenly all the happier to have Jowan on _their _side.

And then, all of a sudden, the attack was over.

Talia stood, staff at the ready, when she looked around and realized that the only ones still standing belonged to her group of familiar faces. Smoke was drifting from several scorch-marks in the broken carts, and J'zargo was, disturbingly as it _always_ was, licking his claws clean. _Zenithar, doesn't he know where…On second thought, never mind._

She wasn't really all that eager to think that thought to the end, and so instead set about making sure the dead _actually were_ dead. It wouldn't have been the first time some bandit played dead, only then to jump up and try skewering one of them with his sword. Or axe. Bandits liked axes, for some reason.

"I call dibs on the elf's stuff." Daveth declared, jogging off to loot the dead leader of the ambush. Dear gods, how pathetic was _that_? Not the looting, but the fact that _a dozen_ ambushers had failed to subjugate, not to mention _kill_, what, nine unwary individuals? _Sithis is probably rolling in either laughter or shame somewhe-_ "Hey, the pointy-eared bugger's still alive."

"…so?" she was the one closest to Daveth, so she was the one who replied first. Simple, really. Talia gazed at where Daveth was kneeling next to the blonde elf, hands already going through his pockets for shiny stuff. She assumed, at least, that Daveth wasn't taking the chance to test out if elven genitals were…_not going there, not going there, not going there…_

"I dunno, maybe we could ask why the hell he called out Aedan'n particular?" the archer shrugged, fingering a short knife; "Or, could just slit the bugger's throat. Andraste knows I don't want him coming back for revenge."

"Doesn't take an assassin telling why he was after Aedan, Daveth." Talia scoffed, looking down at the child-sized bastard; "He yelled 'Cousland', so most likely he's an assassin sent by Howe…Damn, he's a persistent bastard though."

"Aedan, this man was after you specifically." Alistair nodded to him; "I'll let it be up to you. Kill him or take him prisoner?"

To Aedan's credit – in her eyes at least – he mulled it over for a solid minute. He didn't _seem _like he was having thoughts of how to avoid killing a defenseless man. Good.

Then again, Aedan had often shown himself, more or less, to be the least judgmental of their merry little bunch. Alistair and Leliana were obviously pro-Chantry, Daveth too, most likely. Morrigan was anti-everything but what could bring gain to herself, while Talia and her classmates were very much increasingly anti-Chantry, and for good reasons. Jowan was still a wildcard in that aspect, not that she _really _blamed him.

Aedan though, was born and bred pro-Chantry, yet had no problems accepting her views of the organization. She didn't _mind_ the religion in itself, not really, just the way it was carried over from text to deed. Where Alistair hadn't done much more than offer his sympathies, and Leliana obviously wanted to find a proper response in her faith, Aedan seemed to understand as much as a non-former prisoner could. She appreciated that, even if it wasn't much in a practical sense.

He also, maybe _because_ of what she'd told him of Kinloch Hold, hadn't been opposed enough to Jowan's conscription to actually speak against it. She was happy he hadn't, as the conflicting emotions and drives roaring through her own mind would likely end up with things said that couldn't be _un_said again.

Because of this, and because the elf had singled _him_ and _his_ family out as the targets, he was the most… _logical, _if not slightly biased person to make the call.

Finally, his expression furrowed into an angry scowl, and Talia felt just a _little_ relieved. Not because Aedan was capable of scowling – she knew he was already – but because he came to the same conclusion as her: Bringing an assassin with you who is _paid to kill you_, is a bad idea.

"I don't want one ofHowe's men anywhere near me." his voice was curiously devoid of anger, and instead held just a flat judgment of the unconscious assassin; "Just…do it quickly."

"…Awesome." Talia muttered, assuming the role of executioner. She'd killed plenty of people before, most of them bandits. Still, they'd all had the same two things in common: They'd been armed, and they'd been awake. Killing an unconscious man seemed…cold. Still, she wasn't about to get hypocritical, not now.

Sod it all, she'd even been the one to propose killing him, although slightly indirectly only, and really, she hadn't considered that they might actually_ do_ it? _I gotta learn to shut up…_

Taking her staff in both hands, she brought the bladed end down in a swing that tore through the elf's throat, spraying blood in a disturbing amount. His eyes opened wide in fear and shock, staring out as his tanned hands desperately tried stopping the flow of blood. _More like a fountain, really_…

Still, assassin or not, Talia wasn't one to enjoy prolonging the suffering of others, even people who'd tried to kill her. While Irving was on the 'maybe still do it' list, she didn't see a purpose to prolonging the elf's suffering. With a swift, somewhat brutal jab, she stabbed the blade all the way through his neck, coming close to completely decapitating the elf. His struggles stopped, and the bright, fearful eyes glazed over, immortalizing the pleading stare they'd focused on her

The Breton sighed, withdrawing the staff from the now still corpse. A flicker of magica through the weapon had the blade catch fire, evaporating the gleaming blood smeared over it. Taking a moment to allow Leliana her prayers, and it was clear the redhead was praying for the dead, she then turned to regard Alistair with a gaze devoid of emotions. It was that or let the world see her agitated state, which she'd prefer to keep to herself;

"…How far to Kinloch from here?"

"…" Alistair blinked several times before seemingly processing her question. His eyes wandered across the clearing, taking in every detail as he no-doubt wracked his brain to come up with an eloquent reply; "Tomorrow, at sunset if we continue straight away."

Satisfied with that, Talia turned to regard their archer as he picked his way across dead bodies, her voice coming out monotonous; "Hey Daveth… check if the mage's got any good stuff."

* * *

Later the next day, as the sun was beginning to set, the mage tower was finally so close that the group could make out a bridge leading to it from the mainland. And, just as it had been when she'd been there the last time, Talia wasn't the least bit surprised to see that the bridge was still broken.

It really just seemed like a thing with Fereldan architecture: It's either broken and in ruins, or made out of wood and barely two stories tall.

Then again, Castle Cousland had been…what, four stories tall? She hadn't found it in her to check, back then, and she really didn't feel like asking Aedan how tall his home was. Mainly because the episode with the assassin had obviously affected him, and he kept throwing glances to the south, where his mother and Ser Gilmore was.

"She's fine."

"…what?" he turned to regard Talia as she walked with the staff as support. It was, magical holdings despite, still quite heavy, and better suited as a walking cane than strapped on her back like a greatsword.

"Your mother…" she nodded to the south, which was fairly difficult without turning around; "Last time I checked, Gilmore watched her like a hound with pups. She's even safely located in Redcliffe Castle, and the demon can't get out."

"I _know_ that, but…"

"Aedan," she gave his arm a reassuring touch; "Your mother is the most badass woman I've ever met, and Gilmore is, no offense, probably the _best_ _fighter _I have ever seen. Short of a dragon, nothing can get to her."

"You heard the assassin, Talia…" he really didn't sound like her reassurances were very effective; "Howe _sent_ him, knowing where _I_ would – what if he _knows_ mother is in Redcliffe? And with Fergus still missing, we're all that's left of my family. I _hate_ not being able to keep her safe."

"Gilmore is there." She reminded him again.

"I know. Doesn't change that I'm worried." He ground out, like he was annoyed or irritated and wanted her to stop talking. Or maybe he was just annoyed with himself.

Right. There really wasn't much she could do about that, if he himself even knew that Eleanor was safe and sound. It was just healthy paranoia and trepidation born of constant stress. He was coping in his own special way, and she couldn't do much to alleviate that. She could be here for him, but that was about it.

In the distance, the tower loomed against the already rising Secunda, its silhouette dark and foreboding against the serene light of the small moon. Small was, of course, a relative term when it came to Lorkhan's sundered half. Masser was somewhere beyond the hills to their right, far as the reddish light gave away.

Gods, she really couldn't believe she was going back here. Had the Templars dragged her and Onmund along this very road when they'd captured them? Had they been carted off like livestock to the mage-prison? Honestly, she wouldn't be surprised if that'd been the case.

"…Thanks." Aedan said after a few minutes. Talia, having momentarily forgotten their talk, blinked as she regarded him. Aedan's face was set with lingering concern, but he also had a small, faint smile on his lips. A smile that didn't fail to tug at her heart-strings when she realized it was for her. _Damn charmer_, and he probably didn't even know it; "…for saying that. And, for…all the rest."

She gave him a light punch to the arm, where she'd touched him earlier. Just to be sure.

"Don't mention it." She gave him a light grin as well, watching him idly touch where she'd hit him, a thoughtful expression playing on his face. She averted her eyes when his suddenly sought hers, instead staring at the moon. In a way, it was like…like the moon was the same. It sounded weird, even in her own mind, but that didn't change that the moon she was looking at _here_, was the same as back home. Maybe, right now, somewhere to the west, Mother and Father were looking at Masser before she could see it here. Considering Nirn being spherical, that would make sense.

Damn, she actually missed them.

Not that anyone but Aedan was going to know about _that_. Him finding out had just been a…lapse in judgment. Or something. Nothing more.

"…are _you_ okay?" he asked softly, keeping his voice low enough that the rest of their party couldn't hear them. Except for J'zargo, of course – with those _damn_ ears of his – but he likely wouldn't care. He was like that. Talia kept her eyes forward, not daring to look at him.

Was she okay?

That was an…_interesting_ question.

She was going back to the place where Onmund had been murdered, and she herself forced into a new, foreign and horrible abortion of reality. She didn't like the Fade, _hated_ it, even. Demons, or whatever they were, played with the mind, with _her_ mind, showing her things that weren't real, tempting her, offering things she had always dreamt of.

What if the same happened to J'zargo or Brelyna? What if something, or _someone_ – _Irving! –_ forced them into the Fade? Would her furry friend be able to resists temptations? Would Brelyna be able to abstain from helping a 'poor lost soul' with returning from the Fade to the real world? Would the Templars kill them both, or attempt to, at the very least?

So, was she okay with returning there?

Not a chance in a Thalmor's rectum, she was okay with it. She'd rather raze the bloody thing to the ground, if she could, and if not for the fact that they needed some of those damned cage-mages to help out with Connor's possession.

"Sure, I'm fine." But instead of telling Aedan the truth, she lied. And she wasn't even sure why.

"…you don't _look_ fine…" he offered hesitantly. Damn it, she could _feel_ how his eyes scanned her, looked for anything that would betray the truth. Yeah, sure, she was as far from 'fine' as humanly possible, but there wasn't anything _he_ could do to alleviate _that_, so there was no point in telling him. Shit though, if he hadn't already seen through _that_ much.

So, he wanted to press it? Fine.

"I want to raze the whole damn thing to the ground." She snapped, clenching her fist around the staff; "There, happy? I want to go on a murder-spree in that _détest'able _tower, kill and kill and kill and…_piss_, I…I _hate_ having to go back there."

Her shoulders trembled with the barely suppressed rage, grief and assorted emotions she had no idea how to deal with. Piss, this wasn't how things were supposed to go, not by a long shot. This was supposed to just have been a short trip to Cyrodiil, pick up the scholar and return in time for lunch. Instead, Onmund ended up _dead_, they were stranded in Thedas, and ninety percent of the continent would kill her two best friends on sight for being what they were.

Life _sucked_, to put it mildly.

Then her _breath_ sucked in, when Aedan took her free hand in his. She hadn't been ready for that one, and had to fight down a shiver at the touch, combined with the rush of blood to her cheeks. Good thing it was dark. Not that it was _bad_, just the opposite actually. Aedan's fingers clasped firmly, warmly around hers in their clenched state. He didn't say _anything_, just held her hand. Gods, why the hell did he even-

"I know." He said quietly, his tone somber as fuck. Talia contemplated retracting her hand from his, something she _knew_ would be awkward as piss, or some other curse, but ended up just resigning to it. The fact that he _knew_, and likely also knew when she had said she was fine was a lie, did stuff to her head. Awkward stuff, like, difficulty at the simple act of breathing.

"I hate that place…" she muttered, casting a wrath-filled gaze at the looming tower. Odd, there were no lights in its windows, few as they were.

"I know." He said again. She knew he was going to say something more, so she kept silent through the short pause where he obviously contemplated how to word whatever he was going to say. She just waited, until he spoke again; "…It wasn't your fault, you know."

Not the…best choice of words, considering the situation.

"Onmund _died._" Her voice was an ugly snarl as she took her hand back from his; "I _didn't_. I should have at least _tried_ to save him, but as always _I_ depended on _him_. I thought _he_ would easily beat whatever _Irving _sent at him, but no, _I _left him to _die_. I _let_ them murder him!"

"I didn't _mean_ the tower." Aedan countered with a bit more intensity, forcing her to look at his face when he spoke; "…I don't know if there was something you could have done or not, in there. I'm not talking about what happened in Kinloch Tower, Talia…I meant what happened in Highever…"

"I…_Oh_…" his words processed, her brain went numb; "…I…don't know what you mean."

Except she had a pretty good idea of _exactly_ what he meant. Piss, she hadn't meant for him to find out. Mainly because it _was_ her fault. She'd been the one to seduce him, to make him lower is guard. Which had let Howe take over the place. Which had gotten Aedan's nephew, his sister-in-law and his _dad_ killed.

And hadn't they already been over this once? She couldn't remember.

His family had taken her in as an honored guest, had treated her well, had treated her well_ despite_ knowing she was a mage.

And she had failed them. Oren. Bryce. Oriana. Those snotty kids. The old Scholar whose name she'd already forgotten too... Aedan's nanny, whom they'd found murdered in the kitchen…the list just went _on_. And all because she had failed them. She knew, instinctively, that she couldn't have _saved_ a lot of people in the actual fighting, but having grown up amongst nobility, she _should have been able to see Howe's betrayal coming_, and at the moment she first seen him even.

But no. She'd been more focused on getting into Aedan's trousers. Which, if the whole attack hadn't happened, would have definitely ensured Aedan volunteering for Warden.

"There was nothing you could have done, Talia." He continued. When she shook her head, _knowing_ he was wrong, he just continued. Neither had noticed how the rest of the party had already fallen a good distance behind; "I _lost my dad_, Talia, my _home_. If you were to blame, don't you think I'd be first in line to assign it?"

"It's just because you don't know _how_ I failed, how I _screwed_ _up_." She countered angrily, wanting to punch something. When nothing suitable came along, she just spat to the side instead. Aedan's expression frowned with concern, or worry. Or something.

"You blame yourself because you couldn't save everyone." Yep, he thought _that_ was the reason. He thought she blamed herself because her magic hadn't been limitless and capable of killing all Howe's soldiers and healing Bryce. She shook her head enough that the hood fell down around her ears; "…what then?"

"I was _in the room_, Aedan." She ground out; "I _heard_ everything Howe said, his tone, saw his expression…I _should have seen it_. For the love of Mara, I _grew up_ with nobles!"

"So did I." he argued, voice calm and filled with that piss-annoying concern; "I was also in the same room, Talia. I heard _more_ than you did. _And_, I grew up with _Fereldan_ nobles."

What the hell was this, a guilt-competition? She didn't even know _why_ she wanted to hog the blame after Aedan's counter, which…which…damn…

Talia's mouth opened and closed in silence at his words. This was so far out that it'd stopped being funny before it even got sad. And it had always been sad.

"Still…" Gods be damned, she hadn't thought of _that_ one. Aedan had been far more familiar with Fereldan nobility than her! If _he_ hadn't seen it coming, hadn't heard the undertone that – in retrospect – was oh so damn recognizable in Howe's voice, there was no real way _she_ could have; "I…_should_…have seen…Oh piss…"

Talia hugged herself with the free hand around her waist. She needed a hug, but didn't dare ask for one, so she hugged herself. It was the easiest way. Didn't risk anything.

"I guess…" she admitted finally, feeling like she was dragging nails out her throat with each word; "I just…_How_ are you so calm about this?"

Aedan looked ahead as well, frowning at her question.

"…I don't know." He admitted after a – it felt like – long pause; "I suppose I should still be distraught: Howe's sent assassins after me, probably my family as well – he knows where my mother is, but…You're right."

"…Come again?" she almost stumbled right there, only managing to catch herself with the staff as support. Even though she couldn't really _see_ Aedan's expression, her eyes were focused on his face, blinking slowly as she struggled to comprehend the unexpected admittance.

"Gilmore is there, all the knights are there. My mother is safe at the castle…" he blew out air as they walked, ignoring the banter from behind; "In a way…I suppose it's your doing."

"Flattery's a poor way of deflecting concern, Aedan." She bit him down, then couldn't resist adding with a small smile; "Though… it's still appreciated."

"I figured it was." He shrugged, regaining a bit of his carefree attitude. Up ahead, they were nearing the village by the bridge; "Still, doesn't make it any less true."

"Thanks, I guess…" Talia muttered, fingering her braid. It was a bit longer now, and thicker, what with all the time that had passed without a chance to cut her hair. Still, as long as it didn't get in her face, she could live with it. The ideal length of a woman's hair, Mother always said, was the ideal combination of practicality and beauty. Usually, this was hair reaching just the tips of her shoulders, then met the tips of a pair of scissors.

That, or everything gathered in a long braid. Braids were good, she'd learned from assorted fairy-tales Mother had told her and her siblings when growing up. The strong heroes and warrior-men had powerful arms and beards, while the deadly and vindictive women, be they with sword or magic, would have long, thick braids. It was like… she wasn't sure, but maybe a woman's braid was a bit like a man's beard? She didn't have a beard, so she'd no idea.

"That makes us even." Aedan replied, his tone a bit less awkward than her own. They kept walking in silence until they reached the actual point where the road split, and a smaller version turned downwards for the village at the lakeside.

Secunda was already high in the skies, with Masser slowly coming up in distance. The central, celestial body was a lot bigger than its orbiting brother, which probably meant Secunda was Lorkhan's…_honesty_, while Masser was his intellect. Or something. Alistair took the lead into the village, his steps slow and tired. Not that Talia blamed him. At all.

She was pretty damn beat herself, physically and emotionally both. Still, they'd reached Kinloch hold. Now they just had to get across the lake, manhandle a few of the docile mages and haul ass back to Redcliffe where Connor would be freed, and everyone would have a happy ending.

Talia knew she had fucked up the _moment_ that thought went through her mind.

"It's the Wardens! Kill them!"

No sooner had their group entered the central square, which really was just a clearing between the houses and the apparently only tavern in town, than at least fifteen heavily armed soldiers and mercenaries had emerged from the shadows and alleys, swords drawn.

"J'zargo would like it to go on record that he doesn't like Ferelden." The Khajiit growled as his claws started shooting sparks between them.

"Seconded." Brelyna joined in, her hands in contrast vibrating with dark energies.

"Hey! I _like_ Ferelden!" Alistair called out, taking up a defensive stance. Somehow, he managed to use his completely casual, 'witty voice' when he spoke.

"You were born here too. You don't _know_ any better." Talia muttered, then turned to the amassing opponents; "I don't suppose there's a way we can all just _not_ kill each other? I'm honestly a little tired…"

The arrow whizzing close enough by her head to rip her hood down, was all the response she got.

"Damn…this is why I keep losing sleep…" she grumbled to herself, whipping around her staff as she sent a bolt of lightning at the closest attacker. The plasmatic projectile hit her target with such force that he was tossed backwards into a wall. He didn't get back up, not that she'd have spared him if he had. She simply shifted her aim to the next attacker, and sent him flying with a fifty-kilo Two-Sock on his chest.

Gods, she _loved_ that staff.

And Two-Sock, of course.

"Great-" Daveth growled, pulling his daggers, swiping them forward and downwards towards his attackers, of which there were two. When one moved his own sword up to block, Daveth kicked him between the legs, then turned his attention to the lunging second; "I'm not really a fan of close encounters."

This was where he then vanished into the shadows, but Talia was a little too busy to keep an eye on him, and thus missed the neat trick. What was it with dual-wielders and sneaking around in this country?

"Just shut up and die!" Alistair's opponent, a man wielding a maul, yelled as he hammered at the blonde's shield. Alistair was sent to his knees under the force of the blows, barely managing to keep up his defense. Relief came when one of Leliana's daggers all of a sudden found itself embedded in a gap beneath his right armpit; "_My ARM!_"

"Follow your own advice!" Alistair had managed to get back on his feet, and slammed his shield at the screaming man's face. Due to the man's helmet, he was merely staggered, rather than thrown back from the blow, and Alistair had to dodge to avoid the poorly aimed, one-handed swing the attacker sent his way; "OR not, whatever makes you happy!"

Most of the attackers, while they seemed intent on gutting the mages first, seemed somewhat reluctant to get close to Brelyna. The dark-skinned girl grinned with feral glee as she threw her frost Atronach straight at a cluster of mercenaries, then whipped out a Flame version that started pelting the surrounding men with fire.

One of them didn't see where he was going, just focused on getting the _Hell_ away from the flaming demon, as he no doubt saw it, and thus was less than prepared for a shield to shatter his nose and break his teeth. Aedan, on the other hand, took what advantages he could get when outnumbered, and proceeded to put his sword through the man's stomach. He wasn't given time to celebrate though, as two more, one wielding a pair of hatchets, came at him with murder on their minds.

One, however, seemed suddenly all the more focused on the cat-like creature that was riding him to the ground. J'zargo nearly ripped the man's head from his shoulders when he maimed him with electrified claws. Aedan refrained from giving the cat more attention, mainly because the sight was a bit more gruesome than he'd like, but also because the other attacker was still very much up for grabs.

Taking the initiative, Aedan bashed at the man with his shield, only for the mercenary to burry both hatchets in the Highever sigil, staggering the young Cousland with numbing force. Honestly, it felt like he'd been on the receiving end of a magical _zap_, or just electrocution, and when the man whipped his axes around for another strike, Aedan could – somewhat idly – understand why. Both weapons seemed to glister with lightning, meaning they were probably enchanted.

"Di-!" as the axes came down, they found themselves lacking hands to wield them. The mercenary had been smacked aside by a flaming projectile, the impact sufficient to send him afire across the cold dirt. He was still alive though, even as a vivid Breton came running after him.

Wordlessly, and not offering the man even the smallest of chances, Aedan watched as Talia kicked him back down to the ground, then jammed the flat, yet sharp tip of her staff into his face. A wet _crunch _could be heard, and blood sprayed outwards, gleaming in the sharp light of the moon. Aedan's attention was then drawn to the sound of rapidly approaching, heavy boots, and he turned to face the next attacker.

Who turned out to be a Templar. Who also turned out to _not_ be an attacker, but actually on their side. Aedan took good graces for what they were, and shifted his attention elsewhere as soon as he saw the templar, who actually turned out to be unarmed, nonetheless knock a mercenary senseless with a solid punch from his heavy gauntlet.

Talia, meanwhile, was splitting her attention between three bastards, two of them tossing everything from axes to arrows her way, while the third was swinging a one-sided cleaver at her face. Having to constantly either dodge flying objects or rely on the wrought metal covering her staff to keep her safe, was safely said, mildly stressing.

When one of the thrown knives came just _too_ close to spearing her thigh, she vaulted backwards over a barrel, then kicked said barrel at the cleaver-swinger. He just kicked it aside with a grunt, and came for her again. Talia slashed at him with the sharp end of the staff, then whirled it around as he skidded back and sent a fireball at the closest knife-tosser.

The fireball turned the offender into a living candle, flickering as he ran around and screamed. The spectacle was enough that his compatriot was distracted, and thus failed to notice the lumbering atronach sneaking up on him. Contradicting as that was for the Frost Atronach, he found himself impaled with a wet crunch, as the spiky-hand-thing stabbed through both his chainmail and his body.

All in all, he looked like a rather macabre Solstice-decoration.

Seeing his compatriots killed, no doubt, was what caused her final opponent to toss caution to the wind, and charge straight at her with an expression of senseless rage. Talia's growl as she prepared to freeze the man over, turned into a confused frown as a heavily armored newcomer punched the mercenary in the head, hard enough to knock him down. _Damn, it's nice to see others actually helping…_

Her grateful thoughts turned to a distasteful scowl as she recognized the visage of a templar, this one unarmed for some reason. He'd probably been inside the tavern, stumbling out in a drunken ruse the moment he heard there was a fight. Go pissing figure. So instead of nodding her planned thanks to the templar, she turned around and took her frustration out on the heavy-set man trying to pummel J'zargo into the ground with a warhammer. The firebolt contained enough rage, or just careful aim – she didn't care which – that it set the man afire and fleeing instantly upon impact.

And then the fight was over.

"Are you unharmed?" a woman asked.

"_Shit_!..." the Breton panted, wiping sweat from her brow as her eyes shifted to the speaker. Her brows rose in confusion when she realized it had been the templar; "What? You're a _woman_?"

Which sort of rose some uncomfortable questions she'd rather not give voice to.

"I believe we're all uninjured." Alistair replied before it got awkward; "Nothing serious, anyway. You have our thanks, Ser...?"

"Knight-Lieutenant Ava, Ser Warden." The woman replied, lifting her bucket up and clear of a surprisingly mild face. Auburn hair was tied up in a bun not unlike Eleanor's, a pair of practical bangs framing the face. She was…pretty, sort of, and – Nope. Nope. Talia was _not_ sympathizing with templars. No way. They were cold-blooded murderers. Even if one seemed to be a woman; "It is fortunate no one was severely injured. But, why are you here?"

"With the army lost at Ostagar, Ferelden needs a new armed force to stand against the Blight. The Grey Wardens have a treaty with the Circle of Magi to provide mages for one such force." As he spoke, Alistair presented the old, musty scrolls that despite age and neglect still looked fresh from the press…if Fereldans even _used_ book-presses. So far they seemed to severely lack in some areas; "But, none of us wear heraldry, how did you know we were Wardens?"

"..Her." Ser Ava pointed past Alistair, to where Brelyna seemed to do her best to conceal herself behind her hood, Talia's grip on the staff tightened, ready to send Ser Ava a good fifty yards into the lake if she as much as scowled at her friend; "No doubt you have seen the warrants by now, one which states that the Wardens travel with a red-eyed elf…Have no fear: few amongst our order ever believed you would betray Ferelden, and we still do not."

The fact that Brelyna was suddenly known enough to make warrant-description, was more than a little concerning.

"What, they do not mention the _glorious_ Khajiit?" Daveth asked in a mock-voice that was so dead-on J'zargo that he only lacked the purr. When Ser Ava stared at him, he shrugged and pointed at J'zargo, who was sitting on one of the big, dead guys. Even in the darkness, Talia could see the templar-woman blink repeatedly as she stared.

"…no, they…didn't mention a cat-man." She muttered, seemingly somewhere between disbelief and…whatever was between disbelief and horror. Shock, maybe; "Regardless, I fear your quest is in vain if you came here seeking help."

"T'is not a surprise: things _were_ proceeding far too smoothly for something _not_ to be amiss." Morrigan gave a surprisingly exasperated, but still humored, scoff. She also seemed to ignore the way Ava clearly examined her; "You wish to bar us entrance, I assume? Obeying the orders of the Wardens' opponents?"

"Not quite." Ava shook her head, helmet held in the crook of her arm. It was so…strange, seeing a person underneath one of those inhuman buckets. Talia didn't like the mixed emotions it caused her when Ava's expression visibly both hardened and fell; "The Circle has fallen to demons."

The ensuing silence was so intense one could have heard the fish surface across the lake. In the end, Talia's grunt of restrained, vindictive amusement was what broke the silence, causing more than one set of eyes to glare at her. Ava's was the only _really_ intense one though, the rest more like berating and disappointed stares, really.

Well, sod them. None of them, save for Jowan – who just looked extremely uneasy at the presence of a templar – had been prisoners in that place.

"Do you find our plight_ amusing_?" Ava growled, eyes shooting sparks. Literally. Whatever the hell Templars were taught, it had Ser Ava's eyes light up with _visible sparks of lightning_, if small.

"Sad as it is, yes." Talia shook her head to get rid of the inappropriate grin; "I'm just loving the irony of it, that's all. You people go to all this trouble, barbarism included, to prevent demons from taking over, and what happens? Demons _take over_."

"You are a mage." Ser Ava said. It wasn't a question, as much as a statement.

"What gave me away, the staff?" Talia replied, crossing her arms as she sensed a veiled threat behind Ser Ava's voice. This was… better. She found it easier on her mind now that Ser Ava was back in the role of mage-hater, not human.

"You came from this tower." When she stiffened at Ava's words – she had_ not_ expected the woman to know_ that_ – the templar continued; "You were the newly harrowed girl the Warden-Commander recruited."

"And my name is Talia, unjustly imprisoned mage of Winterhold in your tower, vengeful friend of murdered mage, and Grey Warden. Good, now, _what_ do you mean exactly with the Circle having fallen to demons?" while slightly reassuring to her image of templars, the verbal sparring was wasting time; "And what does it mean for us?"

"Obviously, it means we might not _get_ any mages at all." Alistair explained when the templar still appeared somewhat stunned. He turned to Ser Ava; "I assume that means the Knight-Commander has invoked the Right of Annulment?"

Alistair's question was returned with a hesitant nod;

"In a sense, yes. He cannot carry it out at the moment, with too many of our order having fallen to the demons and possessed mages within, so the Knight-Commander sent for reinforcements from Denerim."

"I'm not going to like the answer, but…" and here Talia took a deep breath; "What _is_ this Annulment Right?"

"A complete purge of the Circle." Ava's voice was devoid of emotions, distant as if she was somewhere far off. If there was regret in there somewhere, Talia failed to hear it; "The execution of every man, woman and child within."

Talia's inhale was so sharp it almost made her pass out as she stood. The world started blurring, spinning around fast enough that Secunda almost became its own halo in the skies.

"Maker damn it…" Alistair cursed; "How long ago was the messenger dispatched?"

"Half an hour ago, roughly." Ser Ava replied, though Talia was hardly able to comprehend the woman's words. …_execution of every man, woman and child…man, woman and child- man woman and child-Man, Woman And Child – EVERY MAN, WOMAN AND CHILD_.

It was only Brelyna's hands on her shoulders that kept Talia from losing it right then and there. The fact that templars not only contemplated and carried out murder, but mass-murder of everyone in the tower, made her want to vomit and scream at the same time. The world had turned an odd shade of gray, and there was no sound whatsoever.

Everything else was very…_sharp_, though. Very clear. She could see Jowan's knees buckle and give in. Brelyna's horrified expression and wide eyes. J'zargo's tail fuzzing up. Aedan's jaw clenching, eyes wide. Morrigan's eyes shooting hard as flint. Leliana's lips moving in silent, anguished prayer. Daveth's expression slack from…something. Horror, maybe.

Lots of little details that made her contemplate insanity.

"…Good, that will give us some time." Were the first words she could hear when the world finally resumed having proper acoustics. A rare expression of dumfounded horror played across her face when she processed Alistair's words. Had he just…; "Thank you, Knight-lieutenant."

"Maker willing, I won't need to go to Denerim at all." The woman said, nodding her head slightly as she put the bucket back on. Before Talia could exclaim – to put it mildly – her distaste at the discussed action, Alistair pulled the group aside;

"Ser Ava was…_is_, the messenger sent for Denerim, but she's agreed to not go at all if we can offer our assistance instead." Why did it feel like his words were mainly directed at _her_? Had there been some more talking while the world'd gone gray and deaf? "That means if we somehow manage to clear this mess out, we might still get our mages."

"That's pretty fucked up, in my eyes." Talia wanted to spit on the ground, but found her throat dry as parchment; "When I left this place, I wanted nothing more than to one day return and leave it a hole in the ground…and now we're going to_ prevent_ it? If someone's in control of this, your god or ours', I hate their sense of humor... It's probably Sheogorath..."

Not to mention the fact that Alistair seemed merely frustrated – neither shocked nor surprised – at the mention of this 'Right of Annulment' thing. It was barbarity that made the Thalmor look good in comparison. _And here I thought the_ Harrowing_ was evil…It still is, but this..._

"Right, so I believe we should avoid going in there with the entire group." Alistair gave out the usual, witty voice that failed at concealing his seriousness, sounding like he hadn't really been listening to her rant; "Jowan, you'll _definitely_ stay out here."

"…I will." The former, what was the word? Apostate, nodded meekly. He still hadn't shaved, but at least the scruffy start of a dark beard made him look less of a young boy.

"I think it's best if you two stayed away from the tower as well." He then said to Brelyna and J'zargo; "Call me overcautious, but if the Tower's fallen to demons, the last thing we wanna do is to meet up with a dark-skinned, red-eyed elf and a walking cat. The Templars are probably...quite jumpy, right now..."

Good. Talia was afraid he'd have insisted on her classmates joining as well. She'd have electrocuted his hair white if he had.

"Considering your behavior around templars, I'd really rather you _both_ stayed out here…" the Senior Warden of the group said to her and Morrigan; "Still, going in there without at least one mage on hand would just be silly. Shallow as it might be, Talia, you'll pass easiest for _not_ being an apostate, plus being a Warden grants you immunity from the Chantry."

"Let's get-"

"That _does_, however, mean you'll _not _antagonize or harass any templars or mages we encounter once inside." The princeling's voice was stern enough to be her dad's, for all the youth it possessed; "If we encounter the First Enchanter, you'll abstain from smearing him over the walls."

"So, I can't even-"

"_Talia_?" his voice was even harder now.

"Yes, _Father_?" she shot right back, much to his obvious frustration; "I'll do my best to _not_ kill Irving on sight, but anyone make even the slightest indication they think I belong in their prison, I'll ashify them."

"…ashify?" Alistair blinked at her. Talia shook her head and pulled her hood back up. It was cold, and College-robes came enchanted with thermal-insulation enchantments, which was another reason she'd kept the hood even with her new dress-up. Plus, it felt good to be able to pull it up and feel...safer, somehow, with it as her screen against both the elements and the world.

"It means burn them really bad." She scoffed; "Now come on, or everyone's going to be dead by the time we get in there."

It wasn't before they'd reached the waiting boat, with a sniveling brat of a kid at the helm, that Talia realized _she_ had just been the one to demand they proceed to the tower. The realization hit her like getting slapped with a cold wet fish, then getting tossed into a river by said fish. Entertainment all those damned Bosmer wanted, _she_ didn't care for their '_fish-slap-dance'_, or whatever the piss they called it.

"I really gotta learn to shut up…" it was more or less just a ground out whisper to herself as she gave the waiting kid a glare sufficient that he visibly contemplated fleeing by means of jumping ship._ Shit, and here I thought _Morrigan_ would be good at scaring kids. Go me, or something…_

"You truly despise this place." Leliana said, somewhere between a question and a statement or maybe an observation.

"Am I _that_ transparent?" Talia dumped herself into the boat, much as she'd done when Duncan rescued her almost…how long now, a month ago already?

"I do not mean to stir up bad memories, but your friend, why was he…"

"Leliana. Just…stop. Just stop, okay?" because honestly, she didn't have it in her to tell the same tragic clusterfuck over and over. Leliana's expression grew somber, making Talia almost feel…bad, for brushing the other girl off like that; "It's just… not something I want to talk about, not _here_, at least."

"I understand." The redhead said in a low voice. Talia almost wanted to chuckle at that, if only because there was no way the 'innocent Sister' would know how it feels to lose one of your best friends in a prison. No way of helping him. Just suddenly find out he's gone.

"For your sake, I hope not."

The expression settling over Leliana's face brought a thought to mind with the Breton. As the small ferry sailed across the waters of Lake Calenhad, she remembered Leliana's surprisingly dark statement when they were sneaking into Redcliffe Castle. Daveth had remarked that he was talking about the dungeons of Denerim, – and Talia had so far guessed Denerim to be the capital, or at least a major city of Ferelden – whereafter the Sister had responded with a disturbingly simple confirmation that so was she.

Had she been taking Leliana's personality at face value?

"When we get in there, please let me do the talking." Alistair asked as the boat reached the docks; "It'll make the whole thing easier, I hope, and we won't have to kill people."

"I'm sensing a lot of that was directed at me…" Talia grumbled as she gave her senior Warden a flat look. Like he was nothing but cheese molasses. Instead of answering, Alistair just gave her a short nod, choosing silence as the diminished group made its way to the fronts doors of the tower.

The front doors. Divines, she'd hoped not to see those again. And yet, here she was, about to walk in through them. To the inside. Inside the Circle. Inside the mage-prison. Where Onmund had been killed. As she touched the iron-clad door with the palm of her bare hand, Talia once more felt the odd sensation like her soul gem was…vibrating, somehow. Which was impossible, because it was empty. Yet still, she could almost definitely feel_ something_ thrum with energy against her chest, but when she touched a pair of fingers to it, the gem was cold, smooth and still.

This place was messing with her mind.

And it didn't help that the first face to meet her eyes when she opened the doors with Alistair, was the old, armored fart who'd been with Irving when they woke her up the first time in her small cell. She couldn't remember his name, but damn if he didn't look just as righteously pissed as usual.

And yet, they were not important enough that he didn't first finish another set of orders;

"And I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times." He was nearly shouting, though without actually shouting. Odd, not that she cared though; "Do _not_ open the doors without my express consent. Is that _clear_?"

"Yes, Ser!" another bucket-head replied, scurrying around between groups of templars, plain-clothed individuals and one or two young boys. The Knight-Commander, which he was, now that Talia remembered, closed his eyes and pursed his lips;

"Now we wait, and pray…"

"I've met that guy _before…Bastard."_ Talia muttered under her breath, Alistair being the only one close enough to hear her, frowned;

"That's Knight-Commander Greagoir. I met him once, when I was in training... He always seemed like a level-headed guy, not this…drastic." Alistair explained, almost like he was apologizing for the man; "I guess this means Ser Ava was right: Locking the doors and throwing away the key was always, if I recall, emergency plan B. That and the Annulment, that is…"

"Oi, what's seems to be the problem here, Ser Templars?" Daveth had somehow moved all the way to Greagoir's position without anyone actually noticing him. The Templar commander blinked in wary surprise at the sudden appearance of the archer, and shot a judging gaze over the group proper. When his eyes seemed to linger on Talia, she shot him back a burning glare. He wasn't intimidated in the least;

"We are dealing with a very delicate situation here. You must leave, for your own safety."

"Ser Ava already filled us in more or less on what's happened here." Alistair stepped forward; "We were told the Tower has fallen to demons, and that you dispatched her for Denerim to secure reinforcements for the Annulment."

"She did…Have I, met you before?" Greagoir's eyes narrowed as they focused on Alistair.

"Once, Ser Greagoir, when I was in training as a Templar. Now, the Grey Wardens have need of the Circle's mages" Alistair seemed somewhat reluctant to say that out loud, though the older man's eyes widened just a little with recognition; "We convinced Ser Ava to hold off her journey to Denerim to give us a chance to clear out this mess."

"Plus we have the treaties, so we _can't_ leave without them." Aedan added in; "The Grey Wardens need more mages to combat the Blight."

Greagoir sighed loud enough to echo through the cavernous hall; "I am weary of the Wardens' ceaseless need for men to fight the Darkspawn, but it is your right…However, we templars can spare no men for your cause, and the mages are…indisposed."

"You mean 'about to get massacred', right?" Talia scowled, aware of Alistair's frustrated sigh the moment the words had left her.

"The Circle is no longer in our hands: the Tower has fallen." Greagoir replied, eyeing her like an angered, yet suspicious old bear. He obviously recognized her, when his eyes narrowed in irritation.

"Which of course gives you the right to just march in and slaughter the bunch." She shot back; "Stendarr's mercy, how the hell do you sleep at night?"

"Knowing that my men did what they could." He argued with an angry scowl, which almost immediately turned saddened. Talia ignored this. He was a murderous bastard, like all Templars, and she wasn't about to feel pity for his men; "But, it wasn't enough. We were prepared for one, maybe two abominations. Instead, we were overrun by a horde."

"So, what's your plan?" Alistair broke in, probably because he was a bit more knowledgeable on how Templars thought, which in itself was cause for being wary around him. Much as she _was_ starting to like him though.

"I would destroy the tower: raze it to the ground…" Greagoir replied with a what sounded like a voice that'd been spending the better part of the day shouting; "But I cannot risk my men more than they've already been through, and since you convinced the Knight-Lieutenant to remain, we have little other choice but to wait. We've sealed the doors, and they'll remain shut, protecting us until someone gets a message to Ser Ava to take off for Denerim again."

It was odd, for Talia, to hear a man stating how he wanted to raze the tower to the ground, and disagree with him. It was also hellishly annoying because it meant she was trapped between saving the tower, or agreeing with a Templar. She really rather would do neither, but there was no middle-ground here, so she took the side of those inside the tower, much as she loathed herself for it;

"So you just shut everyone else _in there_? Women, children, everyone? _Every unfortunate fuck whose only crime it was to be born different_, now they all just die because you bucket-heads couldn't do your job?" Yep, she was pissed and working herself into a rant now. Glorious; "Oh, you _excel _in the 'kill mages' part, but when it comes to protecting-"

"Talia." Alistair snapped, breaking her off as she sent the princeling a hot glare. Greagoir seemed more saddened than pissed at her outburst, which just infuriated her even more. She didn't like the feelings roaring through her mind when he looked_ sad_ at the prospect. He even had the balls to look hurt. Or, maybe he was. Not that she cared;

"Not just the mages. My own men are in there as well. I had no choice: the abominations must be contained at all costs. We do not mean for the doors to stay locked forever: When Ser Ava gets the message to head out again, she will return with reinforcements and a permission for the Right of Annulment."

"The fact that such a thing was even _considered_ by your _Order_," Talia ground out, her tone low and menacing, though she was too angry to really concentrate on making it menacing enough for the purpose; "just goes to show how utterly _fucked up_ your system is. I don't give a Horker's brown butthole about the Circle, 'long as it leaves me alone, but I was raised to prevent the suffering of subjects. Frankly speaking, I'd be _spitting_ on my upbringing if I just let you do this."

The fact that she often, _quite_ often at that too, _did_ spit on her upbringing, wasn't worth bringing up.

"What do you want me to do, open the doors?" Greagoir exclaimed, finally using some of that anger that wasn't reminding Talia of the fact that Templars were humans with feelings; "Just allow the abominations to pour out? It is the common people of Ferelden who matter, not those who are already lost. I would gladly give my own, and the life of any mage or templar to protect them: No abomination must cross the threshold."

"Don't have to. I'm going in there."

If her reply could possibly have shocked Greagoir more than it did, she couldn't imagine him widening his eyes more than they did. The silence that suddenly reigned the hall was deafening, and she could hear Leliana's heavy leather-shoes scrape over the tiles.

"I would say it's suicide, but…" Aedan offered meekly, a half-joking tone to his voice. The other half was trepidation; "Demons don't exactly seem to latch onto you."

"Because Magnus did his homework, while your Maker obviously didn't." she rolled her eyes at the way several heads turned to glare from underneath their buckets.

Greagoir looked like he might protest, but instead just nodded; "A word of caution, before you go in. Once you cross that threshold, there's no turning back. The great doors _must_ remain barred until I have proof that it is safe. If you can, find First Enchanter Irving and bring him to here. I will believe it is over when he tells me so. Until then, and if Irving as fallen, then the Circle is considered lost, and must be destroyed." The Knight-Commander said as he signaled for his men to open the great doors. The magical field practically slammed into the Breton, causing a sensation much akin to when a gust of wind blew her hair all over the place; "May Andraste lend you her courage."

"Frankly, I'd rather Stendarr lent a hand here, but I'll take what I can get…" she muttered, not caring if Greagoir heard her, and stepped through the opening with a forced determination she didn't usually possess. Not in this kind of place, where the echoes of screams, human and otherwise, could be heard the moment the doors opened; "Shit…this is just creepy…"

"We _soooo _should have brought Morrigan with us." Daveth grumbled as they passed a rack of organic-looking spikes, the top impaling a templar in three places: head, chest and…crotch. What was it with evil and testicle-torture? "...Ouch."

"…Too late for that now." Alistair replied as the massive doors swung shut behind them; "We're on our own."

As the group started into the Tower proper, Talia gripped her staff just a little tighter. Alistair's words were less than comforting, and caused her determined façade to crumple and become a bitter expression of stubbornness in the face of fear.

This was going to be bad.

* * *

**Yes, I know: I killed off Zevran. Let the rage hail over me and the Zevran-fans quit the story. Don't get me wrong though, I loved him in the game, but I just don't see the group willing to risk taking with them a man who minutes earlier yelled gleefully "Kill them! the Cousland dies here!". And frankly, I don't see Aedan abiding by it either. Like, at all. **

**Knight-Lieutenant Ava is...I don't actually remember if she was in the game of a character from another Fanfiction. Most likely both, so I'm not taking credit for her creation in the case of her being an already invented OC. Only her behavior, should she appear again later. Which, frankly, I think she will.**

**So, yeah. I used in-game dialogue for a fair bit of Greagoir's lines, but the man's damn near impossible to write otherwise, and his original lines make a lot of sense with the man's character being what it is. Greagoir is another person Talia hates that I personally like. He seemed to be what all Templars should aspire for. As a rule, actually, (with the exception of Howe) if Talia hates someone in the story, I most likely LIKE them. Weird, I know.**

**So, the entering group consists of Alistair, Aedan, Daveth, Leliana and Talia, just one person more than you could bring in the game, plus whatever Atronachs she might be able to conjure up. And the testicle-torture reference? That's just because.**

**Hope to hear from ya, seeing as reactions and reviews are the only way I really know if this is good or not. I do not possess the otherwise quite mundane skill called 'intuition'.**


	20. Terror given Form

**A fair warning: this chapter is a tad more brutal than the previous ones, so if you're faint of heart, maybe skip the first few sections until Wynne's lines start. It's fairly...graphic.**

* * *

_Arcane Thedas – _

_A study into the magic of Thedas_

_By Talia Aulus_

_Chapter 2 _

_The Fade._

_What _is_ it even? We don't really know for certain beyond what the Chantry teaches its subjects: that the Fade is the realm of spirits, demons and dreamers. For some reason though, Dwarves cannot enter. If only he knew what a curse he had escaped, maybe Varric would stop complaining at every chance._

_However, what this section will concern itself with is not so much the Fade as it is its inhabitants. By now, I doubt anyone alive has yet to see a demon with his or her own eyes. The sundering above Haven definitely gave everyone a good chance at seeing both the Fade and assorted demons up close. _

_T__he most common intruders into our world from theirs would be the Wraiths. Despicably nimble creatures of ethereal make-up, who seem to possess a strong enough connection to the Fade for them to pelt their surroundings with bolts of its corruptive energies. The Wraiths mirror us humans in that they have our shape and size above the waist, whereas below they are nothing but a hovering fog. They drift around, more impeded by gravity than by any terrain they seem to encounter._

_Suggested means of disposal: Fire, Lightning and physical impacts appear to have acceptable effect._

_T__he second-most common foes to appear after the veil was torn were the Shades. At first glance, they appear similar to a sloth demon, possessing the same color and average size. However, Shades seem to come in two varieties as current research states. The lesser Shades are by far the most common, and are the ones typically confused with Sloth demons. The greater Shades seem to adorn themselves with a uniform, of sorts, consisting of a feathery rack down their backs, not unlike the top of a Legate's helmet. Both hover inches above the ground, floating around with a sluggishness concealing the actual speed they can suddenly move with. Threatwise, they are normally only dangerous in close combat, using powerful claws to tear apart even steel plate._

_Suggested means of disposal: Fire, Lightning and physical impacts also here appear to have acceptable effect, with fire being the most potent by far. Weapons sheathed in fire will usually cut the Shades apart with little difficulty._

_T__he third-most common foes would be either the Rage Demon or the Terror, both of which are luckily somewhat rare sightings on the battlefield.  
The Rage demon seems to be made of a Fade-version of fire, burning with blistering heat, though without actually catching anything near it aflame. Current assumptions lie on the fires being deliberate, controlled by the demon in every aspect._

_Suggested means of disposal: Lightning, Ice and physical or arcane impacts seem to have the greatest effect. Fire, naturally, have little impact on these creatures._

_The Terror, true to its name, is a nightmare to merely behold. I have consulted scholars both in Thedas and Tamriel, and neither seem to believe Vaermina created it. Still, the name fits its bearer, as the Terror is a gangly creature with over-long arms and legs, carrying a humanoid body with a faceless head, having only a large mouth, on top. The Terror's skin is a sickly beige or yellow, with tints of red underneath the soles of its feet. Its threat consists of the claws on its hands and feet, both of which cut through armor with relative ease. While preferable to engage this creature at a distance, such is often difficult due to the Terror's ability to seemingly open small, brief tears in the Veil by itself, once in our world, then using those to appear, quite literally, at the unlucky victim's feet. _

_Suggested means of disposal: Fire, Lightning, and plentiful amounts of both._

_Even so, it is a fact of Thedasian magic that their mages are under a great deal of duress. Far more so even than I in my younger days assumed. Demons do not _need_ a rift or a tear in the Veil to enter our world. The only thing they need is a resource that is terrifyingly ready and available to them: mages. _

_While the mages of Tamriel do not need fear for demons in their dreams – as for reasons unknown only the inhabitants of Thedas enter the Fade upon sleep – this is for the simple reason that our magic does not stem from the Fade such as the magic of Thedas does, but from our connections to Atherius. As such, when we sleep, our minds remain our own, and sleep is as such a welcome reprieve for any and all weary souls in Tamriel._

_Any Thedasian mage who sleeps, however, enters the Fade and thus provides a tempting meal for the demons of this otherworldly dimension. When such an event takes place, the mage in question faces a very real risk of possession by the demon. _

_It is, sadly, for this very reason that the people of Thedas prefer to lock their own brothers and sisters up in towers, rather than risk them turning in the village square._

_The results of a turned mage are…gruesome._

* * *

**Terror given Form**

* * *

Bodies.

Dozens of them. Everywhere one looked: Bodies.

Talia had to hold a hand over her mouth as the group passed through abandoned dormitories and desolate hallways. The cavernous rooms that had once held students, children included, were now silent tombs for their former occupants. Mages and templars lay strewn about with generous hand, expressions twisted in horror and agony where 'abominations' had ripped them apart. The smell was nauseating, far too powerful to be natural rot.

Here and there, a grotesque mass of flesh and tattered robes would lie in a pool of viscous blood, cut and burnt enough that it was clear the dead around it had not gone down without a fight. In a corner inside the second dormitory, the very same Talia herself had woken up in after her Harrowing, two templars lay slain before a small group of dead mages, a larger group of abominations and unworldly horrors dead before them.

The Templars had obviously died to save their charges, for all the good that had done them. Talia couldn't look away from where the robed corpses lay piled, bloodied and torn to shreds by claws and fire. Her mouth tasted of bile. _Poor_ _fucks_.

But the worst were the children.

Kids, not even Oren's age, would every so often come to view when Talia rounded a drawer of closet. Tiny, broken bodies with cold fingers desperately clutching small stuffed animals for support, or torn rags they'd sought to hide behind. The Breton stopped her eyes before they wandered to too many faces, all sharing the same expression of horror, confusion and a disbelief that sufficient evil to harm a child existed in this world.

"Stendarr and Mara…" she didn't care that no one else in the room followed the Divines. She still offered a prayer for the dead, mainly the children. Stendarr for the Justice that needed to be done, for strength against whatever horrors she would soon encounter. Mara, for her compassion towards the children. They needed that, if their souls were as lost as their expressions seemed distraught.

"This is bad…Really, really bad…" Alistair muttered, his voice as hoarse as hers. Talia didn't even have to look at him to know he was trying not to look at the dead. But there were _so many_, it was impossible to avert her gaze from one corpse, and not find another no matter where she looked; "Maker, even the children…"

"Abominations and Demons spare no one…They are jealous and cruel, indifferent to our suffering…unless they even _enjoy_ it." Leliana's voice was the hardest Talia had yet to hear it, thick with restrained emotions that just wanted _out_. The arguments with Greagoir were already forgotten to the Breton, her mind now instead filled with images of the dead.

Amidst the fear, the horror and the disbelief, something else started stirring inside her.

Anger.

Anger at the evil, the needless cruelty that had borne this hellscape into being. The walls were coated with a red, sickly organic mass, sticking to the surfaces and slurping as it seemed to shift on its own. Anger, at the way so many had been mercilessly slaughtered, at the way children would never again see their parents. Anger, for the little hands clutching their stuffed animals.

"Maker have mercy…" It wasn't Leliana, Alistair or Aedan who spoke, but Daveth as the archer stopped dead in the corridor, swaying on his feet. Talia made her way towards him, even as the man continued; "Oh…Oh Shite…Shite…_Shite_!"

When she reached him, Talia had to turn herself away instantly, and painted the wall with vomit as she pressed her eyes shut for tears. Between them and the next door, lying on her back, a little girl with blonde pigtails and blue eyes had tried fleeing the massacre. Only one half was on the group's side of the closed door.

The wood was soaked in blood not yet dry.

Leliana, when she saw the scene, followed Talia's example, and retched onto the floor.

Talia's mind was swimming, a haze of nauseating horror and wrath mixing together in whatever fog her brain brought forth to dull her thoughts from the disgustingly evil sight before her. The little girl's eyes were glazed over in an expression of disbelieving surprise, dried trails running from her eyes down her cheeks.

If this was going to be what awaited them the throughout the entire Tower, Talia had rather seen Greagoir burn it to the ground. There was no way her sanity would survive this intact if everywhere was like this.

"We…we should…continue." Alistair managed to speak up, strained as his voice was. The agreement died in her throat as she realized what his words implicated: They had to move the dead body to go through. More bile wanted out, but was swallowed back down as Talia simply nodded. The others did as well, and Alistair knelt down, his face red with barely suppressed grief, and gingerly lifted the upper half of the dead girl from the floor.

When the small body left the floor, and innards started spilling out onto the feet of a horrified Alistair, Talia wasn't able to withhold a second wave of her stomach splashing over the tiles. _Divines…_

There was no answer from the gods, only the constantly echoing moans and wailing from further within the tower. Talia was, in the midst of this horrorscape, glad her classmates were not here to see it.

"This place…_Gods_, what in Oblivion…" she couldn't muster additional words, as Alistair opened the door with a slow creak, revealing the lower half of the body. The dissection had been so clean that the severed spine shone brightly as it glistered with blood. Intestines, far too many for it to be real, floated on the tiles like fat snakes from within the corpse. When the vomit rose again, and Talia smacked her hands over her mouth, it instead started spilling out her nostrils, burning and choking her as she gagged.

She didn't even register Aedan's hand on her shoulder, the other holding her hair as she gave in and retched the last of her stomach's contents out onto the ground. This was too much. She wanted to turn around, flee for the doors and bang on them until the Templars let her out.

But she knew she couldn't.

Molag Bal's private dimension made manifest as this obviously was, she knew she couldn't turn back. If she did, she'd be no better than the Templars who'd fled. But she was starting to understand why they had.

"We should continue…Can you walk, Talia?" Aedan's voice penetrated her sphere of disgust, and she turned to face him, cooling vomit clinging to her face. He withdrew a piece of cloth from somewhere, and gently wiped the smelly substance from her chin and upper lip. The retching had left her temporarily devoid of speech, so instead she merely nodded slowly, and accepted his hand when it helped her back up; "Daveth?"

When at first she thought Aedan was going to hand her over to the archer, Talia realized that Daveth hadn't moved an inch since he'd come across the halved body. His usually jesting and calm expression was replaced by wide, glazed eyes and a slack jaw. If he hadn't been standing, she might've taken him for a corpse.

"…yes?" his voice was far away, distant like Greagoir's had been. His eyes only slowly moved from thin air to Alistair, Leliana and then Aedan; "…I…

"Come on, we need to get moving." Alistair's voice was urgent, but not indifferent to Daveth's obvious distress; "I heard shouting up ahead, not far away. There may be survivors."

"…Right." It was fairly easy to hear that the determination in Daveth's voice was forced, and not real, but the fact that he still was able to speak clearly was testament enough to his resolve. Closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath, Daveth stepped past the dead girl and walked with long, shaking strides towards the next door, as no one felt like examining the next dormitory as well. Survivors would have heard them if there'd been any.

The corridor curved slightly towards the left as they walked in silence. Talia relied on Aedan's hands to even keep walking, and both her hands were occupied with either clutching her staff or him for support. Gods, if Father saw her now, he'd…most likely be far more concerned at the events taking place within the tower than his daughter's reaction to it. Shit.

The worst part about her weakness, viewed objectively, was that it wasn't even physical. Her mind was utterly wracked with horrid images of death and blood, and her knees were shaking under the stress of fear suppressing the anger she'd felt at the injustice of the situation. When Alistair forced open the heavy door ahead of them and stepped in, she followed without even bothering to process the view before her, expecting it to be the same as before.

Except that it wasn't, not quite. From where she came into the room, she stared straight across it to a shimmering field of blue energy. On the other side of it, a familiar sight tried slipping through the magic field as it moved on a single, snail-like foot. The fiery demon growled and roared as a surge of energy without warning slapped it down, pounding it with arcane blast after blast until it finally gave an enraged howl and fell through the stone floor.

When Talia finally had the presence of mind to look slightly to the right, she saw the blasts' source. An old woman in red robes, wielding a staff that looked like it could crack a skull if need be. The old woman's eyes were set with weariness and suspicion, and it took the shell-shocked and younger mage several seconds to recall why this old mage was so familiar.

"…you?" it was far from eloquent, but with her mental state being what it was, it was actually surprising she even had the initiative to speak up. She remembered the old woman from her stay here, and Ostagar as well. Wynne, was her name. She was one of the more senior mages at the tower, which had to be the reason she was still alive.

Her, and the dozen kids and younger mages huddled around the room's corners, hiding behind pillars and mages older than themselves. There even was a templar, who, much as Talia normally wouldn't have tolerated the notion – current circumstances forced her distaste for the armored men straight down the latrine – was a clear source of the safety the children clung to. Much to her surprise, Talia recognized him as well; "…and, you?"

"Come no further, Grey Warden or…Is it _you_?" Wynne replied, her stance shifting to confusion when she obviously recognized the people she'd met at Ostagar. Doubt and confusion played across her features in flashes, replacing themselves with anger and distress in-between; "Are you finally here to witness the fall of the Circle?"

"No…" Talia muttered in return, too wracked with shock to mount a defensive rant against the old woman. Honestly, she was also way beyond caring at this point. She just wanted this to end. _And I cannot even walk back and demand to be let out…and if I blew a hole in the wall, those…_things_, could escape as well…_; "We're just…here to help…and because we need your help as well…"

The anger in Wynne's gaze practically evaporated as she ran her eyes over the group. Of the lot of them, Talia dully realized, only Aedan and Alistair walked straight. Daveth was swaying on shaking legs, and Leliana was looking sick with sweat and tremors.

"…you saw the bodies." It wasn't a question, and it wasn't voiced as one either. Wynne just sighed as she seemed to take their expressions as answer enough; "And I assume you were told the Circle had already fallen…did the Templars ask you to partake in the Annulment?"

"No, and we managed to stop the messenger sent for reinforcements. Greagoir was willing to let us try getting through before resuming his request for it." Alistair explained when it was clear Talia wasn't able to respond.

"But he sent for it, then?" the Templar asked in a defeated tone as he stepped forward, his eyes bearing deep bags underneath, and his blonde hair smeared with dried blood. Talia only dimly recognized him, at least completely, when she heard his voice. His appearance was too harried to make out. When she nodded, he bit back a curse; "Damn it, I was afraid they might have… But what else could they do, really? If they assume we're all either dead or possessed, there's nothing else left. The Knight-Commander must believe we're all dead…he wouldn't take such steps if he still had hope."

"Regardless of Greagoir's hopes, he _has_ abandoned us to our fate, Cullen. But even trapped as we are, we have survived…"

"Not if he invokes the Right of Annulment." Cullen groaned tiredly, weary eyes going over the children and young mages if the room. Talia only now noticed that some of the scrawny boys carried short swords; "…If they do, we won't be able to hold…"

"How…did all this happen?" Leliana whispered, looking at her surroundings; "_So much death_, how could this come to be?"

Not even Daveth in his state could have missed the way Wynne's eyes hardened in anger at the question, and Talia felt for the first time the raw _power_ radiating from the old woman. She had underestimated her from the beginning, that much was clear.

"Let it suffice to say that we had something of a revolt on our hands. Uldred, when he returned from Ostagar, led a coup to take over the Circle…" Wynne's lips pursed in a sardonic grimace; "as you can see, his plan didn't quite work as intended. I do not know what became of him, but I am certain this is all his doing, somehow. I will _not_ lose this Circle to one man's stupidity and pride."

"What do we do? This is your tower, you would know better than we." Aedan asked as he did his visibly best to straighten, one arm still slung under Talia's to keep her legs from betraying her.

"I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower. With Cullen's help, I made it so that no demon or abomination could get through to harm the others." Wynne explained to the group as she walked among them, placing blue-glowing hands on their backs as she went. Talia wasn't sure_ what_ the woman healed, nothing was _physically_ wrong with her, but her legs ceased trembling when the older woman's hand had left her back; "As long as the barrier holds, you will not be able to pass through to the rest of the tower. I will dispel it, if you join with me to save this Circle."

Had Talia _not_ been mentally scarred for life at the things she had seen walking through the corridors, she might have been so petty as to turn the woman down, or at the very least find the irony amusing, like she'd done when Greagoir presented his case earlier. Now, she merely nodded in confirmation.

"Once the Knight-Commander sees we have made the tower safe, no doubt he will recall the Annulment and have the others stand down." Cullen added, his voice rough and trembling, likely from the stress he'd been subjugated to.

"I fear I must ask that you remain here, Ser Cullen. Look after the others, they will need protection once the barrier is no more." Wynne's words clearly upset the man. Cullen's brows furrowed and his jaw set hard.

"Petra and Kinnon are-" he began heatedly, only for Wynne's calm voice to stop him;

"-injured, tired and in need of your protection." Wynne's eyes went to a pair of mages, both women and hardly a year older than Talia; "Far more than me, I suspect."

"If you believe it wise, Wynne…I will abide." Cullen sighed, a groan behind it as he stood straight, blowing a final huff of hot air; "Andraste walk with you."

"And Maker watch over you, Ser Cullen." Wynne replied as the group stepped up to the shimmering field. When Cullen was far enough away, Wynne's voice lowered to a soft mutter; "…I am somewhat amazed at his resilience through this."

Talia realized with a start that the comment wasn't just broad speech, but meant for her in particular. Swallowing her resentment at the situation, she looked back at where the Templar gathered the rest of the children, robed or no, in the corner of the room with the few adult mages as well. Biased as she was, she could still see that the young ones trusted the templar.

"He…seems like a good man."

"He is. Young and naïve, maybe, but his sanity has been retained throughout this nightmare." Wynne replied knowingly as she dispelled the shield, and they all stepped through the now cleared doorway. Behind them, Cullen drew his sword as the adult mages started working on getting a new barrier up.

"Was he the only one to survive…_this_?" Talia found herself asking, curious in spite as they made their way through the darkened corridors. Wailing and roars could still constantly be heard echoing through the rooms.

"In truth, he almost wasn't…"Wynne's lips seemed like they could not decide whether to settle on a sad frown or a small smile, then chose the frown; "he was caught in a barrier of sorts when this started. I suspect he would still be trapped there, had it not been for Cíada. She broke the barrier and helped him escape the demons. I believe she also managed to kill quite a few of them…"

"Could she help us, then, if she managed to…She died, didn't she?" Talia's question was punctuated with a defeated sigh. It was just their luck, really. Wynne's lips pursed into a thin line;

"When Cullen arrived at the barrier, he looked behind him as if to make sure she was there…" Wynne's tired sigh conveyed enough that Talia was starting to get an idea as to why Cullen had wanted to come with them; "When he saw that she was not, and that we had survivors in need of protection, Cullen chose his duty over personal feelings…"

"Rage Demon!" Alistair's shout was early deafened by the roar the demon made as it rose from the floor like a plume of smoke. Its face, if it could be called that, was a stretch of marred tissue burned beyond recognition by the still smoldering flames flickering throughout its body.

Talia whipped her staff out and smacked the demon across the room and into a book-shelf with a lightning bolt. When the towering shelves collapsed and caught fire on top of the demon, Talia expected the fiery bastard to pop out and resume its attack.

When it did, she repeated hers, this time following it up with a shard of ice through its head. The demon lost its footing and skidded backwards, offering a final howl of rage before Wynne flattened it with a blast of arcane energy. It sunk back into the floor with a hateful cry, echoing throughout the room.

"Well, that worked…" Daveth offered, lowering his bow. He hadn't even managed to get a single arrow off before the two mages had sent the demon back to whatever dark hole it crawled out of. Technically it would be a tear in the Veil, but Talia didn't have the mindfulness to remember that right now; "Where'd this First Enchanter Irving be at, you think?"

"Let us try his office, first." Wynne's eyes went idly to the ceiling, like she was trying to peer through the stone. Talia didn't put it past Thedasian magic, alien as it sometimes was, to have that in storage; "If not, then we must simply proceed until we do find him."

"So essentially, we wade through all the demons? You know, the demons too numerous for all the Templars in the entrance hall to deal with?" Aedan asked with a dubious tone to his voice, making it clear that he wasn't a fan of it; "Those demons?"

"Yes, those demons." Was all Wynne offered in return, then whipped forward her staff as a grotesque hulk of flesh, one of those abominations, came wandering into view, followed by first one, then two of similar make. Piss; "As well as the abominations. I fear there are quite a lot."

Instead of an arcane blast, this time Wynne whipped her staff upwards, and the tiles beneath the first abomination bulged upwards and exploded, forming a fist that smashed into the monster, sending it flying. Before it started falling again, Daveth had already planted an arrow in its face – what _looked like_ a face anyway – and notched a second by the time it hit the ground with a wet crunch of meat tearing and bones breaking. Undeterred, its fellows surged forward, arms outstretched with mangling claws decorating each.

Suddenly, it wasn't all that hard to imagine how the templars had been ripped to pieces.

It didn't stop Aedan and Alistair from forming up as a wall between them though, swords pointed over the rims of their shields as they met the abominations head on. Even as they clashed, and Talia and Wynne shot fire and healed respectively, more surged from the large doorway, an almost mindless determination in their movements. Talia joined her group in hacking, slashing, shooting and blasting the creatures, even as she kept an eye on the doorway. With her luck, this wasn't even the worst they were going to come up against.

But anger made for oh so good a stamina draught, and she whipped the staff back and forth, fireballs shooting from one end before a bolt of lightning was shot from the other. Keeping the staff's center balanced, but in a centrifugal state meant that the offensive spells would pack more power. Which was good.

And because something was _good_ – relatively speaking – something _bad_ had to happen.

As she sent another abomination flying with a fireball catching it in the chest, if it could be called that, something _new_ stepped through the doorway. _Vaermina's blood! _

The creature was pale, its skin a sickly bright-yellow color like an infested wound. Its gait was gangly and awkward due to its long, thin legs and equally long arms fastened on a human-sized body, supporting a head that just _didn't have a face_. There was an impossibly large mouth centered in the front of the head, but nothing else. No eyes, no nose, no ears. Just the mouth, and rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth.

Talia decided she _didn't_ want that thing up close. She ceased casting spells, focusing more power into the Oblivion-runes near the end of the staff, and held it back when she felt the staff thrumming with ready power.

"Alistair, Aedan! Move to the side!" she yelled, releasing the spell in that same instant. Both did as she shouted with little to no hesitation, allowing the Blight Fire to sprint past, leaping over the heads of the regular abominations as it set a course for the new version.

When it reached it, the creature swiped at the burning wolf with its clawed hands, knocking the wolf to the ground. Not that it mattered, as the crumbled form still detonated in the next instant, a fireball swallowing its surroundings as the gangly creature vanished into the ground.

"Got you, you ugly fu-Fuck!" Talia's declaration became an exclamation as the ground beneath her feet swirled in a dark, sickly green vortex. Instead of sucking her down though, it spat out the gangly demon, knocking her back on her ass. She hit the floor, hard, but managed to drop her staff and roll with it, coming back up in a crouch, whereupon she grabbed the staff again.

"Wynne! _What_ _is_ that thing!" she yelled, jumping back as the demon swiped at her. The very tips of its claws scratched across her forearms, leaving long scratches in the steel. Had the runes been merely superficial, she'd have lost their use right then and there. To keep the demon away, she channeled fire into the blade and swung the staff around like a halberdier.

"It's a Terror!" Wynne's voice took on a tone of panic; "That means there _is_ a tear in the Veil somewhere close by."

"I don't care _what_ it means, I want to know-ugh!" Talia was interrupted when the Terror actually tried _biting_ her face off. She vaulted back, using the butt of her staff as a counterweight and slashed at the thing's offending mouth with the burning blade. Which was definitely ranking amongst the best things ever invented by the enchanters of High Rock; "-know how to kill it!"

"It's a demon, so lightning should work quite well." Why was it this thing completely ignored Wynne when the old woman was so close by? Couldn't she make a good distraction and allow Talia to fry its face off? At least it seemed to respect the fact that she was waving flaming steel at its face, even if it wasn't doing her much good, seeing how everyone else were locked in combat with something equally nasty.

So to buy some more time to think, she slashed at it again. This time though, she overdid it, and the demon got a grip on her staff. Try as she might, no matter how desperately she ripped and tore, Talia couldn't get her weapon free from the demon's grasp. Which was just about the biggest downside for any mage using a staff.

Instead, she let go of it and gathered both hands for a single lightning bolt. It would be considerably weaker than if she'd used the staff, – which was currently held by a momentarily confused demon, maybe it didn't know what to do if a mage just abandoned her staff - but it was still the most effective thing against demons.

Which meant when she released the spell, the demon recoiled and dropped the staff, leaping backwards and knocking over Leliana in the process. The girl had the bright idea to roll away the moment she regained her senses, leaving Talia to catch the falling staff with her foot, then yank it back up into her hands before blasting the Terror again with a more powerful strike of electricity. When the demon came at her again, now with an abomination in tow, she was ready for them, and hosed flames all over both from the round end of her staff.

The abomination shrieked and caught fire, flailing as it ran away. Blinded by the flames, the creature ran into another of the tall shelves, causing the entire thing to collapse and crush the abomination underneath a ton of books and boards. The Terror, however, was another matter entirely. When her flames had started charring its skin, it dove into another of the swirling holes in the floor.

Not wanting a repetition of earlier, Talia vaulted the moment this happened, and the demon thus came up on bare floor, instead of knocking over the Breton in the process. Before it managed to track her down – not difficult when she was right in front of it – Talia slashed the demon open from shoulder to waist with the burning blade, then stabbed the wailing creature with lightning as it prepared to dive again.

It was knocked on its scrawny ass, however, when Alistair did…_the thing_, that involved spreading his arms out, and a familiar pillar of light came from nowhere and slammed the demon to the floor. Taking her anger out on the downed Terror, Talia leapt forward and speared it through the head with the electrified staff-blade. With a final shriek, the demon dissolved into dust.

Compared to that, the rest of the group was a bunch of pushovers. Murderous, horrifyingly hideous monsters, yes, but still relative pushovers.

"I say…becoming a Warden is starting to involve more demons than actual Darkspawn, you know?" Daveth groaned as he nursed a place where something, a Rage Demon most likely, had singed his skin. Wynne had him look almost foolish when a snap of blue magic from her had his skin restored to its…not _pristine,_ but at least intact state.

"You could always apply for the Vigilantes." Talia offered with a shrug as she yanked the bladed end of her staff from an abomination's dead body, then watched as it dissolved and rotted away. Not liking the smell – or the _sight_, for that matter – Talia sped things up with a dose of flames; "I'm sure they'd be overjoyed to have any of us. We're killing more demons than…something. Damn, that was better when I was thinking it…"

The effects of the initial horrorscape were starting to let go of her, mainly due to her getting relief by killing scores of abominations and demons. The former might be tough, but they fell apart right quick when they got a dose of Wynne's 'floor-to-the-face', or Talia's lightning bolts. Either way worked.

"The Vigilantes, they are the Demon hunters of your homeland, yes?" Leliana inquired as she checked the shoulderpad she'd been forced to smack against the floor to get out of the Terror's way. Talia nodded;

"They're actually the ones hunting Daedra, not Demons…though honestly, having seen the Terror there…" she muttered, looking at where the damn thing had turned into dust like the world's creepiest reanimation; "…I'm starting to wonder just how much of a difference there are between the Daedra and these demons…haven't seen a Dremora yet though, so that's at least a small blessing…"

"What is this 'Dremora', you mention?" Wynne asked, one crinkled brow raised; "I am not familiar with the term."

"Oh boy…" Daveth sighed. Talia shot the archer a short glance, mostly because she was as frustrated as he appeared to be, and was the only one of the two who had the right to be so. She gave the room a quick scan, making sure no more monsters would be creeping from the shadows, or possessing the corpses of templars and mages both, so generously strewn about.

"Dremora are…It's a difficult question." Maybe that would save her having to launch into an explanation worthy of its own book while they were traversing a nightmarish tower of death and demons; "Suffice to say, they are much akin to a demon in a human body. The possession, if you will, does not horribly mutate the Dremora…" – basically because there never was a human there to begin with – "and the end result is a humanoid creature, often with dark or green skin, fangs and a will to slaughter just for the joy of it."

"…I see." Was all Wynne said, which annoyed the Breton to no end, though she refused to give voice to it. If Wynne would just focus on keeping them all healed, which was nice – no mistake there – Talia could focus a lot more of keeping the demons attacking them dead; "These stairs lead to the second floor."

"What's up there?" Daveth asked, notching an arrow already.

"…The chambers of those who have passed the Harrowing." Wynne almost sounded like she wasn't too keen on diverging that information. Not that Talia cared in the slightest about whether or not something was a Circle secret. Just because she was busting her butt trying to save its mages, didn't mean she had anything but contempt for the tower or its Circle in its own right. It was still a prison: she was just here trying to save the inmates; "As well as Irving's office, the upper libraries and the stockrooms…"

"So we'll find Irving up there?" Talia almost didn't dare hope for a 'yes', what with everything going completely off its knockers around her. The images from the first two minutes in the Tower still burned through her mind like Sheogorath had taken up residence in it. Which, she really hoped he hadn't done.

"We can only hope." Wynne's reply was not exactly a great motivator, but it seemed to work for Alistair, as he took the lead up the stairs. The way they twisted around on a one-eighty, reminded the Breton a great deal of the stairs to the Arch mage's office. The only difference was that said man's office was a great deal smaller than the room the stairs finally led them into.

Talia, eager to get a few meters between herself and the older mage, started walking towards a door centered in the middle of a nearby wall.

"Please refrain from going into the stockrooms…" the tranquil, deceptively calm voice almost made her jump out of her skin, and she instinctively whipped her staff towards the source of it. The man before her, semi-bald and dressed in dark-green and purple robes, didn't appear upset in the least; "It is a mess and not fit to be seen."

"Oblivion's piss! You scared the hell out of me!" the Breton hissed, lowering her staff as she realized how contradictive it was to be scared of survivors when that was just what they were hoping to find: someone _alive_.

"I apologize. It was not my intention." Again with a voice calm enough to lull a psychopathic serial-killer to sleep. And also enough to make her nerves twitch. There was something _wrong_ with this guy; "Wynne. I am glad to see you are well."

"Owain, you're alive." Wynne's voice took on just enough warmth to deviate from the tone she'd constantly been using on their group.

"What…are you doing up here?" Because honestly, Talia couldn't see what the hell could be important enough that this man kept working while up to the ears in demons; "Seriously, _what_ the hell are you doing?"

"I was trying to tidy up…but there was little else I could do…" when Owain looked her straight in the eyes, it was as if there wasn't a person in there at all. Normally, one would assume a man with a sun-tattoo to be a bit more…well, not _normal_, but lively.

"…and, you didn't just leave? Because?"

"I tried to, when things got quiet again. That was when I encountered the barrier. Finding no other way out, I returned to work."

"Is this guy…sane?" Talia's question caused Wynne's brows to furrow…Owain was seriously starting to unnerve the Breton ever so horribly. It was like he was…_tranquil_.

Julianos' ballsack, was _this_ what Jowan had meant when he described 'being Tranquil'?

"Owain, you should have said something." Wynne sighed, clearly irritated by the man. Talia's mind was elsewhere though, storming with questions and theories; "I would have opened the door for you."

"The stockroom is familiar: I prefer to be here" was all the reply Owain returned. Gods above, this man was utterly bonkers. Not strange that Jowan had mentioned preferring death to being made tranquil, if this was what it entailed.

"So…you're just going to stay here?" Aedan asked, half-joking, half-unnerved by the sound of it. When Talia glanced at him, he caught it and returned a worried nod. She had no idea _what_ he was nodding at, but nodded as well regardless of it.

"I would prefer not to die." _Prefer_? This man would 'prefer' not to die? Stendarr…; "I would prefer it if the tower was returned to the way it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all…But I would stay here in the meantime."

"Who's Niall?"

"He was at a meeting." Wynne muttered to her side; "Owain, succeed at what?"

"What meeting?"

"I do not know." Owain replied, and for a moment Talia thought he was talking to her; "He came through with several others, looking for the Litany of Andralia."

"The what of who?" when no one replied, Talia just scowled and tightened the grip on her staff. Wynne, however, actually answer her, sort of;

"But that protects against mind domination. Is blood magic at work here?" and _there _was the reason Alistair had not brought Jowan with them, it seemed. If the former Templar really _had_ thought that far ahead, Talia owed him a notch up in the intelligence-scales.

"I do not know." Owain muttered with a somber look, giving just the slightest of shrugs. Wynne scowled and turned to Talia and the others;

"Niall was at the meeting held when I returned from Ostagar." It sounded almost like she was talking to herself while looking at them; "He would know. Blood magic. I was afraid of this."

"Let's play ignorant here, and pretend I have no idea how Blood magic makes this worse…" Talia half offered, half asked with a frown as Wynne's eyes became disapproving of the ceiling. To be fair, there was a good bit of that red, organic and smelly stuff clinging to it. It reminded Talia of something worshippers of Namira, few that they were, would fancy as interior décor; "How does it make this worse?"

"Blood magic…Damn…" Alistair grumbled. Wynne nodded slightly and regarded Talia with narrowed, slightly doubtful eyes;

"Blood magic could control us, too. Who knows what could happen then? We need to find Niall and the Litany of Andralia. It is our best chance at stopping this madness, before it is too late." Wynne said, then turned to Owain again; "Owain, you said Niall was here with others. Who?"

"I do not remember their faces. Niall was the only one who spoke to me." the Tranquil replied, his tone just as somber as before; "Cíada was here when Niall came though. She went with him."

"So she still lives." Wynne released an audible sigh of relief; "Thank Andraste for small mercies."

"Yes." Was all Owain had to add on that account; "I think it would be good if you hurried."

Not bothering to argue with the clearly lobotomized man, because being Tranquil was painfully obvious now, that it was nothing holier than a simple lobotomizing, cruel as that was, Talia started making her way towards the only other doorway in the central room, this one leading to a small library.

"Uldred has gone mad!" a voice hissed up ahead.

"And now we're doomed to die by those who seek to right our wrongs…" another, female voice replied in a shaky tone. Talia was about to approach when he felt a hand on her shoulder. Thinking it was Aedan, she looked up only to see Alistair's expression set in stone.

"Blood mages." He whispered harshly. Talia was about to ask how the hell he could tell that, but then felt something familiar in the air. It was the same sensation she'd gotten when Jowan had made the woman at the ambush bash her own brains out, and she forgot all about arguing.

"Be quiet, I- I heard something." A third whispered, though audibly enough that the Breton could easily hear it. Alistair chose that moment to step out of the doorway, arms spread wide as he sent a blast of light slamming into the congregation of blood mages, all three standing around a dead abomination.

All three were sent flying, and Talia had a bolt of lightning char a hole into the first, a man, before he'd even hit the ground. An arrow, followed by another, found the same target in the next instant, sending a bearded olding to the floor with his heart and throat perforated. Alistair was already running forward when the arrows had been flying, and was about to send his sword through the heart of the last of the blood mages, a woman, when she threw her hands up in surrender. It was enough that he hesitated.

"Please, don't kill me!" she pleaded, her tears running from wide, frightened eyes.

"The people you've killed didn't want to die either, I'd wager." Alistair ground out, keeping the tip of his sword at the woman's throat. She cleverly made no attempt at getting up.

"I know I have no right to ask for mercy, but I- none of us meant for this death and destruction. We were just trying to free ourselves. Uldred told us that if the Circle would support Loghain, he would help us be free of the Chantry." Her eyes ran from one person to the next, silently pleading even as she spoke; "You- you don't know what it's like. The Templars were watching, _always_ watching…"

There was an uncomfortable knot starting to form in Talia's chest at the woman's words.

"What you've done here will make things _worse_ for future mages." Aedan shot at her, shaking his head; "Why would you ever do something like this?"

"We-" she swallowed audibly; "we thought _someone_ always has to take the first step. _Someone_ had to force change, no matter… no matter what the cost." And the knot in Talia's chest wasn't going away.

"Nothing is worth what you've done to this place." Wynne was next in line, apparently, to rain down the blame; "Using Blood magic to prove the Chantry wrong. Foolish and carelessness leading to untold deaths."

"We didn't mean for anyone to die." The woman argued meekly, desperately as well; "_Please._ Uldred has gone mad. We're scattered, fleeing and doomed to die because we did what we thought was right…"

"Have you seen the bodies, down below?" Talia asked, forcing her voice to remain level as the images burned through her mind again; "Was that you and yours doing that?"

"…I don't know." She whispered, looking down as much as she could without poking an eye on the tip of Alistair's blade; "I lost sight of what was going on when abominations started killing everyone. We never planned for abominations or demons…" she glanced at the dead; "Soreh, Andal and I were just trying to survive…"

There it was again. The forming knot in her chest as Talia's mind was brought back to her imprisonment here, when she had contemplated killing her way to either freedom or vengeance. The fact that the woman on the floor also had both red hair and green eyes, didn't help her _not _compare herself to the blood mage.

Had Duncan not come by, this was likely how she herself would have ended up. _Pleading for my life in the face of armor and swords…_

"You know we cannot allow a Blood mage to live." Alistair more or less declared, his sword pressing maybe an inch closer to the woman's throat. Talia rose a brow at the hypocrisy in his statement, but perhaps he was simply forgetting they had Jowan in their group, waiting at the shore with the others.

"But I…I would…a _chance_, to atone for what I have done. _Please_, if you spare me, I…I could help somehow, seek penance with the Chantry. I just want my _life_."

"You know they'd never take you…" Alistair scoffed in a manner so akin to Morrigan's that Talia blinked at the mocking anger in his voice. This was a first; "They're _very_ picky about who they let in. Harlots, bandits, murderous rapists? Yes. Maleficarum? Oh, no."

"Your Chantry sounds even more biased than I thought." Talia scoffed right back at him, then looked at Leliana; "didn't you tell me your Chantry takes in _everyone_?"

"It does. The Chantry is open to all, regardless of their crimes." Leliana nodded, thus receiving a scowl Alistair sent to both redheads; "It does."

"Well then, it seems you're familiar with a whole different Chantry than me." his fingers tightened around the sword's grip; "The one _I_ am familiar with wouldn't hesitate to shove a Sword of Mercy through her heart. Right through the middle, I kid you not."

"If she'd used something else, Alistair, would that have been better?" Talia asked, taking a step closer to the fuming warrior. When he _did_ have the decency of appearing confused, she continued; "What if she'd used fireballs instead? Killed every templar from here to the main doors? Would that have been better?"

"I…of _course_ not." he ground out with something between a growl and a mutter; "She'd still be a murderer and an apostate. Why?"

"How long have you been in this tower?" Talia instead turned and asked the pleading woman on the floor. It took a few moments for her to process the question, apparently;

"Sin- since I was five." She stuttered weakly. Talia nodded, appearing to the world as if she was going over a lot of details, thinking things over in a dozen different ways. In truth, she was just confirming something, and turned back to Alistair;

"I was imprisoned here for not even _two_ days, and I was ready to do just _that_, when Duncan showed up and recruited me, Alistair." Her hand tightened on the grip of her staff; "In your logic then, I would have been a murderer and an apostate, for the simple act of fighting for my freedom."

"Wait…when did this change subject?" Alistair's confusion had his sword sway enough away from the Blood mage's throat that she finally dared more than shallow breaths.

"If it's all the same whether she'd used fireballs or blood magic, then it's not even really the blood magic that's the…_Shit_, this is getting too much." She rubbed her temples as her attempt at arguing with the former templar led her to a dead end; "Look, we're in a hurry, so just let her go to the Chantry and let's be on our way."

"I'm honestly starting to wonder if you're going to end up campaigning for 'Maleficarum to be treated as good people' some day…" Alistair growled, looked at his sword and back at Talia again; "Can either of you give me a good reason _not_ to let death be her penance?"

"Other than if you do, you'll probably rank amongst the most hypocritical bastards I've ever met?" she dared him, her eyes made of flint and fire as they stared each other down. To Alistair's defense, he likely only lost the staring contest because his mind was obviously working out the deeper meanings of what she'd just said; "And that's coming from me."

"Fine." He bit back whatever retort he'd have hurled out afterwards, removing his sword from the trembling woman's throat; "Scurry off. See if the Chantry will be as merciful as we're made to believe."

It didn't take the woman ten seconds to vanish from sight, leaving a frowning Wynne and a lightly scowling Alistair to focus their attention at the Breton, who – for the moment – didn't care one way or another if sparing the blood mage had stepped on some toes. If Alistair wanted to give her shit about it, he was welcome to do so. Back at camp.

The group, led by Wynne who made do with silent disapproval of Talia's actions, made its way through the corridors after leaving the room behind. They encountered more demons and abominations in the hallways, but compared to the first large group, these were rarely more than three at a time, and were sent packing before everyone could strike twice. Talia sent one crashing into a wide-open door, ripping it off its hinges as both door and demon struck the wall behind, whereupon the demon dissolved.

"This is Irving's study." Wynne noted as Alistair peeked inside. When Talia did as well, she saw dozens upon dozens of books, some thick tomes bound in leather, others thin books in newer materials. Scrolls also filled what shelves hadn't been knocked down, and important-looking papers covered the floor; "So he is not here."

No shit; "_I wonder if Onmund's belongings are in here…_" Talia muttered instead to herself, looking around. Onmund was always, to her knowledge of his habits, carrying around a version of the 'Night of Tears', for some reason. Maybe it was simply because it was his, but Talia wanted to see if the book was here, and if it was, bring it with them.

"What are you looking for in Irving's study?" Wynne inquired with a mildly irritated tone; "I was to believe that he gave me all your belongings for me to bring to Ostagar?"

"Not mine…" Talia wished the reply had come out stronger, but her voice was reduced to a weak muttering as she went through the titles and covers on the shelves. Thick, leather-bound book. Thick, leather-bound book; "Onmund's…"

"Onm…I see." Wynne replied, her voice considerably softer than it had been just earlier. Talia tried not to pay the old woman any mind as she went through the books, uncaring if she messed up the old goat's personal collection. When her fingers finally found a thick, leather-bound tome, she pulled it out.

"That's… not Onmund's.." she muttered, looking at a depiction of a leafless tree on the book's front; "It looks like a tome on Alteration…"

"Tamriel magic?" Daveth peeked over her shoulder; "Bring it. Why not?"

"It is not of Alteration, as such." Wynne's voice slightly startled the Breton, who'd honestly forgotten she was there; "This is a Grimoire, an old tome said to belong to the Witches of the Wilds."

"Wait, this thing's Morrigan's?" Daveth almost instinctively retreated back a step, as if the book was going to come alive and turn him into a newt. Talia eyed the book over, then handed it to the wimpy archer. He wasn't carrying anything but his own arrows, he could stand to carry a single book. _After all…I am a mage, not a pawnbroker…_

"It's said to belong to Flemeth of the Wilds. Legends, naturally, but…what did you just say?" Wynne's eyes went from one book-handler to the other. Talia sighed;

"It's not Morrigan's, Daveth. It's her mother's…still, I wouldn't mind at least_ stealing_ from Irving if his survival is going to be essential to us getting out of here again…" she pointedly ignored Wynne's outburst until then, before turning to the old mage; "We met Flemeth in the Kocari Wilds, just before shit went down in Ostagar. She saved two of my friends from death: I think it's only fair to return this as repayment."

Not that she ever thought it would be enough, but maybe it would go a ways to mellow Morrigan, at least.

Talia almost chortled with laughter at the impossibility of that notion. Instead, she continued picking along the shelves until she was forced to resign to the idea that Onmund's book just wasn't there. It wasn't like she couldn't just borrow Brelyna's version, if she felt like reading it, it was just the principle of it all that hurt so badly when she left the office behind.

With this being one level further up, it was less spacious than the first, and as such held only the facilities for Harrowed mages, and a set of straight stairs leading to the next level. Since Wynne hadn't proclaimed any of the ravaged corpses they passed to be Niall, logic would have it that he was somewhere above, up these stairs. The thing just was, when they came to the top of said stairs, _no one_ was there.

There was not a single corpse, demon or abomination to be found. No dead templars hanging on spikes, no blood mages running around, and no regular mages…running around, either. Just plain nothing, except for a sense of lull, like a heavy, humid fog akin to the hot summers of Daggerfall.

"Where…is everyone?" Wynne asked out loud as they moved slowly through the corridors. The smelly, red organic mess covered more of the walls up here, as if they were getting closer to the source. Maybe it was like a plant? Talia had never been to Morrowind, but Brelyna once recounted the unique flora found in the volcanic lands, specifically red fungus and ivy.

Except this was more akin to meat, than plants. A shudder went down her spine at the thought.

"Taking a break?" Alistair suggested. Talia was still somewhat pissed at him for his overly willing stance towards executing the blood mage earlier. Crimes or no, the Breton couldn't stop seeing herself lying where the blood mage had, beaten and broken after trying to escape this prison. _Would the Templars have held back in the least, even? They are almost all men, would they- No, no they would just kill me._

There was a strange sense of relief to that, really.

A sense of relief that might as well have been kicked out one of the small windows for just how quickly it fell to a renewed pit of terror. When they rounded a corner, coming upon the central chamber, she saw the biggest demon she'd ever seen, or even imagined so far.

"Fucking…" the demon – it had to be a demon – was easily six meters tall, hovering a few inches above the floor with a single, glazed circle of light filling the role of an eye. She couldn't see a mouth, but the creature was covered in odd drapes and robes, so she wasn't ruling out one akin to the Terror downstairs.

"Ah…Visitors…" the demon drawled out in what sounded most of all like one long yawn. Could demons get tired? Exhausted? If so, that was good; "I would…entertain you, but…too much effort involved."

Actually, she was feeling damned near exhausted herself. It was a common fact that yawns spread from person to person like a cold, so was the same true if a demon was tired? If so, that was not so good. Still…

"What the piss are you supposed to be?" she asked, crossing her arms as her eyelids became heavier. Damn, she needed something strong, or she'd end up falling asleep before she _at least_ had a chance at kicking Irving over the shin; "And why aren't you attacking us?"

"Why would I?" it drowsed again; "Aren't_ you_ tired of all the violence in this world?"

"I'm kind of a violent individual." She retorted, smirking at the way it visibly hesitated. It gave her a bit of a pepper-up despite the inane weariness settling in her bones.

"But… wouldn't you like to just…lay down and…forget about it all?" damn… Wait, maybe the weariness was… connected to this…this demon somehow. So far, she'd found demons named after different…different emotions, right? Gods, it was… getting… hard to think straight. She was starting to feel like she'd just been through a marathon of everything Winterhold's surprisingly… well-stocked tavern could boast.

"Resist!" Wynne called out, startling Talia a little. She _knew_ falling asleep now, even for just a short nap, could be dangerous. There were still dangers about in the tower, and…and the others…they needed her. Or, did they? Maybe… maybe she…; "We must resist else we are all lost!"

"Can't…keep eyes open." Alistair groaned; "Somebody pinch me."

Talia obliged, though it seemed to have little effect aside from a muttered exclamation of pain. Shit, this was actually _bad_. If everyone was suddenly going to be falling asleep, a single abomination could wander in and rip them open with no difficulty whatsoever.

"Why do you fight?" the demon asked, sounding surprised at something. Talia, aware now that her tiredness was simply this cretin's work, scowled;

"Why are you trying to _piss me off_?"

"Because you deserve more…." The demon's lone eyes focused on her, even as the staff fell clattering from Talia's hands; "You deserve… a rest. Sleep. The world will go on without you."

Talia's eyes blinked at the darkness, and light slowly found its way back into the world. She shifted her weight, feeling the bed creak beneath her as she rubbed her tired eyes. Gods, what a dream.

Everything had been…so real, it was hard to imagine it having been a mere product of her imagination. It had all been so vivid, so realistic. Everything from this new land of Thedas beyond the oceans, to how their magic worked in such needlessly risky ways.

Still, it was the only unusual thing, as a new day in Winterhold took its beginning. For once, Brelyna hadn't been required to wake her up, which either meant Talia had woken up well ahead of time, or that the Dunmer had simply decided to let her sleep. The former seemed the truer, as the dim light in the dormitory came from the magical well, not the windows. That, and the faint snoring from the other, closed doors meant that for once, Talia was the early riser.

Which meant, she had the time to at least scratch down some notes from the dream. As insane as it had been, maybe she could use it for a book when Skyrim at some point finally got a hold of book-presses. That, or see if she could sneak one of the Arch mage's magical quills from his office.

Her eyes narrowed a bit as she looked at her own written words, unable to comprehend them. She could see the signs, the letters, each spelled clearly with ink. Yet, she couldn't read them.

"Ah piss, this isn't the best moment to develop dyslexia…" she growled to herself, seeing how no one else were awake, and glared at the letters. She knew what they were supposed to mean, but unless her brain had reset itself to Bosmeri over the course of the night, she was having dire difficulties reading regular Bretoni. Which, just to cement it, _sucked_ to suddenly fail at.

"Talia." A woman said. So, others were awa…awake? The woman before her was _not_ supposed to be neither enrolled nor employed here, what with how freaking staunch a defender she was for the Chantry…What.

"You…are… not supposed to be here…" she muttered, utterly dumbstruck as she stared at Wynne. The old woman was crossing arms before her chest, looking down at the Breton with simultaneously curious and concerned eyes; "Or, real, for that matter."

"Oh, I am very much real, though this place is not." Wynne argued softly, examining the room; "Is this your…Tower of Winterhold, that you mentioned when we first met?"

Piss. That meant this wasn't real. But, if Wynne was here, where was…

"_Craaaaaaaaaap…_" she swore as she kicked the corner of her bed; "I'm in the Fade? Again?!"

"Yes. Know that none of this is real, and it will…" Wynne started. Talia snarled and directed a lightning bolt at the closest wall, causing the entire illusion to shatter and break. In its stead, the raw Fade was revealed in all its hideousness; "…vanish."

"YOU'RE PISSING OFF THE WRONG MAGE, YOU ONE-EYED SON OF A DICK!" Talia screamed into the skies, if they could indeed be called that. Floating chunks of rock and masses of other stuff didn't exactly make up for a convincing cloud-replacement; "I _hate_ the Fade. _Hate _it, _Hate_ it, Hate it!"

"For now, we still need to find the others." Wynne said, looking unmoved by the younger mages outburst; "Usually, we mages are more attuned to the Fade than others. You did not feel anything was wrong?"

"Other than I suddenly seemed to have dyslexia?" Talia scoffed, kicking a pebble over the edge. Instead of falling, it continued sailing like a feather. This place was _fucked up_, which was just one more reason she didn't like it; "I've never _been_ to the Fade before coming to your tower that day. How was I supposed to know what it _feels_ like?"

"Then where do you go when you sleep?" Wynne's question was surprisingly honest in its curiosity, something which took Talia a little aback. She nevertheless scowled, but at the yellow rock-that-was-not-rock beneath her feet;

"Nowhere. I just dream." She explained, to Wynne's frowning expression;" Look, like I've already explained left and right to more people than I care to count: I am from Tamriel, across the ocean west of here. _Far_ west of here. People from Tamriel _don't_ go into the Fade when they dream. I don't even think anyone there is aware of its existence, though it does share some traits with Oblivion."

"If you do not know of the Fade, does that mean none know of your source of magic?" the old woman seemed truly perturbed, almost sympathetic towards her. Which, just for emphasis, was _not_ okay.

"Of course we know where our magical potential comes from." She bit out, then pointed upwards, even though it could just as well be sideward for all the good that'd do in here; "Atherius. The Divine plane to where the Aedra retreated when Mundus was completed. The sun and all the stars are rifts left behind by Magnus, the patron Divine of magic."

Before Wynne could start with more questions, because frankly Talia just wanted out of here. Like, now, she continued; "The…illusion earlier was the dormitory back at the College of Winterhold, situated in the northern part of the province of Skyrim, which is again a part of the Septim Empire." She scoffed as some sort of backwards bird-thing flew vertically past them. The Fade was messed up, and whomever liked it could bloody well keep it; "Now, can we _please_ get out of here? If I contract a demon or something because you wanted to waste time asking questions, I'm going to haunt you to the day you drop."

"…I see." Wynne finally nodded, hopefully resigning to the fact that this wasn't the time to play 'Ten questions for the Scholar'. Then she did something that ripped away the fabric of reality, and all of a sudden they were standing in a central square of some city or town, looking at a small, cozy-looking house. The Fade was gone, in a way, and a new illusion had been spun up. A small army od snot-nosed kids were tumbling around outside, playing everything from tag, to 'who-let-the-Mabari-out?'_ And it's all for our enjoyment. Isn't that just sweet?_

"…Okay, I give up." She muttered, turning to Wynne; "Where are we?"

" Another dream." Wynne replied, walking towards the only house that seemed firmly enough anchored in the illusion to be interacted with. The rest almost, on further examination, seemed two-dimensional. When the Breton followed Wynne, she saw Alistair sitting at a table in a nice, cozy living room, munching on a large piece of cheese; "This one is Alistair's."

"Oh hey, I was just thinking about you…well, actually mainly you, but it's nice to see you here as well, Wynne." Alistair exclaimed happily, beckoning them both inside. Talia was tempted to see if the cheese was as good as it looked, then remembered that it wasn't even real. A red-headed woman, looking almost like an older version of herself, walked into the room and smiled at Talia and Wynne; "Oh, this is Goldanna. She's my sister…well, _half_-sister, but still, can you believe it?"

"No, she doesn't seem nearly as retarded as you." Talia figured Alistair, if and _when_ they woke up, would think _everything_ had been a dream, and as such she could at least work some frustrations out over him. Alistair smiled regardless;

"And those are all her children. My nieces and nephews, can you believe it?" he continued undeterred; "We're one big happy family, finally together."

"…why is he behaving like this?" Talia leaned in and whispered to Wynne, allthewhile smiling at the cheese-muncher; "He seems…irrationally happy."

"…When Duncan brought Alistair to Ostagar, I inquired as to the boy…Alistair's never had a real family. This must be his great dream." The older mage whispered back, a sad tone to her words. Ah. Piss, that made sense. Talia knew Alistair had had a…less than optimal upbringing, but he talked about it as if he'd been doing well until Isolde had ruined everything.

And didn't she feel like a complete bitch now for calling him a retard? Not much, since it was sort of true, but there was still regret there.

Had Talia once more simply taken a person at surface value? Shit, this was starting to become a bad habit. If these dreams were the individuals' respective dreams, and hers had apparently been to wake up back home – or maybe her unfamiliarity with the Fade had confused the demon – she was starting to have a feeling that she wasn't going to like seeing what Aedan's would be about.

"Alistair, I'll put this in simple terms so you can understand me." Talia said, walking up to him; "You don't. have. a. sister. It's all curtesy of old One-eye."

"Alistair, are your friends staying for supper?" Goldanna – _or whatever you are – _asked brightly as she returned to the room, arms full of dirty clothes from the strings outside. Alistair immediately turned a pleading pair of puppy-eyes at them both. Oh boy;

"Say you'll stay! Goldanna's a _great_ cook, maybe she'll even make her mince-pie." His large, doggy-eyes shifted from them to his sister. Or, false sister. Shit, this was becoming a bother to figure out; "You can, can't you?"

"Of course, Alistair." She smiled warmly, eyes shining with familial love and all that stuff that Alistair apparently had been keeping a secret that he was longing for more than anything else. Damn; "Anything for you, dear brother."

The way Alistair practically _shone_ with happiness at the woman's words made Talia actually wish she didn't have to rip him away from it, but there was no telling what would happen if he remained here. And Wynne seemed content with her being the one to rouse him, seeing as she knew him better;

"Alistair…Where do you think you are?" she pointedly used 'you', not 'we'. Alistair's mood didn't diminish in the slightest, though he seemed to grow a bit more contemplative, as if there was a trick to her question;

"We're in Denerim, of course. Look, we're right by the marketplace." He pointed out the door, to where there was a suddenly bustling market with humans and dwarves yelling and shouting about their wares. Curiously, they all either yelled about cheese, cake or incomprehensible words that made no sense in Talia's ears.

"O-o-kay, and, how did we get here? Do you remember walking here? What's the _last_ you remember before sitting here on your ass, stuffing it with cheese?" she looked at the way his sister gave her a wary look, but decided to press on; "Think_ carefully_, and I swear if you crack a joke…"

"Alright, if it'll make you stop being all prissy…" he threw his hands up in defeat, leaning back in the chair with a thoughtful expression; "I…It's a bit fuzzy. That's odd…"

"Alistair," Goldanna-who-was-not-Goldanna, called; "the pie is ready, come and see."

"I…wait, I remember…a tower." He muttered with a frown, then looked at Talia; "and you were royally pissed when…when we went there, and we met _you_, and…the demon, it…" either to Alistair's credit or because the demon declared him a lost cause, the illusion unraveled, once again becoming the Fade; "…I was so…sure it was real…"

"You're not the only one…" Talia admitted, a bit sheepishly as she swallowed her pride and looked around. The Fade looked like it had the first time, only this time there was something looking like a city, with towers and everything, far off in the distance. More Fade-shit, obviously. She turned to Wynne; "Where to next?"

"We must try to find the others." Wynne said, repeating the spell or whatever it was that had taken them to Alistair's dream. Suddenly, the Fade vanished again, becoming a dark forest; "I do not know whose dream this is…"

"This would be Daveth's dream, by elimination." Talia replied, looking around. Finding the area too dark for her tastes, she cast out a hand and a mage-light flared up, hovering above her hand. When Wynne looked a bit too curious, she just shrugged; "Mage light. Basic spell, but handy if you're waking up in a dark cave…or forest."

"Please! Let them go!" a voice yelled throughout the trees. It was unmistakably Daveth's, though the words themselves were uncharacteristically frightened and pleading; "It's me you want, shitheads!"

"Let's go…" Talia took the lead, seeing how Alistair still looked buzzed by his awakening. To be fair, his dream had been far more desirable than hers, and therefore worse to realize was all a lie;" We…"

She stopped when she realized what this dream was: a nightmare.

Daveth was trying to fend off multiple opponent at once, using only his fists as he desperately tried getting through the mass of dark bodies to where several figures were tied to stakes. Talia realized with a sickening start that the figures were all of them, Wynne included, tied to poles upon stacked firewood. She, Brelyna, Morrigan and Leliana were ripped naked and bruised. They all stood with legs tied spread, and there seemed to be something of a line up to each of…They were all being raped.

Talia watched with mounting nausea as her own mirage, Brelyna, Morrigan and Leliana were violated by man after man, screaming and crying while the rest of their group shouted and cried vengeance at the perpetrators. But she didn't hear that. Talia's eyes were solely focused on the man forcing himself upon Brelyna, groping and violating her with each thrust of his bare ass. When the Dunmer's screaming apparently became too much of an annoyance, he struck her in the face with a heavy fist.

And Daveth kept on struggling, his feelings of desperation and grief permeated the nightmare like a thick fog.

"This…Maker, _this_ is Daveth's dream?" Alistair demanded hoarsely from behind the hand holding his mouth.

Amidst all the horror, Talia believed she was starting to understand what the focus of this nightmare was. She was way past being surprised at her friends' deeper fears and wishes by now, so the answer was astonishingly simple: Daveth feared losing them.

"Nightmare." Wynne's voice was raw, her skin paler than before too; "I…do not know what it's focus is, but we need to stop it."

Talia agreed, but instead of speaking she just launched herself forward, hands aflame as she vaulted down the hill towards the clearing. The dark masses only started realizing her presence when she blew one of them through the canopy. Not that they could stop her anyway.

Not that they didn't try as she carved a path with arcane elements through the mass of silhouettes, burning, freezing and electrocuting her way through. And yet, with each figure she killed or blew apart, and she had lost count by now, more would just take their place. The rape was still ongoing, and now others, new ones, had started using the men of the group as target practice for bows.

And then, all out of nowhere, the nightmare vanished. Talia was left standing, breathing troubled by the effort as she looked around, not comprehending what had just happened. When she finally looked to where Daveth was, he was flanked by Wynne and Alistair, sitting on his ass while staring at them all like he was going insane.

And yet, he'd dissolved the nightmare.

"Fuck…I…it's over?" he whispered when she came close enough to hear. He was sweating cold, eyes wide and jaw trembling with stress. Deciding to give the guy a moment, Talia dumped herself down next to him, choosing to ignore the fact that she was _sitting_ in the Fade. It wasn't important.

"Piss, Daveth…" she breathed; "Sometimes, I wish you'd be as shallow as you're suave…would make this a lot easier on my mentality…"

"I just…but I saw, I _saw_ you, and- and you, and you…you were all…" he breathed, forcing his eyes closed and his nerves down, however much that last one worked, she couldn't tell; "I'm going to string that demon's balls up on a tree."

"Get in line." She muttered, placing a hand on the archer's shoulder; "How are you feeling?"

"…" he gave her a weak stare, as if to ask if she was serious; "…I just spent the last ten hours watching you all get brutally murdered again and again…How do you_ think_ I'm doin'?"

"You knew it was a nightmare?" Wynne asked incredulously. Daveth turned a weak smirk on her.

"Figured it out…after they bled you dry for the second time… Just…it was _too_ much." He averted his eyes and stared at the yellow rock-that-was-not-rock; "My brain just didn't accept that… that it wasn't real."

"You did better than Alistair or me then, in that regard…" she said, looking at the former Templar and Wynne; "I'm beat, but we should probably find the others…Gods, Aedan is probably reliving Highever…"

"If the next dream is his, what should we then prepare for?" Wynne inquired, getting mentally ready, for all the Fade to see.

"…the night Howe betrayed the Couslands, slaughtering everyone but Aedan, his mother and Ser Gilmore…If it's a nightmare, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone died this time…" and this in turn brought new shit into her mind. The way Bryce Cousland had begged her and Duncan to save his son and wife, then how Eleanor Cousland had decided to _remain_ with her dying husband…_Shit, this is going to be bad…_

* * *

**Yeah...this is definitely a fair bit more graphic than the game. How many were surprised at Daveth's nightmare? (Admit it, you all either thought he'd be on the torture racks or dreaming about harems)**

**Also, I have been taking notes at your suggestions, complains and other in the reviews, so let's try something funny: Write to me what you'd like the group to discuss the next time they make camp. Could be anything from the contents of the dreams to legends from High Rock**


	21. Demon or Daedra?

…_The fourth-most common enemy, or just demon, to emerge from the Fade, would be the Fear and Sloth demons. These creatures respectively posses the ability to make even the staunchest of fighters flee with soiled drawers and to make those unfortunate close enough fall into a forced slumber in which the demons of the Fade can harass the victim to the point of succumbing._

_Suggested means of disposal: Kill them with fire._

_The final, and by far the most rare demon to emerge from a rift or a tear though, is the Pride demon. This monster of a Fade-dweller easily towers above even the huge ogres of the Blight, and share almost none of their fellows in size's vulnerabilities. Their bodies are in their entirety covered with hard, black scales, often aided by organic-looking spikes to keep any and all potential threats from making significant impacts. _

_While excelling in defense, the Pride demon also possess one of the most insidious methods of killing its opponents from afar. Magically electrical chains from its hands will fly out and either trap or outright kill anyone caught in them. _

_I was lucky…I didn't die._

_Suggested means of disposal: Everything that also allows you to flee…_

…_missing page from the demons- section of 'A study into the magic of Thedas', Chapter 2._

* * *

**Demon or Daedra?**

* * *

Navigating the Fade was, at best, something Talia would prefer to sic on Ancano. Divines knew the haughty bastard deserved something that could scare the white out of his hair…or, just the hair off his head. Whatever worked, really. Daveth was still shaken after being pulled out from his own personal nightmare, and the man who could normally rival Alistair in witty banter was now somberly quiet.

Talia herself was just happy he hadn't cracked before they'd arrived there. Ten hours. She could hardly fathom him having spent that long while to her it seemed like an hour at most had passed. Did time flow differently here in the Fade? Did time even _exist_? That thought, and the images of a ravaged Brelyna split her brain's capacity in two. And despite _knowing_ it had only been a nightmare, a dream, she still itched to see Brelyna again, if only to confirm that her friend was unharmed.

Still, with Wynne being the one taking the lead, she was somewhat assured that they at least wouldn't be stuck in the nightmarish landscape forever. Talia just wished she'd been able to keep her staff with her, mainly because she was annoyed at seeing Wynne so effortlessly handle her own, walking around the Fade with all the grace of an old woman. Which, usually, wasn't much, but the old mage pulled it off regardless.

"So…we're going to Aedan's dream next…" Alistair muttered, looking between the two mages; "I can already tell that won't be fun at all."

"I don't know where we're going, honestly…" Talia replied as she glared at the Fade; "I can barely figure out what's up and down in here, much less where to go to find someone…Wynne?"

"There is a great chance of us finding either, actually, given the proximity of our bodies to each other." The old woman explained; "Most likely, yes, the next dream will be Aedan's."

"Let's just get this done with, shall we?" Talia kicked another pebble over the edge: this one flew upwards instead. And this time, she merely furrowed her brows a little, not bothering enough to actually deign it with a scowl; "I want to leave this place. Like, now."

Wynne nodded, placing her staff on her back – it _stuck_ there, meaning she must have something similar to Talia's own robes – and performed the same tearing motion as before. The Fade around them vanished, changing into something a lot less weird: a small village.

"Why does this place seem too familiar?" Alistair muttered aloud. From his tone, Talia couldn't tell if he already knew the answer, but she told him the obvious one anyway;

"It's Lothering…or, at least a small part of it." She gestured to where the path towards the windmill off in the distance became remarkably _flat_, just like the city of Denerim had been. The weirdest thing this time, was that people seemed normal until a certain distance, whereupon they simply seemed to become two-dimensional and unmoving; "This is the part near its Chantry, far as I can see."

"I didn't take Aedan as a very devout young man." Wynne stated, looking up at the way the sun bathed the bright day in warm rays.

"I don't think this is his dream." Alistair said, as he stepped forward towards the Chantry; "my guess lies on Leliana."

"She used to be a Sister." Daveth added, upon Wynne's confused expression; "Met her 'ere, actually. Wearing robes'n all while trying to convince highwaymen of the 'error of their ways'."

"So logic dictates she'd be in here…" Talia nodded, and walked to where Alistair was pushing open the doors to the Chantry proper. Inside, kneeling in front of an altar, a woman wearing Chantry robes was kneeling in prayer.

Talia frowned as she walked closer, eyes scanning the room. When they fell upon the woman before the altar again, she was confirmed in her suspicion.

This wasn't Leliana. Instead, the woman had long, black hair that was tied into a thick braid down her back. Sharp-tipped ears peeked out from underneath the raven strands, and the cheek Talia could see bore an intricate tattoo of some sort. It looked a bit like Aedan's, at first glance, but upon further – from a distance, naturally – examination, there were distinct differences.

And even if this wasn't who they'd come for, Talia could somehow feel that this was a dreamer, not a figment of the Fade. She wasn't sure _how_ she could feel it, she just could. So, she tapped the praying woman on the shoulder, ever so lightly, to call upon her attention.

"Ah, my apologies…" she started when the elf turned around to regard the group; "But, I was looking for a friend of mine. Red hair, probably dressed in a…What am I doing, this isn't Leliana's…" resisting the urge for a facepalm, she started over, doing her best to ignore the woman's confused reaction; "This might sound a bit weird, but you wouldn't happen to be a Circle mage, would you?"

"I…No, I am not." the elf replied with no small amount of confusion; "I do not even have magic, so it goes without saying that-"

"Cíada." Wynne stepped forward, earning herself a sideways look from Talia before the Breton managed to grind her mental gears into action and process the name; "Do you know who I am?"

Cíada was the name of the mage Wynne had mentioned freed the Templar Cullen from some sort of barrier. Did this mean she as well had fallen to the demon's powers? The elf in mention cocked her head and looked at Wynne like the old mage had grown an extra head.

"You…seem…familiar, somehow, but I am afraid I cannot place you, Serah Mage." Cíada replied uncertainly, glancing at the rest of the group; "You travel with armed companions. Has something happened?"

"Aside from you being trapped in the Fade?" Talia entered, earning an even more confused look from the currently-believing-she-is-a-Sister. She turned to Wynne as a thought, something so obvious it should have been what they'd been doing from the very start, entered her mind; "Do we convince her or just shatter the illusion? I want to find Aedan before it's too late."

"What illusion?" Cíada demanded, growing just a bit more heated in her words; "Are you interrupting my prayers just to make jokes?"

"You are in the Fade, Cíada." Wynne explained; "I do not know how you fell prey to the Sloth demon, but your body is currently sleeping in the Circle Tower in Kinloch Hold. Think back, to how you got here, in the Chantry."

"…I live here, Serah." Cíada stated slowly, as if speaking to a demented; "I came to the altar from my personal chambers, after I rose. I do this every day."

"I'm going to shatter this, Wynne." Talia said, having lost her patience. She took up the stance and focused the magic through her arms, and into her hand where the long- and index finger were gathered in point; "Stand back."

Before anyone could ask 'from where', she released the bolt of lightning from her hand, directing it at the altar. Logic would have it that disrupting the center-object of the dream would have the greatest effect. Cíada, on the other hand, seemed to disagree, as her hands flew to her face in horror;

"Maker! What are you-" when the bolt hit, the altar, and everything around it, shattered and dissolved like a slow-running liquid, and from behind the running surface, the yellow-tinted Fade once again peeked forth; "…doing."

"Seriously should have just done that from the start." Daveth noted, looking around; "I've had just about enough of this place for one dream, let alone everyone's."

"Agree on that, I do." Alistair muttered in what almost seemed like a sage-y tone; "Cíada, do you remember now?"

The elf in question was no longer wearing Chantry robes, but instead the same blue-purple garments both Jowan and Owain had been wearing, and the thick braid was transformed into loosely flowing hair that seemed to cascade down the woman's neck like a raven waterfall, framing her face quite nicely.

Races aside, Talia wasn't beyond admitting to herself that the girl was pretty damn gorgeous. And had a certain attraction as well. _I really seem to have a thing for elves, don't I?_

"…Wynne?" Cíada asked in a baffled tone; "I…I…We're in the Fade."

"We are, yes." The old mage confirmed with a solemn nod; "A Sloth demon overpowered our group, and sent us to each his or her dream and nightmare."

"A…Sloth demon…_Shartan_, how long have I been asleep?" Cíada barred her teeth in a growl as she clenched her fists. Sparks danced up and down her arms as she did. Talia rose a brow, but nothing more. This woman or girl – frankly, she wasn't sure how to estimate how old elves were in Thedas – was one of Wynne's people, not hers. If something weird happened, Wynne would be the one to deal with it.

"I do not know, but at most it has been a day." Wynne's reply_ did_ seem to calm the elf down a bit, which prompted the old woman to continue; "Do you know what became of Niall?"

"…The last thing I remember is…feeling incredibly drowsy. Niall was with me there, but…I do not know what became of him after…" Cíada regretfully muttered, looking around at the others; "But…I do not know the rest of you. Wynne, who are these people?"

"Friends." Was all the old crone replied, seemingly hesitant to reveal Alistair or Talia's identities. Personally, the Breton wasn't sure which would be worse: Former Templar or hostile mage. _Pick your poison, I guess…Not bad, Wynne_; "We still need to find the others."

"Doesn't that mean you're supposed to 'do the thing'?" Talia asked the old mage. Wynne nodded and took a step forward, putting some distance between them, and repeated the tearing motion; "Oh boy, this-"

The Fade changed, becoming a dark cellar, or a dungeon; "-is going to be…Okay, this isn't familiar."

There were screams of agony echoing through the darkened corridor of stone and wood they stood in. it seemed like it was underground, what with the distinct lack of windows, and the air tasted stale. Dust danced in the light from lit torches, and the floor was covered in a mixture of dried blood and grime.

"It's familiar enough to me…" Daveth muttered, looking around as his jaw visibly set; "It looks like the dungeons of Denerim…"

"Whose dream would take place here?" Alistair looked around, maybe hoping to spot the dreamer in mention; "Aedan's never been jailed, right?"

"Not to my knowledge, no…" Talia replied as she cast a magelight to illuminate the corridor better than the torches could; "…this place looks like a maze. Do you think it could be Leliana's?"

"Why would…Actually…" Alistair rubbed his chin in that way Talia had come to associate with him actually using his brain. In a serious connection, at least. Most of the time, it was probably tasked with dreams involving Leliana, cheese-fondue…or both. It was just damned lucky that she could conceal the shiver going down her spine as Alistair spoke again; "Do you remember Redcliffe?"

"Hard _not_ to, you know, but yeah…I think I know what you mean." Daveth muttered as he touched the wall. His hand drew back like he'd been burned; "Lils gave me the impression she'd been to this place before…"

"So this is her dream then?" Wynne asked, sighing when Alistair gave a reluctant nod; "I see…Then we should assume this setting is not that of a pleasant dream…"

"Couldn't we just shatter it?" because that seemed to have worked just fine with Cíada.

"I'd rather not." Wynne replied somberly; "the shock could put severe stress of her mind, if the illusion shattered without warning."

"Plus it gives you one hell of a headache…Shite…" Cíada cursed under her breath. Talia nodded, annoyed at the reply, but amused at the elf's behavior, and stopped prepping power for the lightning.

"So we just have to find her then?" Daveth asked, taking a step forward; "Damn, that's not going to be a fund sight when we do…this place is probably givin' her a shit time, I'd wager."

"Yeah, that'd be the gist of it, I'd wager…" Talia mirrored Daveth on purpose – she wasn't quite sure _why_ though - holding out her palm. Again, this was something she should have considered already the moment they needed to find Daveth. Of course, they'd had the sound of fighting to follow at that one, so there hadn't been any need for it. _Leliana. Leliana. Leliana._

A buzzing sensation followed as the magic flowed from the palm of her hand, and onto the cold stone floor. Slowly, the telltale purplish glow of the Clairvoyance-spell started flickering into being, dragging a line across the floor and forward.

"That's…unusual magic." The elf noted when Talia looked around; "What is it?"

"It's a tracking-spell. Think of the person you want to find, and if he or she's close, this'll track her down…" Talia said as she started following the trail. It was a half-truth, really, as the spell would also point out where _what_ you wanted to find was. It was incredibly helpful back when Brother had hidden away her shoes. Bastard, and he hadn't changed much since becoming an adult, which was why Talia generally tended to avoid him; "But if you try using it over longer distances, the magical drain could potentially drain you like a grape…not pleasant."

The elf gave a 'hmm' in response, and followed silently as the group made its way through the seemingly endless halls and corridors of the dungeons. Damn, this place was a lot more expansive than the other illusions, which must almost mean that Leliana knew this place better than anyone really had expected.

Talia wasn't sure if that was a good thing, if she was to be honest.

When the trail ended at a locked door, Talia wasted little time before igniting her palm and ripping the locking mechanism from its liquefied position. When the door simply fell open, they were treated to an unsettling sight.

"Mara on a horse…" because really, not a whole lot of words could properly cover what they saw: Leliana was chained to the wall, stripped to her smalls and every inch of her skin sported either cuts or bruises. She didn't even look up to see who'd ripped her door out, instead seemingly content with hanging her face down.

"Lils." Daveth was at her side before the Breton had even extinguished the fire in her palms. Talia was far beyond being surprised at this deeper side to Daveth at this point, but she still blinked at his behavior now; "Lils, look at me."

When Leliana _did_ look up, it became fairly obvious _why_ she hadn't when they'd entered. And as she stared in horror at the redhead's empty eye sockets, Talia discovered that it wasn't possible to vomit in the Fade.

"Oh Maker…" Cíada, who was the only one to _not_ have met Leliana previously, was also the only one who seemed capable of speech at this point. Now though, Talia stopped caring if they could possibly do _anything_ to Leliana by dissolving the illusion, and directed an angry bolt at the nearest wall.

When the illusion shattered, so did the visage of a tortured and broken Leliana, and in her stead was the Leliana they'd hoped to see. No bruises. No cuts. And _no_ _empty _eye sockets. _Magnus on a mare, I didn't need to see that_…

Leliana blinked rapidly, hesitantly touching her eyelids and looking around, examining her now freed hands and legs before looking directly at the group. Talia winced inwardly at the way the redhead looked somewhere between excruciatingly hurt, and immensely relieved at seeing them. Why was it that she herself had been given a dream that could easily have been any and all normal days back at the College, while Daveth and Leliana were treated to utter horrorscapes?

"I…this…is the Fade?" she asked slowly, almost sounding afraid of the answer she might receive; "…and, I can…see?"

"Why was the nightmare set in a dungeon?" Wynne asked, earning herself a mildly irritated look from the Breton;

"How about we just focus on finding Aedan, and then we play 'ten questions'?" that, and because whatever caused the nightmare to be set in the dungeon was likely _not_ something Leliana wanted to talk about. Daveth hadn't yet told them why _his_ nightmare had been what it was, though Talia had a pretty good idea as to the reason. Still, she respected them enough – Leliana too – that she wasn't going to neither pry nor stand by and let someone else pry.

She figured they would discuss it later, anyway.

"Of course." Wynne nodded; "That should take priority."

When Wynne's spell tore the Fade again, this time Talia suddenly had to suppress a scream of fear as the entire group found themselves hovering in the air. Looking down between her own legs, Talia could see a landmass of some sort, most of it colored in a uniform grey.

When she then managed to look up, she was treated to an even _more_ surprising sight. And couldn't really help cracking a fond smile.

A king-sized bed was standing in the middle of a wall-less room, decorated in much the same way as Aedan's room in Highever had been. There even was a basket on the floor, containing a sleeping Mabari who – and Talia didn't even need to guess – was obviously Turk, Aedan's dead hound.

Most of what was on the bed was hidden beneath a thick cover, but she could still easily see what was going on. Her own mirage was peacefully asleep, red hair spread over the top of the cover's edge and her own naked shoulders. A smile played on the mirage's face when the person sleeping behind her, Aedan – likewise seemingly naked – snuggled up a little closer.

Aedan's dream definitely was just that: a dream. And, Talia had to admit, it was deeply touching that Aedan's dream was something as seemingly simple as sharing a bed with her. There wasn't even – at the moment – anything remotely _fun_ going on, instead simply the peaceful, happy and content illusion of being with her. _Damn…I guess that means there's not really any doubt as to whether or not he really feels something for me…_

Up until now, she'd believed he desired her body, but saw _her_ as nothing but a good friend. Far as mistakes in judgments went, this pretty much proved that she once again had completely mistaken a person's intentions and personality, with this being at least the former.

"Cover your eyes, Lils, this's a private thing." When she heard Daveth's voice, Talia suddenly remembered there were others in the air with her, and she blushed to a color that rivaled her hair. Glancing around, she was terrified at the intensity and curiosity with which her companions looked upon the scene, and her smile turned into a mild scowl;

"Do a painting, Daveth, it'll last you longer…" she grumbled, and semi-swam through the air to get to the hovering floor.

"Just saying, it's mighty cute."

"Alistair! Daveth! Close your eyes or lose them!" Talia growled at the boys.

"It is very sweet, though." Leliana agreed, nodding with a fond crease to her lips. Talia just did her best to ignore Daveth while sending the other redhead a glare that basically spelled 'I thought you were on _my_ side?', and silently walked up to the side of the bed claimed by her body-double. When she got there, she flickered the mirage on the forehead, and watched as its eyes, both a deep green that mirrored hers, opened in an annoyed frown.

"Sorry, Fade-girl, but this guy's taken." Talia said, crossing her arms as not-Talia yawned and looked around, clearly annoyed;

"T'is a pity." She muttered, sounding almost as feline in speech as a Khajiit as she slipped from the bed. By some trick or spell, she avoided waking up Aedan. When not-Talia was standing before Talia, nude as the day she'd been born at that – and Talia wanted to burn Daveth's eyes from his skull, not to mention Alistair who was gawking in shock - , she changed into a less appealing appearance. Her skin greyed and golden chains started hanging from her nipples, allthewhile horns sprouted from her head and the red hair turned purple and shortened; "But, I suppose it was actually enjoyable while it lasted."

"…what the hell _are_ you?" Talia frowned, looking between this odd woman, and the still sleeping Aedan.

"It's a Desire demon!" Alistair shouted in warning. When he made to approach, nothing happened, and he simply remained where he was, to which the 'Desire demon' – was _this_ was Duncan had said her Atronach looked like? – smirked.

"Forgive my…attire, I forgot your kind is not very aware of demons, as we are called." The demon, her voice no longer _anything_ like Talia's own, replied as she arched her back sensually. The way the breasts stood out, Talia wasn't surprised that she could _hear_ Daveth's heavy breathing from where she stood; "I am a simple inhabitant of this dream, though as your friend declared, I am called a demon of Desire."

"Fitting name, I'll admit that much." Talia said, offering the demon a grinning nod as she made a point of openly staring at her tits. If she could unnerve a _demon_, that'd be an achievement to rub in…well, probably Morrigan's face at some point. Still, her grin became a scowl as she looked between the demon and Aedan again, the latter still asleep; "What do you think you're doing there, though?"

"Merely…" the demon cradled her own breast, playing with the chain piercing her nipple. _That's gotta hurt though_; "…taking a break. I truly attempted seeing into this splendid human's mind, to see if there was something I could use, but… his greatest desire seemed to be this. It _is_ sweet though, I shall grant that much."

"…what?" Talia could hear Leliana and Alistair exclaim in unison behind her. She kept her eyes on the demon though.

"So, why isn't he waking up?"

"Oh, he won't for as long as _I_ am here…" the demon's expression changed to a sultry smile, and her appearance once more was that of Talia's own; "This is how he will perceive me, regardless of your knowledge. I am, however, in a good mood, and extend an offer to you."

"I seem to remember the only sensible thing the Circle ever said was to _not_ make deals with demons?"

"Oh, it is nothing of the sort of a _deal_." The demon replied, the smile never leaving her lips; "I _could_ leave now, no strings attached…"

"Which would be best!" Alistair remarked from his place behind them. Once more, Talia simply ignored him, focusing on the demon;

"…I'm sensing an option B, here?" she stated, locking eyes with the – and she had to admit that much – seductively appearing version of herself. Granted, the breasts were a little more…well, _big_, and there was less fat on her sides, but the version was basically herself. Which, she supposed, was pretty flattering.

"Have you never dreamt of sharing a man with yourself?" the demon-Talia asked, her voice sending shivers of sensual delight down Talia's spine. Gods, but that _did_ sound...weird, yes, but in a _good_ way; "I could grant you both your greatest desires. Pleasure beyond what mortals could _ever_ grant one another?"

"Damn…I _like_ that offer…" Talia smirked, reaching a hand out to caress her double's generous breast. The nipple instantly perked, and the demon moaned softly as Talia's hand then moved up, softly trailing along the pale, soft skin until it came to rest on the cheek. A finger, then two and finally all but the thumb slipped smoothly into the ample, red lips; "But… I. _don't. share_."

Before the demon could do more than widen her eyes, powerful surges of electricity ran through Talia's hand and into the demon's head, frying her like a floured fish. Talia's other hand came up, sparks dancing across her fingers as she grabbed the demon by the forehead. It didn't take five seconds, and the demon simply evaporated.

"…Bitch." She muttered, looking to where the rest of the party was finally able to move. Alistair in particular was sending her an odd look; "What? I fried her, what's it matter_ how_ I did it?"

"…w-what?" Aedan's drowsy and confused voice came from the bed, followed by a small exclamation of surprise when he saw the rest of the group appear before him. Likely, his eyes saw walls, not Fade when they looked around, and to him it must look like they just came through a wall;" What's…"

"Sleep well?" Talia asked, walking around the bed as she trailed a finger on the covers. She could see in the way Aedan's eyes tracked her movements that he was trying to piece the scene together; "Just so you know, you only had to ask."

Before the poor sod could even process a response, Talia zapped the wall and dissolved the illusion. Aedan, sadly, regained his clothing the same instant, so she missed out on a rewarding sight. Still, she had the patience, and…_What am I doing, thinking about this? We need to get out of here. Hate the Fade. Hate the Fade. Hate the Fade. Hate the Fade. Hate-_

Her thoughts were interrupted when she realized they were, in fact, still above the grey landmass, though actually descending towards it. Great, and since she'd just zapped the illusion, that'd mean this was the raw Fade, and therefore not zap-able. And yet, they were definitely going downwards towards something…manmade, by the looks of it.

And, she could see now, there was actually a human being, dressed in odd colors, down there as well. Her sigh of relief, though, changed to an expression of horror when she realized why the man down there, with his weird colors, seemed oddly familiar.

"Oh piss…" she groaned, snapping towards the rest of the finally reassembled-plus-one group; "Everybody. No matter _what_, if the man down there cracks a joke, you_ laugh_."

"Helloooo! Visitors!" the man in mentioned hollered, jumping up and down as he waved at them. Talia could just feel a shiver going down her spine at his insane tone; "Oh, I've been so _lonely_ here!"

Generally, few actually _feared_ Sheogorath, the 'Prince of Madness'. This was either out of stupidity, or because the individual happened to have already _met_ the Madman, and had become equally insane as a result of said meeting.

Talia though, was neither stupid nor insane. Therefore, when they drifted to a slow, soft landing, the first thing she did was to put on a wide grin, like she was incredibly happy to see the Daedric Prince. After all, no texts yet stated that Daedra could read minds, right?

"Lord Sheogorath!" she exclaimed happily, offering the Prince a deep bow of respect; "To what do any of us mere mortals owe the honor of entrance into your Isles?"

"Oh, you know, I was getting bored with all those stiff-nosed people around here." The Prince of Madness shrugged, digging up a platter from a suddenly appearing table between them; "Cheese?"

"Don't mind if I do!" she exclaimed happily again, and tossed a few the others' way; "Man, I _love_ cheese!"

"EVERYBODY loves CHEESE!" the Daedric madman exclaimed, throwing out his hands as cheese wheels started raining from the skies; "Ah, but I guess the others had to be party-poopers. You see, they weren't INVITED!" and cue the maniacal laughter, to which she quickly joined in, as did the others, though Wynne was obviously _not_ used to dealing with Daedric Princes. The woman's laugh was mostly a stiff chuckle, which seemed to make the grey-haired Daedra frown; "Don't you wanna guess who wasn't invited? Come on, Talia, it'll be fun!"

She wasn't even going to wonder how he knew her name, cocked her head sideways and smiled brightly;

"Who wasn't invited, Lord Sheogorath?"

"Why, the readers, of course!" he laughed, pointing…well, pointing everywhere at once, actually. Thank the Aedra that she knew how to deal with Daedra. Well, some of them at least. If they met Molag Bal, she wasn't even going to bother trying to defeat the monster it had taken Martin becoming the manifestation of Akatosh to banish.

Still, she hadn't been prepared for the 'reader' trick. That was a new one. At least, she was pretty sure it was. Far as she knew, the Hero of Kvartch hadn't been assaulted with 'readers' by the Mad Prince, but then again, so much was lost in translations and the passing of time.

"What are they reading, Lord Sheogorath, since they aren't invited here?" Alistair asked, receiving a cold glare from the Daedra; "…what?"

"It is very impolite to interrupt a conversation, you know." The Prince snapped his fingers, and Alistair was two feet tall. When he yelped in shock and panic, it sounded like a mouse on gasses. Sheogorath grinned and twirled his grey moustache; "Now then, Junior, be nice and you'll get to listen to the grown-ups!"

"But it's a good question though!" he shot a pointed finger into the air; "What is any of us _truly_ reading these days? I swear, so many people are reading sassy and poorly written stories about vampires who sparkle in the sun. _SPARKLE! _Even _I_ think that is utterly mad!"

"Are those the not invited party-poopers, my Lord?" Talia dared, inwardly hoping the man wouldn't turn her into a sheep. He just barked a laugh;

"Ah no, I couldn't care less about _them_. Or the ones reading about Gryffindorians and Slytherinians making out in the showers! It's Yaoi, I tell them: YAOI!" He yelled, shaking a fist at the skies as a pig came flying past. The mad prince snapped a finger, and the poor cretin turned it self inside out and became an explosion of cheese. _There's a reason people ought to fear this man…_"But no, the readers I didn't invite are YOUR readers!"

"…"

"Lost your tongue? I didn't take it… not yet at least!" Sheogorath cackled when Talia was temporarily stunned by the absurdity of his words. Even for the Mad Prince, this was just madness…wait, that didn't even make sense.

"M-my Lord, what do you mean by 'my readers'?" she asked hesitantly, hoping no one would share the fate of the flying pig-turned-roasted-pork; "I do not remember having published any books…Did I forget I published a book?"

"No, no, no!" he exclaimed, suddenly sounding terrified at the prospect of her as an author; "There's a Nord kid who's wasting his time writing a story with you in it! He even planned your friends' deaths and everything! MARVELOUS! MARVELOUS, I TELL YOU!"

"…Damn, I didn't even know…" insanity _was_ his specialty, after all. Damn, but that _was_ a new standard alright. People writing stories about her? Pffff, utter madness; "My Lord, I know you'll think me a party-pooper, but we really need to get back to saving the day."

Contrary to her fears, the man just grinned and flipped through a suddenly appeared book. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he read, eyes moving faster than any human could ever hope to read.

"Right, right, right, I was getting to that…I says here you had to say that before I could send you back. That, and 'what'." He smiled as he slapped the book shut.

"…what?" Alistair squeaked, actually earning himself a shrug;

"I guess that'll do. Tootles!" He smiled, slowly fading from view along with the rest of the scene; "Oh, and you can look forward to…" his words faded into nothing along with the Fade. Not that Talia minded _not_ hearing whatever he'd been saying.

She was just _glad_ when she opened her eyes and stared into the red-covered domed ceiling of the central chamber, back in the Tower. When she sat up, rubbing her sore eyelids and the eyes behind them, she could hear the groans of the others as they too woke up. There was the new voice as well: the elf, Cíada, who'd apparently been in the room as well.

"That…was…" Alistair started, then stopped himself as he apparently lost his trail of thoughts. Talia shrugged and gave a dry chuckle;

"Madness?" she asked, not even waiting for a nod; "That's Sheogorath for you. Prince of Madness, one of the less unpleasant Daedric Princes you can come across. Still, as you might have guessed, he is also utterly insane and unpredictable…you shouldn't take anything he says seriously."

Mainly the whole 'readers' thing, but she'd prefer to have everyone _forget_ about that part. The thought alone, coupled with the fact that the Mad Prince had apparently been reading some sort of book detailing her actions, was in itself deeply unsettling.

That, and the fact that the Sloth demon was nowhere to be seen, just added to her pile.

"He didn't seem like any sort of demon I've ever heard of…Maker, my head is _murdering_ me…" the elven mage groaned, slim fingers going through her raven hair. Wynne slapped a blue spell at the girl, and her expression relaxed as she looked around; "…thanks. Cullen, is he…?"

"He is safe, Cíada." Wynne assured the elf, then continued to the slight blush of the younger mage; "I believe he has you to thank for that."

"…yeah, well, I…it was on my way and he's a good sort, and…" she shook her head as if to clear her mind, and looked back at Talia while picking up a heavy tome from the body of a dead mage; "Damn it, Niall…I _told_ him to wait, but he rushed straight into the Sloth demon…But, what was that 'Sheogorath' creature? You called him a 'Prince of Madness?'"

"_The_ Prince of Madness." Talia corrected her; "And he's more than just a creature or a demon. He's a Daedra, and one of the more powerful there are. The Shivering Isles, the place we met him at just now, is his plane of Oblivion…the fact that we went from the Fade to there must mean there really_ is_ a connection…could the Fade be a plane of Oblivion no one knows about yet?"

"Listen, could we hold the theology-lessons _after_ we've saved the tower?" Alistair asked; "There's still screaming coming from upstairs, in case you haven't noticed."

"…right." Talia shook herself out of the stunned stupor followed by Alistair reminding _her_ not to waste time. Then again, after all she's just seen, maybe a complete reevaluation of the group was in order. Maybe; "Wynne, lead the way?"

Wynne nodded, leading the group up a new flight of stairs that ended up in a vaguely familiar setting. Talia remembered having been walked through her on the way to her Harrowing, barbaric bullshit though it still remained, meaning this had to be the place where the Templars lived.

"These are the Templar quarters." Cíada explained as they walked; "The Knight-Commander's personal chamber is over there, while the rest share dormitories and facilities along this corridor."

"I didn't think mages were allowed in here usually." Alistair noted, sending the elf a glance; "How do you know all that?"

"I…I think Cullen wanted to distract me when he led me to my Harrowing. He talked a lot about what was where and what-not and- What, are you implying something?" Cíada shot Alistair a glare at the way he smiled, and Wynne rolled her eyes knowingly.

Talia just chuckled, despite the situation. She was sort of liking the diminutive girl, cage-mage though she might be. She had a temper she could recognize from herself.

"Well, there's no one home right now, far's I can see." Daveth muttered, sticking his head through different doors as they walked; "I'm guessing that means all of them are down at the entrance."

"And I see no more demons either…" Leliana remarked as they neared the stairs leading to what Talia hoped was the final level. She did recognize them as the stairs she'd walked up and into the Harrowing Chambers on; "I thought there was a horde of them here."

"Templars managed to get rid of most, but those remaining overpowered the defenders, plus blood mages and abominations added to the trouble…" Cíada muttered, hefting the tome in her arms; "The Litany of Andralla should protect against the former, hopefully. Just need someone to read it aloud when a blood mage tries something."

"…how does reading a _book_ protect from magic?" Talia asked despite herself. She received a stunned look from the elf;

"It's a holy book, written by Andralla herself upon completion of her studies into blood magic."

"…still confused." The Breton muttered, looking around to see if that was a common factor. Apparently it was not, and she suddenly felt silly for even trying to question how magic worked. Hell, people were still trying to figure out how _wards_ worked, back home. She sighed as they started up the stairs; "But…never mind. If it works, it works."

"That's the spirit." Daveth clapped her on the shoulder. She sent him an annoyed glance, but saw in his eyes the same concern she felt herself. They both worried about what they might face beyond the stairs. Daveth just hid it better. He apparently always had.

He failed at hiding his surprise though, when they entered the Harrowing Chamber.

* * *

A group of abominations was standing in a closed formation, doing some sort of magic on a mage lying on the ground between them. Slowly, the mage was pulled into the air, hanging as if held by invisible hands as his form was wreathed in lightning that danced across his chest.

Talia had her staff whipped forward out of pure instinct, faster than anyone else could react, but realized with stinging regret that if she shot something at them, she might kill the hovering mage as well. So instead, she was forced to just watch as a barrier separated the group from the abominations. Really, it didn't seem like it was meant to stop _her_ kind of magic, but it was probably meant to stop physical entry, such as arrows, swords and people.

Which meant, they had to watch. Just stand and watch as the agonizing process finished, and the mage, who looked little older than Jowan, started convulsing and going into spasms. His skin darkened, the hair fell off, his clothes ripped and his entire face twisted and mutated, folding in on itself beneath an appearing layer of brown, fleshy…stuff.

So…this was how Abominations were made? _Fuck…that was just disgusting…_

"Ah, visitors." A vaguely familiar, bald man declared as he strode out from the barrier; "Have you come to partake in our revels?"

"Are you Uldred?" Talia asked. When he nodded, smiling all friendly and piss, she frowned; "You told the mages that Loghain would support their freedom…" she could already _feel_ Wynne's gaze on her back; "why would he do that?"

Uldred shrugged; "Truth be told, the Regent could not find it in his time to meet with me personally. I was contacted by his advisor, one Teyrn Rendon Howe." And now Talia could _hear_ how Aedan's morsels ground against each other. She had to place a hand on his arm to make him stay where he was. She sent the boy a look that basically said 'kill him_ after_ I'm done talking'_._

"Did you say 'Teyrn'?" Talia turned her eyes back at the superior and haughty Uldred. Now she remembered why he was familiar. He'd been that grumpy mage arguing with the Chantry lady at Ostagar. A slight smile played on her lips as she realized she'd at least been right about _not_ liking him. That it had been for something completely unrelated, didn't matter now; "As I recall it, Howe is an Arl, not a Teyrn."

"He presented himself as such." Uldred nodded, though she was unsure why he did it; "But he was acting by order of the Regent, and the Regent needed to ensure the mages would support him over the Grey Warden treaties. For what reason, I do not know. Nor do I really care."

"Is Irving still alive?" she looked around the chamber as she spoke. She could see _someone_ hunched and tied in a group at the far side of the room, but couldn't see who it was. Seven or so people, that was all. Uldred nodded, and Talia flashed a feral grin; "Good. Then I'll just kill you with fire now, if that's okay."

"Fight all you will, it will only make my victory that much sweeter!" Uldred shouted, repelling Talia's fireball with a shimmering shield as he jumped back. Talia was about to pursue him, when he simply stopped, and lightning started dancing across his body. _Great. He's going to become an abomi…_

Her thoughts _died_, when Uldred seemed to explode in a mixture of flashing light and shredded skin. Where the bald mage had just been, now a creature towered above them. It far outsized the ogre they'd seen in the last tower she'd been at, and more eyes than she could care to count were nestled above a mouth of huge, blackened teeth. Each arm was as thick as her waist, dark with blackened muscles and scales, sporting a long, backwards-going spike that should have toppled the…thing, backwards.

"…this is bad, right?" she whispered, seriously considering if the monster could follow them back down the stairs. Both Wynne and Cíada remained though, so she'd rather die than admit to having less gut than a pair of cage-mages…Even if those guts could end up smeared across the floor.

"He's a Pride Demon!" Alistair swore, bringing up his hands in preparation for a 'smite', as it was called. It was the cheating technique used by the Templars, and it was starting to dawn on Talia just why those annoying bucketheads were needed, if _this_ was what mages in Thedas could become. It didn't mean she_ liked_ it though, nor did she agree with the way mages in general were treated here. But she understood their need, nonetheless; "Leliana, take the Litany. Use it if Uldre- if that thing starts using blood magic."

The redhead nodded, took the tome from a pale Cíada, and slipped into the shadows of the room. It was seriously creepy how people did that without magic here, but Talia wasn't of a mind to care more than that. Mainly because right now, Alistair slapped the demon in the face with his 'smite', and led the charge along with Aedan.

"Yeah, no. You're not stealing my fire here…" she grumbled, focused her energy and sent a bust of lightning at the abominations approaching the charging warriors. The surge was so powerful that it left her panting at its use, but at least there remained nothing more of the cretins than smears on the stone.

"Not bad." The elf at her side nodded. Talia was about to direct an annoyed, just a little, glare at the girl, when she did _something_ with her hands. It looked a bit like what Jowan had done to the mage at the ambush, only different as it seemed to catch the demon here on fire. But it didn't _look_ like fire. More like some sort of entropic power that ate away at its skin and flesh, allthewhile it was busy swiping at Aedan and Alistair; "But this is _my_ home!"

"And you can _keep_ it!" Talia retorted, launching into a series of swings and jabs that had lighting, fire and ice shoot from both ends of the staff. Even when the fireballs left the ends in swings, they followed curved routes and still found their target; "'Long as-"

Aedan narrowly missed her as a successful swipe from the clawed hand sent him flying through the air. Talia's blood simultaneously froze and caught fire when she saw him tumble and skid to a still stop at the back of the wall. She didn't even register the fact that Wynne was saying something to her, what it was didn't matter. Her attention wasn't on the old crone anymore, just the idle thought that Wynne should shut it and help Aedan.

Alistair yelled something, followed by a fresh smite that slapped the demon back a step, making it lose its balance and flail with powerful arms to regain it. The former Templar chose that moment to dig his sword into its chest, drag himself up on it by losing the shield, and burry his blade into where the demon's heart was more or less likely to be.

Talia's relief died in her throat when the demon merely snarled, uttered something that sounded like a hoarse laughter, and grabbed Alistair by the waist. When it seemed like eating the boy's head like a grape was a good idea, an arrow from the shadows buried itself into one of its eyes.

Another followed from the other side of the room, this one piercing the black scales on the hand holding Alistair in a tight grip. The demon growled, something that almost sounded like an attempt at speech, and discarded Alistair in much the same way as the giant at the lakeside road had with its passenger. Alistair's impact into the wall, some seven feet above ground, was announced with the sound of bones snapping and armor clattering and breaking.

This was not working. The demon was clear of opposing close-fighters now, and seemed to just swat aside whatever sort of barrier Cíada placed in its way as it trudged through the remains of its own former servants, headed straight for where Wynne was tending to Aedan.

Aedan. The demon, hurt as it visibly was, was going to eat him like a snack regardless of barriers or anything else put in its way. Wynne was already visibly exhausted, splitting her energy between Alistair and Aedan's injuries. Talia was shit at healing so she couldn't even help there. There was _nothing_ she could do to help Wynne get the fighters back on their feet. Not with a demon that shrugged off the pelting arrows sent from both sides of the room.

But she could buy them time.

"HEY BUG-FACE!" she yelled, firing a blast of fire at its back. When the flames merely seemed to singe its skin, she repeated and repeated until she made the demon stop. Obviously, it was more annoyed than anything, and didn't even seem to feel more than a slight sting when she slapped a lightning bolt at its face; "YEAH! I'M TALKING TO YOU! YOU'RE FUCK-UGLY, YOU KNOW THAT!?"

For a moment, it seemed like the demon was torn between the easy snack, and getting rid of the pesky mage. In the end though, it was proven clear why it bore the name it did, and started off after Talia. Keeping an eye on where she was going, the Breton started jogging backwards, allthewhile everyone still standing would be flinging both insults, arrows and arcane fire at it; "COME ON, COCKSKULL! YOUR MOTHER WAS A HAMSTER! YOUR FATHER SMELLED OF ELDERBERRIES!"

She hadn't been prepared for the demon to lash out with magic of its own, though. A whip-like chain of lightning sprang from its meaty, scaly fist, and the tiles cracked and flew where the magical attack dragged across the floor. Talia tucked her staff to her chest and rolled, barely managing to get out of the way of one attack, before a second followed up to where she was headed.

The demon's laughter stilled somewhat when the lightning was soaked into the ward on Talia's staff. The blade almost_ sang_ and the staff vibrated with the raw amount of elemental magic sucked inside. Still, that was by no means a guarantee that she was in the clear, as the demon simply charged forward, seemingly having realized two things: A) its magic wasn't very effective on this pesky mage, for some reason, and B) mages wore fabric and meat, and were weak up close. As such, it spread out clawed hands and started a charge towards the redheaded Breton, who was glaring defiantly back at it.

Mainly because of two factors. A) Talia _had_ to buy Wynne time to get Alistair and Aedan back on their feet, and B) Talia, being who she was, was _anything_ but what the demon expected of mages.

As such, when it came at her, she did not run away, neither did she stand her ground. Instead, she slipped beneath it, dodged its trampling feet and came up on the demon's backside. There, even as the monster was in the middle of turning around, she charged her staff's blade with all the residual electricity it had sucked up from the demon's own attack, and buried it in the demon's exposed flank. Compared to the output of power in this strike, her own previous ones had been mere buzzes, like touching something that might give off a weak, electrical zap.

The demon roared, for the first time in true pain, and ripped the offending staff from its side. While Talia was idly glad that it simply discarded the weapon, not breaking it, she still had to run for her life as arrows whizzed about her, and the raging demon now hunted her with a vengeance. Her mind, while actively trying to plot a way to avoid her getting ripped apart, was also in the midst of a very profound conclusion;

"Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! Piss! _PIIIIIIS!_" said conclusion was also voiced for all who cared to hear it, as she ran circles in the tower, not even having the notion of hauling the gagged and bound Irving behind her as a decoy. Mainly because it wouldn't have worked, of course; "_Someone_ get your finger out your butthole bef-"

She was caught blindsided by the heavy fist, and sent tumbling across the stone floor. Each impact felt like the air trapped in her lungs tired crushing her innards and ribs, and upon finally coming to a stop, it was only with the most crude and unbalanced maneuvers that she managed to stop in a crouch. Then she vomited, just a little. She wiped the blood from her broken nose, and inhaled with all the energy she could afford. When she turned her eyes up to glare at the demon, she only just had the time for a final intake of air as its large fist came down and grabbed her.

She would have screamed, had it not been for the fact that she couldn't get the air in her lungs out through her mouth. She could feel something _break_ in her chest, most likely quite a few ribs, and she could _smell_ the putrid stench of corruption in its breath as it held her up close. The multitude of eyes glared at her, cold, calculating black beads akin to the ones you would find in rodents. _Shit, shit, shit! I'm FUCKED!_

There really was just one option left in this situation. It was a stupid one, it was dangerous, and most of all, very likely to do jack shit but scar her horribly for the last few seconds of her life. Still, it was all she had left, even as Daveth attempted to charge the demon with nothing but his own blades, and was slapped away like a pestering fly for all his troubles.

If there was one _good_ thing she could think about Father, in this moment, it was his irritating insistence that his children all learned to harness the gifts they had been born with. When an arrow found its mark in another of the demon's bleeding eyes, she used the tiny slack of its grab on her for a single, focused exhale of air.

Air, that was exhaled with the temperature of a furnace, laced with magic from the bowels of her being. It came out not as spent oxygen, but as a thin stream of coning fire. Talia's vision grew blurry as the overpowering pain in her mouth threatened to make her lose consciousness, but she pressed on, desperate to spend every last vestige of oxygen from her system in the fiery stream that washed over the demon's face. With the pain overpowering her senses, she couldn't hear its screams of pain, a deep, baritone roar as she was dropped, and the demon clutched its face to make the fires go away.

The world seemed to sail by in slow motion, and vanished completely in the familiar sea of darkness when she hit the floor.

* * *

**Sheogorath reads Fanfiction! Where is your God now!? Honestly though, you all expected to see either him or Vaermina here, didn't you? Personally too, I like changing what happened to Cullen. He's just the ultimate senior bro in Inquisition, and I just love him - as a character, not in the...never mind...Let's just say that I enjoy tweaking magic and the timeline here and there, such as the far more versatile ways of casting that mages from Tamriel possess over the mages from Thedas.**

**That, and Talia seems to have missed out on the chance to give Irving a bit of "accidental" friendly fire. Poop, but there's more to come.**

**Okay, we have plenty of material for post-action chat in the camp, so here I have another one for you guys if you by some small miracle have no idea what to write, if anything at all: Who would win in a straight fight? Savos Aren or Morrigan?**

**See ya :)**


	22. Eye for Eye, Tongue for Tongue

_I held a small…seminar, I suppose you could call it, with some of the mages today. I discussed the properties of magic, especially the differences in Fade and Atherius-fueled magic, and caused quite the stir. Pretty sure Vivienne wanted to shout at me at one point, though she didn't. I should probably keep a distance to her, the next few days._

_It was probably because I questioned if the mages of Thedas truly are not__capable of actually drawing from the Atherius instead, but the Chantry refuses to let this be investigated because it would invalidate the whole Circle-structure and risk another Tevinter rising. _

_At least I would know what to do if someone ties me down and cuts out my tongue… _

_Middas 12__th__, Morning Star, 41 Dragon_

_(Serah, I swear if you tear out more of my pages, I'll put a smelly-rune in your room! I already had to explain to Solas why my fiction with him and Dorian was pinned to the war room's door!)_

Torn page from a diary glued to a target-dummy with a happy face drawn on it. Quite a few words of gibberish have been written on it too.

* * *

**Eye for Eye, Tongue for Tongue**

* * *

Wynne looked up at the startled yell of her apprentice. Cíada had paused in her attacks, and Wynne now saw why: Talia, the young mage who claimed to be from lands across the western ocean, was trapped in a corner by the demon. The redheaded girl was on her knees, visibly exhausted as she clutched an injury of some sort. Wynne hadn't seen, only heard it, when she had been slapped across the room by the behemoth.

"Wynne, we've gotta _do_ something…" Cíada growled, her voice betraying the fact that the girl herself didn't know _what_ to do. Wynne was _drained_. All her magic was split between putting Aedan's spine back in place, and making sure Alistair's fracture didn't puncture his brain. Between that, she also had to maintain the glyph underneath her apprentice that allowed the elven girl to keep attacking.

For all the good that now proved to have done…

Wynne grimaced when the demon grabbed Talia by the waist and lifted her up, clearly putting a crushing grip on the girl. The way Talia's arms were pinned along her body, held in the demon's grasp, there was little anyone could do now. Every attack had proven inefficient at this point, and their sole Templar was on the ground, clinging to a state of near-consciousness. At this point, there was nothing she could do but to heal as fast as she could, and watch in terror as the demon prepared to bite the head off the mage in its grasp.

Later, she would wonder who was more shocked when Talia spewed fire at the demon's face: it, or them. The demon let out an overpowering shriek of pain when its eyes caught fire, bursting like grapes in the flames. It dropped the mage to the ground and clutched at the burning tissue, stumbling around in a blinded state of rage and agony.

Wynne was relegated to simply staring as the demon's struggles became increasingly desperate, and the flames refused to die out. On the contrary, they seemed only to spread, catching the desperate monster's hands on fire when it attempted battering the flames away. It was by raw miracle that its senseless tramples missed the unmoving mage on the ground, and allowed Leliana to appear from the shadows and pick her up.

"It's…not dying out." Cíada's muttered comment rose in intensity as the demon's wails became increasingly desperate; "Wynne! Whatever she just did, it's _working_!"

Understanding her apprentice's enthusiasm, Wynne kept her eyes on a cycle, going from the demon to Talia, to Alistair, to Aedan and back to the demon. She nodded, mentally preparing herself for the risk that the demon might trample over her patients, and asked her spirit to grant her more power. It knew she was asking for the sake of others, not herself, and thus granted her a surge of energy that almost made the old enchanter feel young again.

"She is unconscious." Leliana appeared by her side with a suddenness that, had the girl not spoken softly, could have given the old mage a stroke. The fearful look on the redhead's expression, as well as the bruised and battered face of the mage in her arms, silenced any and all complaints she might have made; "How bad is it?"

Talia's face was covered with blood, and burns marred her mouth and lips. her cheeks were burned to a stinking mess of cooked flesh, with large holes through to the inner mouth. There was a defined fracture on her forehead, and when Wynne started casting the preliminary spells on the hotheaded mage, she found all but five ribs to be broken, as well as a sprained thighbone and a broken ankle. Her elaborately decorated vambraces had taken a beating as well, demonstrating their use with the fact that the arm within was unharmed.

It was only the sheer unusualness of the situation, as well as the lingering threat of the demon in the room, that made Wynne also check the source of the fire: Talia's mouth itself.

The inside was so horribly scarred by fire that a great many teeth had simply cracked and fractured from the blistering heat. Her cheeks insides were burned halfway away, and the tongue was charred like skin over a fireplace. This was a type of self-maiming Wynne had never seen before, and to a greater degree than she'd thought humanly possible.

"It is…bad." It was the best response she could offer the girl before her, and thank the Maker that Leliana did not ask for a more covering explanation. Instead, she got up and said something to Cíada. The girl seemed confused at first, but then grasped whatever concept Leliana had suggested, and gave a serious nod, filling Wynne's unsettled heart with a bit of pride.

Cíada had been declared a lost cause by most once, when the girl had been found unable to produce neither fire, nor frost or lightning. The most basic of Primal spells for some reason had never come to the girl, and thus some had even argued that the kindest act would be to make the girl tranquil if she could not use her magic at all. Wynne had been the only one to really give Cíada a chance, and had taken her on as a personal apprentice. When Cíada turned out not to be able to _heal_ either, Wynne still did not give up. Instead, she had tested the girl in all schools of magic, and finally found her true potential.

Summoning, and Entropy, a school most preferred not to specialize in due to its assumed closeness to Blood magic, was revealed to be the elven girl's greatest strength. With a flicker of her wrist, Wynne's apprentice could do what took even most Senior Enchanters, Wynne herself included, many valuable seconds of preparation, and a great deal more energy to cast.

As such, Wynne was not as surprised as she might have been when her apprentice, instead of a direct attack, instead caused a large, slimy puddle of pitch to grow from the shadows of the demon's own feet. The slime itself, one of the few spells from the school of Spirits Cíada could cast - while flammable - was harmless and relatively easy to escape. Usually it was used mostly to trip enemies over, or even for simple pranks, but she knew Cíada had a purpose to casting it. When the blinded demon slipped and fell in the puddle, and Leliana launched the notched arrow, that purpose was made clear.

The arrow, tipped with a similarly flammable liquid set alight, whizzed through the air almost too fast for Wynne to see, and stuck itself into the puddle of greasy pitch. The demon, in its thrashings, had managed to roll around in the puddle, and when the flames started jumping both from its face and the burning arrow, the pitch lit up in a sea of fire, swallowing the demon within.

By the time Wynne had managed to restore Alistair to a stable state, and Aedan to a state that was not life-threatening, the fires had died down and nothing remained of the demon on the scorched tiles. Cíada had already knelt down by the tied-up mages, and Irving was now free. Wynne examined him from afar, reluctant to leave her patients even for the sake of ensuring the health of the First Enchanter. He seemed to understand, and walked to her with measured, but troubled steps.

When he stopped, Irving knelt down and brushed off her attempts at examining him here and now. His eyes slowly went first to Alistair, who was finally in a state of calm sleep, to Aedan who was kept rigid for the sake of his back by a paralysis spell, and finally to Talia, who was simply unconscious with physical trauma.

"It is over." He said at least, maybe satisfied in whatever answer he had found in Wynne's patients; "There are days where I suspect I might have been more in the wrong than I thought possible back then."

"You mean Talia?" Wynne asked, looking at the young face, twisted in a sleepless, agonized unconsciousness. Irving nodded slowly. Wynne knew he would be the first to admit being flawed: it was one reason he was First Enchanter. He knew when he made mistakes, and usually wasn't late in owning them. He had found after Talia's sudden departure that her book was still on his desk, and had sent it with Wynne when he knew the young mage was headed for Ostagar as well. Now, it was clear he had realized something new; "I was not aware that Primal spells could be cast this way…Although the injuries she sustained while doing so suggest it was not the way she preferred…"

"It lends credence to her claims, though, if anything." Irving nodded, red-rimmed eyes watching with concern as Wynne kept on healing what injuries she could. Some though…some were just too serious; "What is the situation in the tower, Wynne?"

The enchanter hesitated for a moment, unwilling to divert attention from the girl on the floor. Talia was loudmouthed, rebellious and anarchistic. She was dangerous, and disrespectful of the Chantry and Circle both…But she had risked her life regardless. It would not be right if her life ended here, at the same spot where the young man she'd arrived with had lost his.

"There are more dead than I could count, but…we have cleared out the tower. The demons are gone, the abominations dead. The Knight-Commander has held off the Annulment while this group of Grey Wardens…" she gestured at the unconscious Aedan and the slowly reawakening Alistair, as well as Daveth, who was limping towards them with the aid of Leliana; "…offered themselves in the attempt to reclaim the Circle before the purge remained the only option. We have little more than a dozen survivors holding out at the first story."

"I see…" the First Enchanter nodded gravely as his eyes slowly went to where Alistair was sitting himself up with a groan. The boy was holding his head like it might explode, and gave his surroundings a weary glance. The way he was pointed, the first he saw was likely Leliana helping Daveth walk, and a small frown grew on his expression. His frown shifted to a mask of dread as he turned his gaze to where Aedan and Talia lay motionless.

"…Maker, _no_.."

"They will live, Alistair." Wynne quickly assured him; "You all suffered grave wounds, but I managed to bring even you back from the brink."

"Points for being a healer…" Cíada added as she slumped against the wall. She remained standing though; "First Enchanter, are you well?"

"I am fine, child." The First Enchanter nodded. His voice was almost grandfatherly in its tone; "You did well."

"They will…Good. That's…that's good." Alistair sighed with obvious relief – the conversation between Cíada and Irving had been in whispers so as to not disturb Wynne – even as his lips withdrew in pain; "I must admit to quite the headache though…"

"I would consider that very much to be expected." Wynne said, even as her hands were on Aedan's back and Talia's front; "You_ did_ collide with the wall headfirst…"

"…Ri-i-ight…" the young man drawled as he ran fingers through his hair. His expression became stony when he spoke again; "That'd probably do it, I guess…But…what happened to- to them?"

Wynne wasn't surprised that Alistair didn't remember seeing Aedan being hurled through the room. He'd been too preoccupied with just trying to force the demon back that he hadn't had the time to watch where his comrade landed. Or, _how_ he landed.

"Aedan landed…badly." Was all she could offer. She suspected that revealing the extent would only worsen the young man's concerns, of which he could do nothing but worry; "Talia was burnt when the demon grabbed her…also, quite badly."

"…_How_ badly?"

* * *

The way the world jumbled and shook was what woke Talia up. That, or it could have been the way her entire skull felt numb. It was not the numbness caused by alcohol though. This felt more like numbness after getting either zapped or frozen magically.

_Gods, it feels like my mouth is full of blubber…_

For a moment, she couldn't make out the different shapes and colors in this, waking new world. A small part of her mind argued that maybe she was still in the Fade, or maybe even that she had never _left_ Winterhold. Maybe this was all just the after-effects of another late night with J'zargo and his Skooma. Piss, if the cat one day lost his magic, at least he could sustain himself as a Skooma dealer.

When the world became a bit more clear, she realized why she couldn't make out a whole lot of it before. It was early dawn, and most things were still uniformly grey. That, and she was staring into the skies. Grey and rosy clouds dotted the heavens, and something like the sound of water was coming from very close by.

Also, she couldn't move. Which was something she_ liked_ being able to do. Which in turn meant that the paralysis had panic and adrenaline almost immediately flooding her systems. She couldn't move. She couldn't open her mouth. She couldn't lift her arm. She couldn't move her fingers. She couldn't curl her toes. She couldn't _feel_ her right foot. All she _could_ do, was breathe through her nose and move her eyes.

Therefore, when a hand placed itself on her shoulder from the wrong angle, the one she wasn't looking at, she understandably panicked just a little. She'd have winced, had she been able to move.

"Easy… Easy…" the voice was Aedan's, and his concerned expression came into her vision when there was a sensation akin to a very mild gust of wind coming down into her face from the skies. She was being _lifted_, somehow, which was actually pretty disturbing because she couldn't move at all; "Talia, please, you need to relax."

Because that was not a forewarning of bad news if ever there'd been one.

_Maybe except for the 'I've got some bad news. Sit down.' Or 'Talia Aulus Geotien. Please, sit down' Yeah, that last one is _definitely_ more intimidating…_

"Mmmhhhmhh mmmhhhhhmhhh mhhh mmmhhh…Mmmaahh?" she couldn't feel the majority of her face, so the realization that her mouth was covered in bandages, which apparently restricted her speech to a rather severe degree, was something of an unwelcome surprise.

"Talia, Wynne says you should move as _little_ as possible…" his expression grew eerily pained; "That especially means talking."

"Mmm, Mmmihh mmmohhhmmm maahhh mmhhhuhhh…" she grumbled, mentally crossing her arms seeing as doing so in real life was difficult. And for some reason, most likely just due to the numbness, she couldn't feel her tongue clicking against teeth and cheeks inside her mouth.

"Talia. _Please_, _don't_ try to talk." It was more of a plead than an actual suggestion, and the raw concern in his voice made her actually resign to his request. If only because it hurt her a little in the chest when he looked at her with those sad, deep eyes. It might be delirium, or the relief at him no longer being a crumbled body on the floor, but she couldn't make herself look away from those soft, brown eyes. There was some healed bruising on the side of his forehead where the tattoo started, and a little dried blood was stuck in his scruffy start of a beard.

_Gods, he's just adorable._

So when she wasn't allowed to do more than just lie back and trust Aedan not to drop her – she assumed he was the one carrying her – Talia allowed her attention to drift away, listening to the waves breaking softly against land. Her eyes remained on him though, following his movements from the corner of her vision whenever he moved around. They were moving, she could tell that much, and Aedan was walking around her, which meant he _wasn't_ the one carrying her.

"Wynne told me what you did in there…" he started after a short pause. Talia, naturally unable to respond or defend her actions – not that she believed there was a need for that – just focused on Aedan as his expression became one of serious contemplation. He looked damn cute when he did that, even if the seriousness was in the form of scrutinizing her actions; "I know you'll probably hate hearing this, but… it was your actions that actually killed the demon. And, saved the Circle…"

She gave him an incredulous look, even as the memories of the fight started flooding her mind. They were…less than pleasant, and her final effort could explain why her mouth was wrapped with bandages now. She'd probably burnt herself quite badly. _Shit, just what I needed. I probably look like shit now too…_

"Whatever you…really did, it took the demon by surprise." He didn't seem to really know what to say; "…it dropped you and started running around until Cíada summoned a pool of pitch under its feet. It slipped and the pitch caught fire…You, ah…you killed it with fire."

His expression was so hopeful that she would catch his joke, that she couldn't suppress a chuckle at it. Not the joke – he didn't seem very good at those. Hell, _Alistair_ was better at jokes – but the way he so obviously wanted to cheer her up. Her muffled chuckles died down when his expression became all serious and somber again. Also they were just now crossing the threshold to some sort of building.

And there was commotion.

"H-hello, Wynne." A nervous – actually it sounded closer to terrified – male voice stammered.

"…Shit, I _knew_ we'd forgot about something…" Daveth groaned from somewhere to her right. Talia didn't need to see anything but the ceiling to know that Wynne was royally _upset_ somewhere close by. It was the way there was a sensation of cold heat gathering close by, usually a sign that arcane energies were being prepared close by.

"Jowan." Wynne's voice was _flat_. So flat that Talia had to raise both brows in an expression of surprise. Gods, she wished she wasn't tied up like this. Because judging by the old crone's voice, it was fairly obvious that something uncomfortable was going to go down any moment now. _Thank Hermaeus Mora I conscripted him when I did…otherwise the Circle would probably demand him back for tranquility or some shit…Damn, I wish I could speak…_

"So, this is a bit awkward…" Alistair started, already when the sound of light, running feet came to an abrupt halt, and Talia was pretty sure she could hear Brelyna gasp, or maybe it was a muttered curse; "Okay, and now it's a _lot_ awkward."

Talia grimaced at his words. If nothing else, she'd have liked to be able to speak so she could remark that he wasn't being very coherent. Also, why in Molag's Balls had they brought _Wynne_ to where the rest of the group was? For the love of Magnus, was no one here born with a brain?

"Senior Enchanter Wynne." Wait, was that _Ser Ava's_ voice? The Templar was_ still_ here? In the same building as both Brelyna and J'zargo? Oh shit, Talia _really_ needed to be able to see something besides the ceiling right now. No offense meant to said ceiling, of course, but far more important stuff was going on that needed her attention; "Does your presence with these Wardens mean the Tower is once more secured?"

"…Knight-Lieutenant Ava." Wynne's voice was as surprised at the woman's presence as Talia was; "I- yes, the Circle is once more secured, but…_What_ is going on here?"

"Before you demand the overturning of the Apostate Jowan, I find it prudent to inform you, also much to my own initial chagrin, that he has been conscripted by the Grey Wardens. As such, he no longer falls within our jurisdiction." Ser Ava explained. Talia would have coughed with surprise had she been able to move her chest for it, but instead had to make do with widening her eyes as she tried staring at wherever the voice came from.

"…I will not make that demand, then." Wynne's voice held enough regret and frustration to fill…something. Something _big_. Maybe a lake; "It was my understanding that the Grey Wardens did not look kindly upon blood mages."

"Oh believe me, we don't. Usually, that is." Alistair offered slowly; "We found him in Redcliffe, and…well, Talia sort of pulled rank on the Arlessa and conscripted him."_ Gee, thanks, Alistair. Way to lay it all on me._

"He was being _tortured_, of course Talia conscripted him!" Brelyna exclaimed, a hint of anger in her voice. She always was one to demand help for those in need. It was a reason Talia had taken an instant liking to her back then. The Dunmer girl had been one of the first to really welcome her on an equal level, which was something Talia hadn't been used to back then; "Not to mention it was not-…Wha- _what happened?_"

Right, Talia _had_ been waiting for Brelyna to flip a table when she saw whatever state she was in. Talia didn't even know herself, so it really could be anything ranging from a sack of beaten meat to a perfectly pristine, but paralyzed form. She personally hoped for the latter.

"Pride demon." Alistair sighed; "Big one, like, _really_ big. It didn't like Talia, she didn't like it right back, so when it tried eating her, she set its face on fire…"

_It's breath _sucked_. I just breathed back…Bad idea, in retrospect, I know…_

"J'zargo is not surprised." The Khajiit drawled from somewhere close by. Damn, not being able to see _sucked_; "the mage threatens with burning J'zargo's glorious whiskers on a daily basis. Demons should _flee_, not be attracted to her."

_Well…thanks, I think…_

Alistair sighed; "…also it might have broken a lot of her bones… most of her bones, actually."

"Ah…well, J'zargo still thinks he would have liked to, what you say, 'see the other guy'." Gods, if ever there was a time she loved the damned Khajiit…well, _now_ wasn't it, but he still made her grin inwardly. She appreciated the obvious attempt at lightening her mood, regardless that it was hidden behind a mask of disinterested amusement.

"Azura, why do I always…Never mind. I'm not going to get a whole lot of sleep tonight, am I?"

"Probably not…" Alistair conceded.

_Yeah…sorry, my bad._

"…do I even _want_ to know?" Wynne asked in a tired voice.

"Probably not…" Aedan sighed.

_Nope._

"I do." A new voice chirped in. Talia needed almost two full seconds to recognize the speaker as being the temperamental elven girl. The others were apparently looking at the speaker oddly, so as to provoke the next words; "What? A walking, talking cat? A red-eyed, grey-skinned woman and Jowan in one room? There's _gotta_ be a story behind this. I bet it's an awesome one too."

"Probably not…" Wynne muttered.

Talia blinked in surprise when she realized what had just happened, and wished she could laugh out loud at the silliness of it all. All that came out was a muffled sound that reminded her more of a choking cow than actual laughter.

"J'zargo did not expect to see small elves here. Are you a child?"

"Cíada did not expect to see talking cats here. Are you a manifested spirit?"

_Talia did not…I dunno, can't think of something…Damn…_

"…Cíada…" Wynne reprimanded wearily, causing a small snort of laughter from the cat;

"This one believes he likes the diminutive elf. Can he keep her?" J'zargo chuckled, with what was an obvious purr behind his voice; "And J'zargo is not a spirit. J'zargo…is a _Khajiit_."

"Is that an Avar thing?" Cíada asked. For some reason, Daveth started laughing at that. The sound of an electrical discharge, followed by a yelp, stopped him again;

"Ow! Can't believe I actually missed your company, _Morri_…" he grumbled, answered with a fresh _zap_ and a scoff from somewhere across whatever room they were in.

_I'll be damned, Morrigan's got a nickname too? HA!_

"Far be it for me to interrupt, Wynne…" Ser Ava's sterner voice cut in; "But I should be going. With the Right of Annulment no longer needed, I will return to the Tower and report my findings to the Knight-Commander."

"Of course." Wynne agreed, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing again; "Despite my…surprise, at the present company, we should focus on making sure Talia is ready to travel again as soon as possible. Do you have a healer within your group?"

"We do." Brelyna answered, taking what sounded like a step forward. Talia, while anxious at Wynne's reaction to the two non-humans, also felt a little proud at how Brelyna seemed to stand up for herself. Did this mean her trepidation at the Thedasians' reactions to her appearance was finally starting to subside? "…Me"

"I…am afraid I…am not familiar with…" the old Senior Enchanter began.

_Lady, if you start some racist shit, I'll show you what a Familiar really means. Teeth and all._

"I am Brelyna Maryon of House Telvanni. Before you make the assumption spoken: No, I am not an abomination, nor am I a demon, nor a spirit or anything akin to those. I am a Dunmer, commonly known as a Dark Elf."

"A new race of elves?" Cíada exclaimed both happily and disbelieving; "When- How? I didn't think any other races existed on…are you from the Sea of Ashes? Or maybe even _outside_ Thedas?"

"…should I be surprised that the first to _not_ instantly draw sword or throw stones is an elf?" the Dunmer asked, with what sounded like a snide smile in her voice; "Yes, _we_ are from a continent _west_ of Thedas known as Tamriel."

"You and the… _Catshit_?"

Daveth and Alistair both cracked up at that, much to the Khajiit's audible annoyance.

"_Khajiit_." J'zargo added surly. As if anyone could forget.

"Myself, J'zargo and Talia, actually." Brelyna explained with a milder voice as her steps came closer to where the Breton mage was paralyzed. Talia just looked around until Brelyna entered her field of vision. The hurting worry in those ruby-red eyes didn't really assuage Talia's concerns; "Damn it, Talia, what have you gotten yourself into _this_ time?"

_Wasn't me. Blame the demon._

"She…is not really in a state to respond." Alistair said in a tone far more somber than before. Talia huffed through her nose and rolled her eyes. Best she could do, really, and she _was_ becoming somewhat impatient. It was just a little unnerving how everyone seemed so keen on mentioning how _good_ she'd been, and steered around the whole 'how bad is it' case. _Finally, someone's going to mention just _how_ bad it is! _

"…_What_ do you mean?"

"When the Pride demon had her in its grip, Talia wasn't able to move her hands…" Alistair paused; "…at all. So she couldn't use them to cast with, I think."

He wasn't _wrong_, per se, just not right either. Talia _could_ have used her hands to cast, but with so little room for fire to burn, it _would_ have burned her as well. In hindsight, that was somewhat irrelevant now, it seemed. Just another case of Talia being too panicked to think things through.

"Oh Goddess…" she could see Brelyna hold both hands before her mouth, lips pursed into a thin, horrified line; "Don't tell me this is from…"

"Fire-breathing?" Aedan asked, speaking up for the first time since they entered the room. Yeah, 'Fire-breathing'. It was far from an effective technique, and usually also turned out dangerously bad for the caster unless he or she had sufficient…_experience_…with…it…_Oh shit_.

"We need to get her to a proper bed." Brelyna spoke again, this time with a more serious tone; "This is going to be taxing. J'zargo, Jowan, you were both there when Talia made the pepper-up for me, in Redcliffe. Get me those ingredients, half the antler only. Someone get me Talia's satchel as well, and Leliana, help me get Talia undressed."

Why was it that the first time Brelyna asked to see her naked, Talia was in no state whatsoever to even crack a joke about it? The universe just wasn't being very nice to her, that much was a…well, a universal truth. Maybe being undressed by Brelyna was what Sheogorath had started saying she could 'look forward to'. If so, it would fit his sense of humor _perfectly_…

"Morrigan, do you know any healing?" Brelyna asked the witch as Leliana stepped up to help with…something. It meant Talia suddenly saw herself in a smaller chamber, which was nice, she supposed.

"Not…enough. Not for this." It almost sounded like genuine regret in her voice, which was a pretty damn big surprise. Had someone handed the witch the Grimoire while Talia had been inattentive? "I could be of assistance with the more simple injuries, but…not the damages to…"

"I'll deal with that part…" Brelyna cut the witch off, but didn't receive a scoff in return. What the hell was going on with people around here? Not that she minded Morrigan being nice, not at all, but…Things were _weird_, right now.

"Are you a Grey Warden as well, Brelyna Maryon?" Wynne asked, with some obvious hesitance to her words. She was probably still of half a mind that Brelyna was some sort of abomination.

"…No." she replied lowly, a small hint of…something, in her voice; "Talia became a Warden with Aedan, Daveth and Alistair while J'zargo and I were…guests, with Morrigan."

"T'is more like you were patients." Morrigan huffed as some sort of chair scraped across the floor; "Guests are usually conscious when they arrive, are they not?"

"So, you are the Morrigan they spoke off?" Wynne's question made Talia's eyes fly between the witch and the old mage, looking for signs of brewing conflict. Morrigan just regarded the older mage distantly, as if she had no importance.

"That _is_ my name, though what it matters to you, I cannot fathom."

"An old woman's curiosity, that is all." Wynne deflected with something of a forced, humored tone to her voice; "Your mother is Flemeth, is she not?"

"If she was, do you truly believe I would tell a mage bound to the Chantry?" the witch gave a mocking scoff; "If I told you yes, would you not return to your Circle and have the Templars sent for us? I cannot imagine the thought would cause you trouble."

"Just…forget I asked." Wynne sighed, then looked at Brelyna, who was currently outside Talia's field of vision. Gods, couldn't the old crone just let her move her _head_? Was that too much to ask? "What are we waiting for, Brelyna?"

"Ingredients I need for this…I assume you have done what healing you could on your own?" Brelyna answered a question with a question, drawing a raised brow from Talia. At least she tried raising a brow. It was difficult when her face was not only paralyzed but also wrapped in bandages.

"All that I could, yes…" Wynne reply was regretful, but whether it was a matter of pride or concern for Talia, the young Breton couldn't say; "I have a question, if you will allow me to ask it."

"Go ahead."

"The first time I witnessed Talia use magic, it was in Ostagar. She…brought a person back from the dead, a feat that should be impossible even with magic…" It didn't escape Talia that Wynne seemed to believe Brelyna didn't know what had happened at the Joining. Of course, the Joining _was_ supposed to be a secret, but Talia hadn't cared for that part back then. Still didn't. She just wished people would stop talking about her like she wasn't here; "You claim the same as she, that you are from a continent far to the west of here… Does your magic not impose the same limitations as ours?"

"…our magic?" Brelyna sounded confused by the statement, if just for a short moment; "Ah, you mean the fact that mages in Thedas draw your power from this…Fade, right?"

"Yes. When we were in the Tower, Talia theorized that the Fade is a part of something called 'Oblivion', in your lands."

"…and you _draw power from it_?" Brelyna sounded honest-to-Aedra terrified at the idea. Understandable, since the Oblivion Crisis had started in somewhat the same way. Some people wanted power, were tricked by a godlike being from Oblivion._ And bim-bam-bum, Dagon walks the world_; "Gods, isn't that _extremely_ dangerous?"

"Mages have always been at risk from demons, that is true." Wynne nodded gravely; "It is why we have the Circles."

"But, why not just draw your magic from Atherius? There's absolutely no risk in that. None whatsoever." It was fairly obvious that Brelyna, finally having a chance to ask a mage that A) knew enough about the subject, and B) was actually willing to discuss its workings, was deeply intrigued. It was the scholar in her, the scholar that every woman in her family apparently had a tendency to become. Weird, but that's what it was; "I cannot even imagine the dangers connected to trying to draw power from a plane of Oblivion, let alone willingly…"

There was sort of a sad shake of her head in that sentence.

"It has always been the way magic worked, and the very reason why being born with magic has always been viewed as more of a curse than a gift." Wynne explained sadly, as if the subject was a terrible one to all mages. When she thought about it, Talia sort of had to agree that it was. She still despised the Circle as an institution, but if the magic of Thedas came with this kind of risk…and the risk for turning into monsters at any given chance…she was starting to see why the Circle, minus the Harrowing and the locking-up-innocents part, was needed.

Still didn't mean she approved.

"It's just…" the Dunmer sighed, and Talia could hear another chair scrape up, then saw Brelyna enter her field of vision as well. Now that she could see all the room's inhabitants, the speaking ones anyway, she felt a bit less exposed. Which was silly, and stupid in the first place, because even if Wynne suddenly became evil or 'possessed', Brelyna was quite the wrong person to mess with in confined spaces; "It seems an unnecessary risk to take. What happens if someone makes a mistake, and lets in one of these demons?"

The sound of an opening door brought Talia's eyes down her chest to look at the door. Thing just was, she was in a position that she couldn't see past her own upper lip. Which sucked.

"It'd fallen off in the boat." Aedan said, handing something of leather to the people by her side. When Wynne took it, Talia was "reunited" with her satchel. Damn thing had fallen of? Then again, with the way she'd been rolling and running about, it was probably a small miracle the thing wasn't still lying about in the tower; "…Is there…anything else I can do?"

Brelyna grabbed the satchel from Wynne and set to rummage through it. Talia, at this point, honestly couldn't remember _what_ she'd packed into it, but hoped it would be enough. She was fairly sure she'd have had the foresight to pack for another pepper-up. At least, she _hoped_ she had.

"…No, I think this will do." Brelyna's reply came enough offhand that Talia could hear the worry and tenseness in her voice. Aedan obviously wasn't keen on it – she could hear him mutter something under his breath about Andraste having dirty underwear or something – but he left the room. Brelyna sighed and looked up at Wynne; "I am going to need your help now."

"Whatever I can do, you will have it." Wynne assured the Dunmer with a voice soft enough to be Scholar Magenta, her old instructor in the more refined arts of conduct at courts – which meant no swearing – had been a soft-spoken elderly woman from Daggerfall's _Academia Culturelle_, a place Talia wouldn't mind never seeing.

Whatever happened next was unknown to her, as Brelyna pressed a pair of fingers to the Breton's forehead and smiled softly while whispering words Talia could not hear.

* * *

Watching a visibly unsettled Daveth leaving the room Talia was in, Aedan dumped himself on a stool in the small, impromptu living room of the empty house the group had seemingly found itself occupying for the time being. He hadn't known they were staying here – he'd just been following the archer who for some reason seemed to know – so he had been surprised at finding a not insignificant dwelling close to the square housing the group in its entirety.

Well, technically it had just been the mages not able to follow them inside the Tower, but now everyone plus Wynne and her apprentice were in here too. Those two, he knew, were here only because Wynne was needed to help Talia, and Cíada because Wynne didn't want to leave her apprentice behind. Sort of. He didn't really bother with the elf, not now that more important things were going on. _And that's just a cynical way of saying 'the girl you like could be maybe sort of kind of maimed for life'…_

He grimaced at the way his own thoughts betrayed him: He was scared, there was no way around that.

But, it was a different kind of 'scared' than when something or someone was actively trying to kill him, and it was a different kind of scared than he'd been when the assassin revealed Howe had sent him – and therefore knew where not just he, but also his mother was – to kill him. That part was more of a general worry, something far off that he couldn't do anything about and that he logically knew wouldn't improve no matter his teeth-grounding.

He hadn't let it show when he was in the room – at least he hoped he hadn't. He'd been pretty sure his expression didn't betray him – but when he gave the satchel with Talia's stuff to Wynne, and had seen Talia's unmoving form on the bed, the shock that had seemingly left him after letting her out of his sight earlier, had hammered him in the face once more.

_Andraste's soiled smalls._

Heretical as that line might be, Aedan didn't particularly care right now. His mind was swirling between images of Talia when he'd woken up – the way her face had been so horribly burnt and scarred that he couldn't even make out where the wounds began and her face ended. Almost all skin around her mouth was charred to a crisp, and her lips were gone. Everything had just smelled of cooked meat – which still made him shudder at the memory. He'd done his best to not let it show when she actually woke up upon beaching, mainly because he had a notion that Talia didn't _like_ people making a fuss over her, but he was still fairly sure he'd cried a little.

He could still remember the last thing she'd said to him in the Fade. The real her, not…whatever the dream had given him. He'd just woken up all of a sudden, having slept within a dream, and seen her walking towards him, fully clothed. There'd been this…look on her face, a look he couldn't remember having seen since that night in Highever. He couldn't even fully remember what the dream itself had been about, only that it had been with her as its centerpiece. The way she'd smiled when she came towards him in the dream, the way her eyes had focused on him…

'_Just so you know, you only had to ask'_. That was what she'd said. He just wasn't sure what to make of them, her words. What had she meant by them? That he only had to ask to dream about her? Or maybe that he should have asked if she liked him? Or if he should have asked to…no, no there was no way she'd meant _that_. Even with how they'd met, what _could_ have happened if not for Howe's treason, she couldn't possibly have meant… _it doesn't matter. Not now. Maferath's beard, Aedan, stop thinking with your dick. There's no saying what'll happen to her after tonight, and you fantasize about sleeping with her._

Honestly, he felt he should be a little sick with himself at that one. But she _had_ said those words. Worried sick as he was for her, he still couldn't get them from his mind. Words and images haunted his mind, refusing to leave him in peace.

So instead of simply staring uselessly at the wall – which _had_ seemed like a good idea – he removed his armor, scrounged up a somewhat clean rag and set to cleaning it.

It really seemed the only thing to do.

"Excuse me, excuse me, pardon me..." When Bodahn's, the dwarf Talia had hired-slash-allowed to accompany them with his son, voice reached his ears, Aedan looked up from where he was trying to get a splotch of something dark off his armor. The dwarf in mention was stumbling through the room, unable to see where he was going due to a massive stack of herbs and plants he carried before him. Aedan recognized the vast majority to be Elfroot, which meant Bodahn had likely taken them from own supply.

"Bodahn…what are you doing?" Daveth asked first, sitting on a chair across the room from Aedan.

"I heard what happened." He started, pressing the pile of herbs and plants down, while his somewhat odd son came in behind him, carrying an armful of vials filled with red and blue liquids. Potions, Aedan realized. Bodahn was emptying his stock, it seemed; "We acquired a new batch of Elfroot and poultices in Redcliffe."

"And…you're emptyin' your wagon?" Daveth frowned in what seemed like mild disbelief. Aedan wasn't that surprised, actually. He hadn't _expected_ this, but it helped the knot in his chest that Bodahn seemed so willing to throw everything at helping Talia; "I'll be damned…"

Bodahn didn't reply to that, as he was already at the door. Both hands occupied with carrying stuff, he instead tapped the door repeatedly with his foot until a surprised Leliana opened the door. The deep worry on her face, moments before she saw Bodahn behind the pile of plants, retied the knot in Aedan's chest. She wasn't exactly radiating hope.

* * *

"This is going to be difficult…" Brelyna muttered, wiping her forehead. She didn't like this, not one bit, but she didn't see any other options. Wynne, who according to Jowan when they had been waiting for the return of the group – he'd told her about his upbringing and life in the Tower - was one of the best healers around, hadn't been able to restore the injuries Talia had suffered.

When she and Leliana had carefully removed bandages and clothes from Talia's body, she could feel her hands shake when fully taking in the extents of the damage done to her friend. Talia, clothed only in her small now, was a mess of bruises, open wounds and burns. Several places, she could see ribs poking at the Breton's skin, bones underneath where her leg had snapped upon a hard fall, and dislocated shoulders.

Her face though, was by far the worst. Brelyna had seen some extreme injuries in her life, most of them inflicted upon bandits and mercenaries wanting to make coin from assaulting seemingly defenseless students from the College whenever they had been on the road. Burns, bruises and torn throats – the latter a courtesy of Talia's Familiar – had become a repetitive sight. And yet, the Dunmer had failed to keep back a teary whine when the bandages were peeled from Talia's face.

All the skin around her mouth had been charred to a crisp, and the lips themselves were just _gone_. There were gaping holes in her cheeks, something Wynne had managed to restore from being completely bare of flesh whatsoever. Several teeth were missing or broken inside her mouth, and her tongue was a mess. It looked like someone had simply tossed it into a bonfire, leaving it a charred piece of meat. It was likely only Wynne's sedating spells that had kept Talia from actually _feeling_ the pain.

And now, Brelyna was faced with just one option that would grant her enough power to actually heal this. It was risky, very much so at that, but she frankly didn't care. Talia's capacity to move, if not her life itself, was at stake here.

"What do you intend?" Morrigan asked, her face a cold mask of discomfort.

"Equilibrium." She ground out. The spell in mention was the closest one could get to channeling unlimited power, but it was also potentially fatal to the caster. It tore at one's life energies, converting life itself to magicka. From what little she'd been able to get from Jowan on the subject of his escape – blood magic – it was close enough to it that she felt uncomfortable explaining this to Wynne; "It's the only way to give me enough power to fuel a complete healing…But, it's risky."

"We do not have much choice, from the looks of things…" Morrigan spoke slowly, measured; "What does this entail?"

"It…uses my own life-force to power it, to give me enough magicka for a sustained bout of healing."

"Your kind permits blood magic?" Wynne sounded aghast at the notion, something that Brelyna frowned at;

"Firstly: no, this uses _life-forces_, not blood. And second, I really think ethics take less priority here than ensuring Talia's complete recovery, seeing as _your_ magic was unable to heal her injuries." There was a bit of a sneer in her voice in the end, but Brelyna didn't currently care whether or not she stepped on toes. This was to help Talia, so she wasn't going to shy away from potential solutions; "What I need from you, both of you ideally, is to heal _me_ while I heal _her_. Your magical healing restores life energies and speeds up tissue-reparation, if what Jowan told me is correct, but you cannot reform lost bodyparts."

"But…you can?" the old mage asked with wide eyes. Brelyna nodded wordlessly, unwilling to consider the risks connected to this. Taking the course had taught her the _theory_, but there was a major gap between theory and actually putting someone back together from something like this; "I…then you will have my aid."

"We should take turns, so as to prolong the duration we can sustain you." Morrigan advised as she started placing vials of blue and red liquids on both sides of the table, ready for intake; "When one of us is spent, the other will take over while she restores her energies. This way we can go on for as long as it should prove needed."

"Thank you…" the Dunmer sighed, grateful at having the witch here. It was odd that she trusted this wild woman more than she did the orderly old one, but Morrigan had proven herself to the group more than once, and she had nursed both herself and J'zargo back to health. She took a deep inhale of air, rolled her shoulders and powered up the spell; "Let us begin."

* * *

Aedan did his very best _not_ to wince when red light became visible from underneath the closed door. He knew few types of magic that gave off such a glow, and none of them good. From the expressions around him to go by, the others seemed to share his opinion.

The red light was regularly overpowered with sharper flashes of blue, and each gave off a sound like a hum of energy.

Maker's balls, he _hated_ being like this: Forced to simply wait uselessly while a friend was under healing. He had no way of knowing if Wynne, who had brought Talia back to consciousness in Ostagar and healed her at the Tower, or Brelyna with her kind of healing that had seen his mother restored to good health again, could negate the horrifying injuries he'd seen on his friend.

"This sucks…" Daveth muttered after what felt like hours, and Aedan found he had to nod in agreement, even if he didn't remove his eyes from the offending door. The dimmed lightshow continued, with not a sound besides the ones produced by the blue flashes; "How long've they been at it now?"

"Wynne is doing her best." The elven girl in the chair by the door argued wearily; "This stuff takes time."

"It has been at least an hour, this one thinks…" J'zargo grumbled, crossing his arms as he snuggled deeper into the chair by the fireplace; "Healing should not take this long, even I know that."

"Stop being a pessimist, okay?"

"J'zargo is_ not_ a pessimist." The Khajiit muttered. Aedan could hear someone tap their fingers on wood; "But he knows enough about healing to know it should not take _this_ long…and he doesn't like the red lights…"

"No one likes this…" Leliana sighed, slumped in the chair she'd occupied since leaving the treatment room; "But we must put our faith in the Maker and the skill of the mages."

"Put our faith in a god J'zargo does not know…" the cat grumbled; "It does _not_ sit well with this one that we should merely sit this by."

"You don't seem to have much regard for Wynne, J'zargo." Cíada stated with a question; "Do you not trust her with your friend?"

"If your demons could not kill her, J'zargo senses no threat from the old mage…" he huffed, then for some reason stopped himself and looked away; "But…he _is_ worried."

"We are all concerned, J'zargo." Leliana said, her expression a soft mask of worry; "All we can do, however, is pray for her recovery, and be ready to aid however we can."

It would be two more hours before the group received the news.

* * *

"…I see no further injuries." Morrigan sighed wearily, resting back in her spot as Wynne took over. Brelyna didn't answer, instead she just kept pressing the spells to their limit, feeling her own energies leave at an equal pace to their restoration by the old woman.

"I do not see more either, though I sense there still lingers an issue…Brelyna, what is the matter?" Wynne, at least, seemed to sense something was wrong. Brelyna was too tense to reply until Wynne gently put a hand on her arm, a strange and unexpected gesture. She looked up and saw worry in the old woman's eyes.

"I… there is an injury I cannot heal – not at the moment…" the Dunmer sighed, feeling her chest tie up in a knot of regret, worry and pity for her friend; "Magical flames are…they leave behind horrific scars, and…"

"I see…" Wynne nodded as Brelyna trailed off. The woman's hands gloved blue as they rested on each of Talia's restored cheeks. Her deep expression only added a worried frown at that; "The internal damage is still quite severe…"

"It can be healed." Brelyna quickly said, though even she was unsure if this was to assure the women with her, or herself, that it really could. The knot in her chest, tight as ever, seemed to suggest the latter; "It will just…take time."

"Time we rarely seem granted, at that." Morrigan noted, her usually so disinterested tone now marred with what could be confused for actual concern. Brelyna had barely known the woman for two full days before Talia had suddenly shown up accompanied by the boys and a short woman, and in those two days she had learned just as many things: Morrigan was antisocial at best, and her mother was incredibly powerful, and just as skilled at concealing this behind a mask of oddity; "How bad is it?"

"The teeth that were destroyed I have been able to remove, and compelled her body to grow replacements. Her mouth is badly scalded still, but it is already healing…H-her tongue, though…" Brelyna wasn't quite sure how to say the words out loud. It felt so wrong that they were true, wrong like she had merely made a mistake in judgment, but…no mistake was made.

"It will have to be regrown almost from the root." Wynne spoke for her, something for which she was both thankful and irritated. The latter because the woman's concern sounded purely to be that of a healer's, not the raw concern Brelyna herself felt when she looked at the mostly restored form of her dearest friend; "It _can_ be done, and from what I have come to understand, Serah Maryon, Talia herself possesses the skills to speed this process up."

"…And, the rest of her injuries?" the 'Witch of the Wilds' asked, this time in the voice of an unsettled, barely hopeful spectator. It felt quite surreal, to be sitting over the sleeping form of her long-time friend, knowing what the hotheaded – and she _was_ hotheaded quite often, not to mention brash – Breton would immediately discover. Brelyna just knew she and J'zargo would have to be there when it happened. Familiar faces were a god ward against shock, and aided recovery. That was what Collette had taught her during the lessons.

"Healed to the best of our efforts." Wynne replied tiredly. Even though Brelyna had been the one to draw on her own life forces for the past Azura-knew how many hours, both Wynne and Morrigan were visibly drained as well. It spoke of just how long they had been at it; "Now all we can do is to renew bandages where they might be needed, and allow her rest…We will leave you with her, Brelyna Maryon."

"I…right, I…Thank you." the Dunmer stammered, woken from some sort of internal slumber as she watched both mages leave. Barely had the back of Wynne vanished from its opening before the furry frown plastered on J'zargo's face was in its stead; "You can come in, J'zargo."

For once, the cat did not speak. He merely nodded and shut the door behind him, much to the annoyance of whomever was on the other side. Brelyna was fairly certain she could pick up heavy boots pacing beyond it, as the Khajiit found the chair Wynne had used, and sat. In a visage of rare contemplation, he folded both hands, claws hidden, and rested his nose in their crook, so that only his eyes and forehead peeked over.

Brelyna did not disturb him with words as J'zargo paced his eyes over Talia's sleeping form. He did not even seem to comprehend that she was barely clothed – Brelyna knew he would otherwise have jested about this somehow, and he was probably going to do so at a later time, when Talia wasn't within earshot to set his tail on fire – and instead just examined her. He didn't move, his chest barely expanded when he breathed, and the only actual sign of him being awake at all, aside from his eyes being open, was the way his tail swept back and forth in agitation and worry.

After several minutes of this eerie silence, the Khajiit spoke;

"How…is she?"

"She will recover." Brelyna answered her friend. When J'zargo only replied with a suppressed growl – a sign that he currently lacked the patience for half answers, the Dunmer continued; "We have healed and restored all her injuries nigh one…"

"J'zargo sees no wounds, no bleeding, no remaining burns on her skin…This is...it's something inside, is it not?" the way he spoke was utterly contradictory to his usual speech-patterns, and only served to cement the worry he shared with Brelyna. Both were unused to seeing Talia in this state, and the Dunmer could only nod; "….Can…can she breathe? On her own, J'zargo means?"

"She can breathe, and eat, on her own, yes." Brelyna nodded which made the cat sigh with relief. Obviously, he had been caught up in worst-case scenarios from the moment he'd first spoken; "However, she can neither taste, nor likely speak at all."

"Her tongue is…damaged?" there was equal amounts of confusion and fright in his voice. A rare thing, for him.

"It is gone, J'zargo…" why did she feel like _she_ was the one hurting her friend when J'zargo – maybe as a reflex – punched the wall hard enough that she could hear a knuckle break, and watched him wince and hiss in pain. It did seem to help him keep down the horrified expression she had seen as a mere flash in his eyes just then; "We are regrowing it, but it will take time. In that time, and despite how she might detest us for it, we must treat her gently. Her body is still going through shock, and needs time to replenish the energy it has used to restore itself."

"She…she should _not_ have tried to breathe fire." J'zargo growled; "It is not something even J'zargo would attempt…Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_…"

"Likely, she did not feel she had much choice…" the Dunmer argued wearily, placing a hand on J'zargo's arm. He almost seemed ready to wince when he felt the touch, but restrained himself and simply remained where he sat. She forced a thin smile to her lips; "And, I think she would agree with you that it was stupid."

"She doesn't…she doesn't look like she is in much pain…" the cat remarked after a minute's silence; "This one…wonders if she dreams."

"I hope so…Because when she wakes up, she might believe it's nothing but a nightmare…"

* * *

"So, what with all the glum, not-talking-ness, I'm guessing everything's fine?" Alistair broke the silence that had reigned since Wynne and Morrigan left the room holding Talia, neither surprisingly – and unsettlingly so – bothering to even glare at the other.

Then again, maybe Wynne wasn't one of those people who glared at people just because they dressed as Chasin apostates. Well, he supposed Morrigan _was_ filling out the 'apostate' part, even if only those who heard her speak would know she sorely lacked in the 'Chasin' one.

"I'm guessing there's a certain level of definition to 'everything's fine' that we don't really have?" Daveth muttered, probably meant for his own ears only. When no one yet commented on this, and the fact that the archer had spoken an entire sentence without bending words – his voice could actually have been any civilized man now that Alistair thought about it – Daveth slumped back into his chair and stared into the still glowing embers of the fireplace. "…Sod it, then…" he said, and threw another log on the fire.

Apparently the house actually belonged to the village's garrison of soldiers, hence its small size, and the Knight-Lieutenant had basically kicked out the sleeping men in it when the rest of the mages had needed a place to wait that was…somewhat out of view. It also explained why the place was so damn well stocked, and why no one but the good Ser Ava had come to their aid. Well, that was mostly because of the 'sleeping men' part, really.

Wynne hadn't spoken a single sentence to the group at large since exiting the room with something of an unsettled look upon her. She could have seen a ghost, for all the Warden knew. Then again, she actually seemed more distressed now than when they had been fighting demons in the tower. Odd, that. At least now she actually looked up from her hushed discussion with that apprentice of hers, Cíada. That girl was an odd one, to say the least…or, at least a surprise, of sorts. One would expect the apprentice of Ferelden's best healer to at least be just as good a healer…instead what you got was a disturbingly potent pile of Entropy in a small package with cute pointy ears and a temper to match a certain redhead he knew.

"…_shit_…" he thought he heard the girl whisper, but then again, it could just have been him.

"Talia is…recovering." Was all Wynne seemed willing to part with initially. When basically the entire room stared at her to continue, she resigned and did so; "Her broken bones have been reset and healed. Her injuries from toes to hair have been healed, and she will make a full recovery."

Alistair found himself frowning. Mainly because he couldn't make sense of the old woman's words. First she said all injuries had been healed, then she said stuff like 'will make a full recovery', implying that they _hadn't_ fixed everything. Idly, and at the same time frantically, he began going over the injuries he _knew_ she'd suffered.

It didn't help his confusion in the least.

"So I'll be the one to ask, then, since none'f you seem keen." Daveth stood from the chair, its scrape turning what heads weren't already focused on the conversation; "What injury _couldn't _you fix?"

"While I- we, are still uncertain as to the reason, it seems that the damages caused by Talia's own magic resist most attempts at direct healing, which could imply that the fire itself was laced with unintentional magic, which-"

"Wynne, just tell 'em already." The elven girl interrupted her teacher, for which Alistair was grateful. He wasn't in the mood, nor possessing of the patience to listen to a deeper explanation when the question had been painfully simple.

"Her tongue was burnt away." Wynne's words came out with such…_something_, that they left the room in stunned silence. All except for Morrigan, of course, since she had been in there. Alistair fought between obeying the urge to stand, glance at Aedan and gasp. In the end he settled for the second option, seeing as he'd known about the tongue-thing already, sort of. He just hadn't thought it couldn't be healed.

When he glanced at Aedan, he had to take an extra look first because he was pretty sure he was looking at a statue: his friend and fellow Grey Warden was as if set in stone. His eyes were wide, horrified mockeries of their usual calmness, and his lips were pursed in a thin line that had him look _years_ aged. Both the younger boy's hands were gripping his thighs, visibly trembling with some barely suppressed emotion. Rage at the demon, most likely. That or desperation, though the latter's main focus could be anything from inability to prevent the injury, to an inability to heal it. Both were sort of understandable, Alistair supposed. He was feeling both himself, though clearly not as strongly.

The bastard prince wasn't as stupid as people seemed content to believe. Yes, he was often overly cautious, maybe slightly superstitious sometimes, and others he was maybe a little naïve. He'd been raised first by Eamon, then by the Chantry, though Morrigan seemed to believe the latter _was_ what made him stupid. But he wasn't. Stupid, that was. Is. Was. Doesn't matter. He knew what he saw when he saw it, and he'd seen both the young Cousland and the hotheaded, sometimes annoying and irritating mage together often enough that he saw behind the façade of casual banter. He could see both cared for the other, and seemed utterly ignorant of said other's caring. It would have been funny if he wasn't looking at a stricken Aedan right now. Maker, the poor guy's jaw was trembling.

"But, she'll recover, right?" Alistair asked, maybe a bit louder than needed; "I mean, the tongue will…_grow _back out?"

It was about as idiotic a notion as it sounded, he realized upon feeling more than one aghast stare at him. He almost missed Wynne's small nod, slow as it was, before she spoke; "Yes, in a sense."

"I've never liked that word before now…" he wasn't sure if Daveth was being sarcastic or not, mainly because he wasn't sure if he himself liked its wording at all.

"While she is out of danger, and for the time being simply requires sleep, it seems that only Talia's own magic can actively make her tongue grow back out…" with all three Tamriel-mages out of sight, it was clear Wynne lacked a person to direct her gaze at, so she simply ended up looking at the flames licking the firewood; "Their magic continues to astound me…"

"…try spending a _week_ with them." Alistair found himself muttering, causing a weak grin to appear. He had to admit though, that Wynne had a fair point: Talia, J'zargo and Brelyna never really stopped surprising him with what their magic could do, and honestly he would be surprised if there wasn't some spell to pull a dragon out of some magical pocket in Brelyna's arsenal.

"I suppose that much would be the least required." Wynne replied, a small, tired smile on her expression.

Nothing further was said, even when Daveth after several minutes of uncomfortable silence suddenly stood and wordlessly gave Morrigan the book they'd found in Irving's office. Alistair honestly had a hard time determining what was more wrong: stealing from the First Enchanter of Ferelden's Circle of Magi…or seeing Morrigan displaying an honest-to-Andraste small smile of genuine gratitude._ Well, I suppose there is a first time for everything…_

When J'zargo, and then Brelyna a few minutes later emerged from Talia's room, both wearing looks of solemnity – Alistair had reached the point where he could discern J'zargo's expressions_, how about that?_ – Aedan stood from his chair and entered aforementioned room without uttering a single word. No one moved to stop him, and both non-Fereldan mages merely cast a look his way before settling down before the fireplace.

Nothing was said for the first few moments, until Brelyna finally seemed to gather enough energy to actually speak. Her eyes remained at the dancing flames though, as if she sought some sort of support in them;

"She is asleep." The Dunmer girl stated, probably unaware that Wynne had said the same thing already. No one were of a mind to tell her though, and when it became clear that Brelyna wasn't going to say anymore, a tense silence once more fell over the room.

* * *

**This seemed like a good place to end the chapter. Yes, we're getting (Finally!) to the end of the Circle of Magi's arch. Divines help me, I _so_ wanted for Talia to just kick ass, chew bubblegum and bitchslap Irving...then the demon happened. Yeah, try fighting something especially geared to tale down mages and everything else smaller than Al-fucking-Duin himself. Gods, I _hate_ Pride Demons. _Hate 'em hate'em hate 'em_!**

**Anyway, so yeah, this chapter was almost purely fluff and convo, some doctoring from our all's favorite Dunmer, and Wynne admitting her own limits. Well, the last one is basically something _no _healer could heal, so it might not be her fault...**

**Anyway, and I'm using 'anyway' a lot apparently... anyway...Oh Piss...**

**_REGARDLESS, - see, I know that word too - _we're leaving for Redcliffe next chapter if all goes to plan. The reason I can say that and NOT spoil, is because things rarely ever go the way I intend to.**

**Okay, question of the chapter: We've all by now seen and recognized the fact that Talia obviously is in Inquisition. Her diaries and memo's indicate as much. So, (and I of course already know the answer) what role do you think Talia would fill in the Inquisition, and why? **


	23. Speechless beneath the Stars

_Sometimes people ask me what it was like, back then, when the Blight was everything important and every day could be your last. Usually their questions go under the category of 'how many Darkspawn did you kill?' or 'who really killed the Archdemon?'_

_I answer both questions with lies, sort of. The first because I lost count, and the second because…well, because we still don't quite know. Sort of. At least, I don't remember who did, so if Leliana decides to refresh my memory, I'll come back and put it in here._

_There is another question though, and simply asking it probably means the asker did his or her research. They ask me what it was like, not being able to speak. _

_I answer this with the truth. That not being able to speak, while a colossal pain in the ass, turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. _

_I wonder if the Qunari mages feel the same way…Probably not. _

_Fredas 14__th__, Morning Star, 41 Dragon_

* * *

**Speechless beneath the Stars**

* * *

Everything felt like it was sleeping.

Every single fiber and muscle in her body was like that, electrified and buzzing with that weird and uncomfortable but not uncomfortable sensation of being electrocuted softly, if that was even a thing. At least this time, she could move her fingers and toes, cringe and roll them to chase out the buzz.

She was under a blanket of some sort, that much she could feel. Her eyes remained closed, but she could feel them both beneath their heavy lids. She didn't _want_ to get up, but she could, if she _did_. Want to, that was. But she didn't, not right now. There was some sort of stirring sound next to her, or just nearby, when she clenched and opened her hands repeatedly.

"…Talia?" groggy as she was, most likely from having slept longer than intended, she didn't immediately recognize the speaker, and had to kick her brain back into gear before the soft yet masculine tones registered as Aedan. She didn't even have to open her eyes and look at him to know where he was, but she still did. Because she _liked_ looking at him. Especially his tattoo, and his eyes. Brown, soft eyes that still held some of the innocence they had regained upon finding his mother alive. _He looks like shit though…worse than before…_

His expression of relief quickly changed into something else when she was about to tell him just how shitty he looked, and found her voice unwilling to comply. Panic started rising in her when she tried again, and nothing but a hoarse gurgle came out. _WHAT?_

"Talia, _don't talk_. Please, just do not talk." There it was again. Aedan had also asked her, no _pleaded_ with her, not to talk when he'd been walking next to her earlier. Why? What was so damnably important that she wasn't allowed to speak? And now she _couldn't_? Had Wynne placed some sort of spell on her that made her unable to speak at all? Old bitch, even after Talia had busted her ass and broken her bones to save her Circle, now Wynne pulled something like this? That old, dirty- "You need to calm down. I'll tell you everything, just…don't try to talk."

The panic ceded a bit, brought down by the way he begged. She didn't like him begging, not for this, anyway. Aedan had never lied to her, never circumvented the truth in the time she had known him. At least, she'd never suspected him of doing so. He just seemed too honest to even be capable of lying. So, that meant whatever was wrong, he wasn't going to hide it from her. Fair enough. She didn't try to talk again, and instead shuffled herself up in a halfway sitting position with her back's bare skin pressed against the wall behind her, and the covers over her chest. When she felt like she was sitting well enough as could be, she nodded to him, and kept her eyes on his.

"Can you breathe properly?" he asked to begin with. It was a weird question, but she demonstrated that yes, she could, by inhaling through her nose and blowing air at him from her mouth. He didn't even blink, just sighed in obvious relief; "Thank the Maker…"

He stopped there, almost as if he wasn't sure how to proceed. When she made her impatience known by flickering a finger on the back of his hand, he coughed as if startled, but continued;

"When they…Wynne and Brelyna and Morrigan started working on you, you were…badly injured…" _Yes, I knew that much already, hence all those damned bandages, I guess_; "Like, _really_ badly. There was a lot of burns, and broken bones, and fractures, and…I, you don't want to hear that sort of recount, I suppose…But, there was…an injury that Brelyna couldn't heal."

_I'm starting to wish he'd lie instead…_

But she couldn't say that, physically that was, so she just kept her gaze locked on him, trying to absorb every word for its hidden meaning, trying to figure out what was next. Aedan's fidgeting didn't make it any better. Actually, he just made her more anxious, mainly because _he_ was so obviously anxious. Which made her anxious. More, that was.

"I… none of us, even Brelyna, really knew why, just theories, but when you breathed fire on the demon, the fire, it…you…burnt away your tongue." His words, though slowly delivered, took a few seconds to register with her mind, and when they did, she spent another few seconds trying to see if he was lying to her. Gods, she hoped he was lying to her. But when she realized that he _wasn't_ lying to her, his words hit her like a brick.

Almost as if on instinct, and it might as well have been, she gaped and tried shoving a hand down her throat to find the tongue. It wasn't gone, it couldn't be gone. She wasn't going to _let_ it be gone, she didn't _allow_ it. Her tongue was right where it was supposed to be, it _had_ to be where it was supposed to be. Aedan grabbed her hand with his own and held it, then did the same with her other when she refused to believe him and wanted to check for herself.

He had to know she wasn't going to believe him, had to know she wasn't going to believe _that_. That it was gone. Tears welling in her eyes, she tried to scream at him, to yell and scream that he should let her go, that she wasn't going to believe it. All that came out was a choked gurgle, a muffled sound like what a baby would make before it could speak. It wasn't even a scream as much as it was a hoarse shriek, and panicked she started thrashing, tried to get away from him, to get her hands free so she could feel for her tongue and prove that it was still there.

Aedan simply let her thrash around, but held on all the same. She wanted to get away, to get free, to feel and talk and scream and yell and cry and suddenly she was clinging to his body for dear life, crying hoarsely while he simply held her. She didn't register as the door was opened and closed again, no one entering, and simply sobbed weirdly into his chest. Aedan didn't speak, he didn't mutter any words of comfort or assured her that everything was going to be fine, that everything was going to be okay. He was too honest by half, she remembered idly, and simply stroked her back with one hand while the other held her head.

He didn't even hush her, and she was, at least, grateful for that much. Time lost itself like this, and she had no idea how long she spent soaking Aedan's shirt with assorted liquids. Most of them tears, borne of panic, as well as no small amount of drool when she'd been screaming her throat raw into his chest. When she finally stopped, when she'd finally gone emotionally numb, Aedan didn't push her away. She was glad he didn't. She couldn't have survived him pushing her away. She needed something to hold on to, and his soiled shirt was as good a thing as any. Actually it was the best thing to hold on to. Right now it was all she could do.

"Talia." His voice was soft, as if she hadn't just clawed and screamed and yelled and cried hoarsely in his face. She didn't answer, didn't dare look up. Idly, she was fairly sure she looked a lot more like shit now than he did. So, she just remained with her face buried in his chest, and breathed in his comforting safety, and felt his chest in her face, bending her nose just a little. It was a safe thing, to just smell him, to breathe him. She didn't care if it was weird, it was_ safe_. It made her feel better. Like maybe the whole fucking existence of everything ever hadn't just been fucked over brutally.

"You are alive." He spoke again, and she replied just as before: not at all. She didn't want to look away from the red, darkened fabric that was his shirt where her tears and spit had soaked it. Right now, this was all she could handle as her shoulders trembled with tears she could no longer cry. His hand was still on the back of her head, gently going through her hair, while the other held her back. It reminded her of being a little girl, crying into Mother's chest. Only less soft. "You are _alive_."

She _knew_ that. She wasn't questioning whether she was alive or not. She was just painfully aware of the fact that her ability to communicate, to speak, jest, jibe, joke and offend was gone. She was going to spend the rest of her life as a mute. And just thinking along those lines made her chest feel like it was going to implode. She hated this, and hated the world for being such a massive _bitch_. The world, not her. She'd gone up against a fucking _monster_ just to save the one place she hated most on this sad excuse for a planet. It was obvious that the gods had prioritized Tamriel over Thedas when they set to it, or maybe they'd only made the groundwork for Thedas and allowed Lorkhan to play around afterwards…she hated it.

"You are _alive_." He repeated, as if she hadn't heard him the first times; "You are alive, and you _will_ get past this." Fat chance, how the fuck was she supposed to do that when she couldn't even speak? "This isn't permanent. Brelyna said it would…grow out again, with time."

She tore away from him so fast that strands of hair were caught under her clenched fists and pulled out. She didn't sense the prickling pain from it though. She just stared at Aedan with wide eyes. She wanted to yell at him that tongues didn't _grow out_ like a new tooth, like there was a readily available supply of them in her body. She only had the one she had been born with, and no amount of science or time could grow her a new one. And Aedan's hands were now on her shoulders instead, as she sat there on the bed, legs bent in weird angles and arms hugged around herself in a sense of wrongness. She ended up scowling at him, a scowl that both called bullshit and demanded an explanation at the same time.

"It's magic, sort of, so I don't really understand how it works…" he started apologetically, looking down for a moment as if ashamed of his inadequateness; "But Brelyna said the healing has been done as best as could be, and your own magic is the only thing that can actually make the…make your tongue grow back out."

Gods, what had she done to be so utterly _fucked_ by the universe? Mundus was definitely against her at this point, though she really couldn't imagine why. She'd saved her friends, suicidally joined an order of monster-slayers and even forced down her hatred of the Circle in order to save it. And what did she get for her trouble? She got her bones broken and her tongue burned away, that was what she got. And it wasn't even remotely fair. She was a _good_ person! She was!

"I…brought some porridge, if you're hungry…" Aedan said after an uncomfortable silence had reigned the room for almost a minute. Talia almost winced when his hands left her shoulders, she wanted them to stay there, holding her. When he picked up a wooden bowl from somewhere out of sight, the smell of oat porridge started filling her nostrils. It wasn't steaming hot, like she liked them, but barely lukewarm instead; "I ah…thought you'd be awake when I brought it in here, so…it might have gotten a bit…cold…"

She nevertheless accepted bowl and spoon, both of wood, and started nibbling away at the mass of milk-soaked oats heated in a cauldron, most likely, judging by the slight smell of iron to it. Or, it could just be her brain trying to make up taste-sensations when she took in the first spoonful and tasted absolutely nothing. And how could she, there was no tongue to do the tasting. While she ate, she was also aware of the way Aedan was watching her, his fingers playing around while obviously trying to have a one-sided conversation. She almost felt bad for him, and definitely would have if not for the overwhelming self-pitying she had going on.

"So…how have you slept? Good, bad?"

She gave him a small shrug, trying to get 'fine' across. He seemed to get it, despite silence.

"And…do you know…for how long you've been sleeping?"

She really couldn't be bothered to start holding up fingers to represent hours, so she just shook her head. Aedan sighed, which, given the situation, probably wasn't a _good_ sign;

"You've been out for almost two days…" his words were cut short by Talia coughing up the porridge she'd inhaled on reflex when he said- _TWO DAYS? Magnus' balls, how the fuck did I sleep for two whole- who- WHY didn't anyone wake me up?!_

When Aedan had finished slapping her back to help her free up the airways, he gave her a look that almost seemed somewhat amused and saddened at the same time; "…I sort of expected that reaction…"

She gave him the mother of all stink-eyes for that small smile on his lips. Still, she kept on eating until the bowl was scraped clean. Damn, two days of sleep on top of fighting through a tower filled with demons had taken its toll on her body. She held the bowl towards Aedan, secretly taking some small measure of amusement from his surprised expression.

* * *

The group, also this time including Wynne and her apprentice Cíada, regarded Talia oddly when she came out the door, dressed for travel. Her staff was strapped on her back, her boots tightened on her feet, and her vambraces strapped on, even if they had taken a bit of a beating when fighting the twelve-foot jackass that tried to eat her.

Talia gave them all a look that translated roughly to 'what?' and the looks stopped. Somewhat, at least. They still kept circling her like she was some incapacitated patient in need of constant support and aid, which really didn't help her mood. If they wanted to cheer her up, alcohol would serve as a fine offering, but of course no one seemed to consider getting her drunk as a good idea.

Or maybe they'd discussed it while she was asleep, and Wynne had shot it down. Her or Leliana: Old woman versus religiously strict girl. Talia wasn't sure which it would be, and in the end decided it was a waste of time trying to figure it out. Time that was better spent trying to get a hold of the current situation.

"Wynne, Cíada and a few mages from the Circle will accompany us back to Redcliffe. They will lend us the help we need to free Connor, and thus Eamon as well…" Alistair seemed to for once having caught her thoughts, explaining the basics as he was. Or, maybe they _hadn't_ discussed anything while she'd been asleep, and had just been sitting around without doing anything useful. The latter would sort of piss her off a little; "But…that seems to be where our luck ends…"

Talia expressed her disappointment with the situation – it was getting obvious that the group _hadn't_ discussed or planned much of anything while she was under. Great – in the most visible manner possible. She groaned and palmed her face. It was really annoying not being able to speak, but as first Aedan, and then Brelyna had explained it, she herself could speed up the recovery with regular doses of self-healing.

"Less than a dozen capable mages remain in the Tower, myself and Irving included." Wynne took over; "Uldred's treason has left the Circle in shambles, and we will need time to rebuild. I fear we will be unable to provide any meaningful aid or support to your cause."

All that work…and it had been for _nothing?_ True, they would help with Connor, but beyond that…An army without mages for support, was like a Legion lacking its archers, of a navy without rams adorned to its warships. Sound still, but also significantly weakened.

The face was palmed yet again.

"We _will_ still offer what aid we can, mind you, but the difference we can make will be diminished." Wynne seemed to think that made it better. Not that Talia doubted her sincerity – Wynne seemed more like the type to admonish you into agreeing with her, than lying to make you _think_ you agreed to something completely else – but she had seen the mages the Darkspawn brought into play, those so-called 'Emissaries'. They were a pain in the ass to kill from afar, and even more of a pain to get up close to.

And the Darkspawn were bound to have more than _'a dozen_' of those piss-ants. Piss. Every step forward seemed to be followed by two steps backwards these days.

"I guess there's little we can do about that…" Alistair sighed. So, he hadn't even known that. Great, _perfect_. This was already looking up to be a _great_ day; "For now though, I believe our main priority should be to return to Redcliffe and free Connor from the demon."

"Very true." Wynne nodded; "I had arranged for Senior Enchanters Mabel and Nicholl to join for Redcliffe, though they left for the Arling yesterday. We will simply have to catch up."

"And _I'm_ packing the Lyrium." Cíada stated, almost proudly, as she pointed out the heavy backpack standing next to her. Considering the damn thing was easily her size, not to mention weight, more than one pair of dubious eyes looked between them; "I know, small girl, big pack. Uh, people? _Magic_, heard about that stuff before?"

"Whatever Wynne teaches, t'is obviously not her personality that affects you." Morrigan jibed with a smirk; "I merely find the difference in personalities somewhat amusing, that is all."

"Right, I don't even want to get involved there…" Alistair replied when he apparently realized Morrigan's eyes to be mainly on him. No big surprise there, though it was nice that they didn't seem to be ready to open the other's throat at any chance, at least; "But if that's the case, I propose we get moving."

Good. Finally. Talia experienced a small surge of good mood. It was a surge that dipped low again when she realized that everyone seemed intent on staring at her. J'zargo and Cíada seemed the only two who realized that she wasn't in dire need of surveillance, and instead…talked.

"Talia, are you able to walk?" Alistair asked. His voice held obvious fretting, like he was talking to a small child sick with a cold or bad stomach. She was neither, and let him know that with an irritated glare sweeping the crowd at large; "Right, forget I asked."

"There is something else, actually." Wynne said as the group started walking – for some reason Alistair seemed fit to follow the old mage as she _didn't_ walk towards the perimeter of the small town; "As I understand it, the sooner we return to Redcliffe, the better."

Yes, that sort of _was_ the gist of it. Talia huffed and kicked a small pebble out of her way. She walked and kicked it a few times, careful that it didn't fly too far from her path. When the group – due to Wynne stopping – stopped, she had to catch herself to avoid tackling Daveth from behind. Looking up, her mood wasn't much improved when she realized they'd stopped before a stable, and eleven horses ranging in colors from chestnut to piebald, stood reined outside with a few stablehands on site.

A nobleborn despite, Talia had never liked riding. If this was due to a childhood event, she could not remember, but the notion of sitting on top of a horse, a creature packed with muscles and hard hooves, bad tempers and shaky gait, had never sat well with her. It was a reason she had usually – though the times had been rare – used carriages when she had journeyed around both in High Rock and Skyrim.

"Don't tell me we're riding…" Cíada groaned upon the sight. Good, Talia wasn't alone in not liking the idea; "_Wynne_…"

"You would do well always to expand upon your skills when outside the tower, Cíada." Wynne replied with the voice of a scholar or a tutor; "In Orlais, some children learn to ride before they can write their own names. Do you wish to be-"

"-bested by an Orlesian child'." It was obvious that the girl had heard this before; "No, but in Orlais they also wear masks when going to the brothels, take a shit or go to the Chantry, sometimes even in that order. Doesn't mean I'm going to wear a mask."

Complaints despite, everyone eventually got each his and her own horse assigned. Talia lucked out, sort of, by getting the smallest horse of the group. That wasn't to say that it was _small_, however. The horse was a sturdy creature, a piebald gelding with differently colored eyes, one blue, one brown and black splotches of hair over white, with its mouth and nose seemingly lacking for hairs whatsoever.

'Niko', the boy holding the reins called it. It didn't sound like a very 'Fereldan' name, but then again, Talia had little notion of just what classified as 'Fereldan' in names to begin with. Aedan, obviously, as well as Alistair and Daveth. Those were, hopefully, quite common names in Ferelden, so maybe Fereldan names were somewhere between Bretoni, Imperial and Nordic? In a sort of, weird, triangle version that really made no sense at all. Talia just resigned, in the end, and grabbed her horse by its mouth and nose, then looked it straight in the eyes, trying to ignore the warm, musky smell its breath carried into her face.

'_Listen here, Horse. You behave, and don't throw me off at first chance spotted, and I won't burn off your no-doubt precious mane'_ warning delivered, she released the horse's face and patted it gently on its neck. The horse simply gave a 'pppprrrrrthhhh' in return, and Talia opted to understand that as a 'yes ma'am', as she climbed into the saddle.

Her staff almost instantly got in the way of her back, and so she had little choice but to slap it back on uncomfortably high up where it wasn't going to poke poor Niko in the spine. Instead it was probably going to catch every tree she passed underneath. She just _knew_ it.

Even as the group left the small town, Talia had the distinct sensation that everyone were holding back snickers at the way she rode. The staff looked more like a banner on her back, or the wings of an Imperial Hussar, than an actual mage-staff. Which sucked, but it was the best she could do.

* * *

Much as she might loathe to admit it, riding meant they were making a much better pace than when they had walked to Kinloch, and when the sun set and they made camp, Talia recognized their site as the one they had used the night before coming across the giant. _Okay, so maybe horses are not so bad after all…_

When she dismounted, and Niko just stood there, merry and calm as if nothing had happened in the history of ever, Talia quickly came to realize, and remember, another reason she didn't like riding._ Oh. Yeah. Shit, my butt hates me. Horses. Definitely bad._

She gave the horse a flat stare that basically meant 'I blame youuuuuu' and tied him to a tree next to the other horses. Even as she made for the others, a campsite was being raised in the chosen clearing. Tents were already standing, and she couldn't help but notice that Morrigan's tent was no longer quite so far away from the rest as before.

Funny, that.

"So, who's cookin'?" Daveth asked as he dumped an armful of logs by the warm fire. Talia tossed one on and dumped herself by the flames at that. Someone, Wynne or Bodahn maybe, had placed skins on the ground around the campfire, and she welcomed the fact that she wasn't feeling the cold ground through her robes or breeches. When Aedan followed her example and sat down to her left, she didn't even bother with keeping up appearances, and leant against his side.

It was nice. And he didn't even flinch or seem unnerved by the gesture this time.

"If you will allow me, I happened to come across a merchant with connections to Orzammar when we stayed by the lake." Bodahn said, pulling a great leather bag towards the fire; "It's a rare thing, truly, but he actually had just come back from the wranglers, and sold me a whole nug."

"A…a what?" Brelyna asked as she sat closer by the fire than Talia would have dared. Then again. Dunmer. The girl's red eyes widened and shone in the light from the flames when Bodahn opened the sack and withdrew…well, Talia wasn't quite sure how to describe it. The creature, the 'nug', looked like someone had slapped a pair of rabbit's ears on a pig, then given the poor cretin human hands like the pouch-squirrels of Hammerfell, and a nose like what you would expect from a horker, only pink; "That's a peculiar creature."

"Never had me nug before…wonder what it'll taste like." Daveth mused as he offered himself up as kitchenhand. Bodahn was obviously just grateful for the help, and Talia contented herself with watching them, and then the fire, from the comfort of Aedan's shoulder.

When his arm came around her shoulders, she had half the mind to wince away: not out of dislike for it, but because…she wasn't sure. It made no sense to dislike a gesture she had longed for from him. So why, why was there a small voice in the back of her mind, arguing to escape? It did not matter, for she paid it no heed and simply relaxed into his one-armed embrace. The warmth spreading through her chest, and down through her stomach, told her it was a good thing. She knew it was a good thing. It was just…new, that was all.

Even the servants she had bedded back in her adolescent years, in Evermor, had rarely ever held her like this, not before nor after the tumbling. Not that she would have let them if they'd tried. It was…it _felt_ too personal, too intimate for someone to hold her like Aedan was holding her now, and she would not have allowed _anyone_ but him to do so. She didn't like the way he made her feel, but at the same time, she was starting to realize that she never wanted him to let her go. The servants, male and female both, had simply been required to scratch the itches she had begun experiencing when she had first flowered, and blood soaked her linens. It had all been _practical_, just that and nothing more. No feelings, no warmth, just a brief bout of sensual pleasure, followed by the servant leaving, or her doing the leaving, if she'd made use of the servants' quarters.

With Aedan, even though he was just holding her shoulder with one arm, it was…it was more. It was something more than fucking dashing servants and squires. It felt warm, and fuzzy, and nice. She hadn't bedded him yet, wanted to, yes of course, but…it wasn't the same 'scratch my itch' thing as with servants. Aedan was…she wasn't going to use the word 'love', but…it was becoming more and more difficult to deny that she cared for him. Deeply, at that. And his dream had shown that he cared for her too.

With that thought in mind, she more or less _melted_ into his one-armed embrace, and ended up using his lap as her personal pillow. The surprised gasp he released wasn't lost on her as she wiggled into the optimally comfortable position, and when Daveth whistled, she just grinned.

Might be that she couldn't talk – and now she knew she would be able to again one day soon – but words had never been her only way of reaching her goals. The gods had given her looks and personality, and she'd be damned if she didn't make use of both when needed.

And yes, maybe she would never be able to truly have Aedan. As the maybe only living son of the Teyrnir Cousland he was probably expected to marry into another Fereldan House, but she would burn that bridge when she got to it. And possibly the other woman too.

"So, you're looking awfully comfy down there." She recognized the voice as belonging to Cíada, the diminutive elven girl. When she turned her head in his lap to look at the apprentice, Aedan noticeably stiffened, and not just in his upper body; "Figured there'd be at least_ one_ couple of lovey-dovies in this here group."

Aedan coughed like he'd swallowed something unpleasant, and the vibrations went all the way through his body and trembled Talia's cushion. The poor sod, when she looked at his face from down there, seemed like he was choking, what with how red his face was. She couldn't help a grin at that, one he definitely saw, if the way he just reddened further was any indication; "…shut up."

"Aww, c'mon then, eh?" Daveth teased to the sound of a knife going through meat. Wasn't much more sound than when it got through and hit the cutting board; "You could cook this here nug with how you two get all hot and bothered like that."

"I'm…not sure I would want to eat it, then…" Brelyna tried, no doubt because she could tell Daveth's pokes and prods were _definitely_ working; "I just don't think it would be very hygienic…"

Wynne didn't say anything, just smiled a small smile that Talia honestly didn't know what to do with.

"It's good to know that the big, bad Talia actually has a soft spot." Alistair grinned. It wasn't an unfriendly grin though, and Talia knew he only meant to tease her the same way she was teasing him every time she called him a 'Princeling', or 'Cheese-muncher'; "Looking at you like this, one would think you didn't spend half your waking hours swearing vengeance or actively killing things."

"You're seriously getting on my nerves here, Alistair…" Aedan muttered. It was all he could do, really, since Talia knew he wasn't about to risk moving his legs even if they caught _fire_.

"'Long as that's the only thing he's getting on, eh?" Daveth smirked in a way that, was he not joining everybody in teasing Aedan, Talia would have wanted to zap him. As it was, she just put on her best 'lazy cat' expression and snuggled into the soft cushion that was Aedan's crossed legs.

"I hate every one of you right now…" the boy grumbled. Talia frowned slightly at that, because it reminded her that while she was confident in her own womanhood, she wasn't sure if Aedan was more man or boy. Well, in _one_ area she knew he was still a boy, but… things could change, with time; "Could we please talk about something else?"

"Like what?" Leliana asked, her sweet voice betraying that she was definitely in on the teasing.

"Like…like…" Aedan trailed off as his breathing hitched. Talia grinned wickedly: She'd just moved her head a few inches closer to his groin, and she could _definitely_ feel the reaction it caused; "I…I, ah…we're, I mean, at a campfire, and…maybe, we could…tell stories?"

"Are we children now, huddled in fear of the darkness?" Morrigan chuckled, even as her hands were glued to the book in her hands; "I for one do not require fairytales to keep nightmares away."

"Didn't see that shit…" Daveth muttered so lowly that Talia was of half a mind that she'd just imagined the words.

"I agree to Aedan's proposal." Wynne said. Talia could sense elation from her victim when the old mage voiced her support. Poop, but all fun must come to an end at some point, she guessed. Wynne looked between the only three people to have magic but never needed fear demons; "I for one would like to know more about the places you three come from, if that is acceptable."

"You want to…Well, I guess that's fair." Brelyna nodded. J'zargo did the same, and Talia nodded as well, though she didn't lift her head. The result was Aedan's legs tensing up a great deal, which was hilarious to her. She only let a small smirk reveal just how much enjoyment this gave her; "You already know the names of our homes, Elseweyr, Morrowind and High Rock, and you all know what we are. So, what _would_ you like to know?"

"Talia's mentioned some sort of Empire, far's I remember." Daveth was the first to speak up, which was surprising because he hadn't ever struck her as someone interested in history. Then again, 'reevaluation' was still in order, especially with Daveth. For being a guy she'd pegged as being suave, superficial and careless, his nightmare had horrified her to the core, and shocked her too. His greatest fear wasn't even death, and Talia was fairly sure it would be hers, but losing his friends. It frankly stood to reason that he could just as well be interested in learning new stuff; "What's that about?"

"Empire…you mean the Septim Empire, yes, I would imagine that could make for a good starting point in any cultural exchange." The Dunmer adjusted her robes and threw another log on the flames. There were enough of them, really, and the sparks flying outwards and upwards from it gave her introductory words more…well, weight, really.

"Is it like the Tevinter Empire? Cíada asked, making Talia blink. Why was it she constantly forgot the elf was around? She'd no problem remembering _Wynne_ was around, so what was up with the elven girl?

"The Empire that was founded on blood magic and slavery?" J'zargo purred while gazing as Bodahn started spearing pieces of the curious animal on sticks before putting them over the flames; "Tiber Septim had no need for magical blood, this one _knows_, and slavery has not been commonplace outside the Summer Isles."

"You could say that. No, the Septim Empire is nothing like your Tevinter Empire." Brelyna seemed to take pity on the group when J'zargo's explanation left them utterly confused. Well, except for Aedan, but he was sort of seemingly more concerned with Talia not noticing his tightening breeches. But she had, oh yes, she felt it._ And that just sounded wrong, somehow…_"The Septim Empire was founded in the middle to late Second Era, though the year itself…most historians agree Tiber Septim was crowned Emperor in eight-hundred and ninety-six."

"The Second Era?" Wynne asked; "How long ago was this?"

"Well, we're currently in the Fourth Era, in the year two-hundred and one, since it started with the death of Martin Septim in the year Fourth Era Zero…scholars are still disputing if this is not just the last day of the _Third_ Era, since Martin Septim sacrificed himself near midnight in the fourth century and thirty-three, and it's all very convoluted." The Dunmer glanced at Talia, and the Breton simply smiled, a non-verbal indication that Brelyna should just go on. It wasn't like _she_ could contribute much; "With the end of the Oblivion Crisis, the empire was left weakened because we had no emperor. Then-"

"Wait, wait, you just jumped over the whole 'Oblivion Crisis' thing." Alistair broke in; "Even I could hear the practical capital on those letters. And if your emperor sacrificed himself to end it…was it like a war?"

"Wars indicate both sides are somewhat equally matched, yes?" J'zargo asked before the Dunmer could speak. When Alistair nodded, with some hesitance; "Then it was no war. Tamriel was not equal with the Daedra."

"Sounds ominous, alright…" Daveth said, adjusting one of the meat-sticks in the fire; "What happened?"

"It was…" Brelyna hesitated. She rarely did when history was involved, but here it was understandable enough. Talia still remembered the night she'd found a book – purely by accident – that listed House Telvanni as one of the major contributors to the Mythic Dawn's uprising. When she'd asked her friend about it, Brelyna had borderline suffered a breakdown. Talia had not brought the subject up again; "We will return to that l-later. After the end of the Third Era, and the start of the Fourth, in which we now live, several conflicts broke out between the Cyrodiilic heartland and the outlying provinces. Some seceded while others made demands for more self-governance. The Aldmeri Dominion, the High Elves of the Summerset Isles, that is, used the weakened state of the empire to soon after demand for the outlawing of Talos worship, in one-hundred and seventy-one."

"Talos?" Leliana asked; "He is one of your gods, yes?"

"It's the Nord name for Tiber Septim, actually." Aedan added, which earned him surprised stares all around. Talia smiled, almost a little proud that he'd been attentive to more than her advances that night; "Talia told me about it."

"You are correct." Brelyna continued with a nod to Aedan and something that almost seemed like a knowing glance at Talia; "Tiber Septim was, up until the Aldmeri's demands, worshipped as the Ninth Divine of the Imperial Pantheon. When the emperor refused to admit to the Dominion's demands, the Great War started, which lasted for roughly four years. No one side could really be declared victorious, as much of the Dominion's army was trapped by the Imperial Legions in a major clash outside the Imperial City. However, a truce was made with the Dominion, by then commonly known as the Thalmor, which guaranteed peace on the term that worshipping of Tal- Tiber Septim was made illegal."

"Your Emperor rolled over in the face of elves?" Cíada asked, both brows lifted in surprise; "I'd say 'sweet', but those High Elves sound like a bunch of pricks."

"The Thalmor are the scum of Nirn." J'zargo grumbled. Honestly, Talia was surprised he hadn't hissed; "If there was one place the gates of Oblivion should have opened, it should have been on their precious Summerset Isles. J'zargo would have liked to see this 'superior race' fall where Septim stood."

"What do you mean by the 'gates of Oblivion'?" Alistair asked the cat. When J'zargo gestured at Brelyna – poor girl – Alistair looked to her as well; "What does he mean? Is it connected to the Crisis you mentioned?"

"It…is, yes, but…" the Dunmer stopped and gazed slowly over the group at large. The only one who didn't seem to catch on to her mood was Sandal, but then again, he was _Sandal_; "It is… not a pleasant story. It left the world in shambles, are you…are you sure you want to hear it?"

"You mean this Oblivion Crisis?" Wynne asked. Her tone was rather gentle, which was good. Talia still didn't fully trust the old mage around her friends. Not after all the times people had assaulted them for their appearance alone, and done so in the name of 'destroying abominations'.

"Yes…" Brelyna sighed. It was a heavy sigh, and Talia felt herself tense up a bit. She wasn't sure why, but the prospect seemed to age her friend on the spot; "The Oblivion Crisis…We are still trying to figure out exactly how it started"_ her ancestors had helped_ "…but we know the leading perpetrators was a group by the name of 'Mythic Dawn'. What you must understand is that the Divines are not alone in being entities of immense powers. The Daedra hold power so vast a mortal cannot hope to stand against them, and the Daedric Princes even more so. Mehrunes Dagon was allowed entry into Mundus, this plane of existence, by the Mythic Dawn, and started his invasion of Tamriel before anyone even knew what was going on. The Battlespire, a sort of gateway the Empire had to protect itself from Oblivion, was destroyed by Dagon's Daedric armies, and bypassed the Dragonfires completely. Few people really know the details of what happened up until the point where the Imperial City itself came under siege…"

"You mentioned dragon fires?" Wynne asked; "What role did they fulfill in this?"

"I am not sure how, but they maintained the barrier that held out Dagon and his armies. Martin Septim and the Hero of Kvatch tried to relit them, but by the time they got to the temple, Dagon had already entered Cyrodiil. After that…" Talia wasn't blind to the way Brelyna's chest shook when her breathing hitched a little; "After that, Martin Septim broke the Amulet of Kings, and…ceased to be."

"Did the amulet kill him?" the old mage asked again; "How? Was it magical?"

"The Amulet _was_ magical, yes, though I don't know the details of it. But the amulet didn't kill Martin. It…it transformed him, somehow." That was still a point of debate amongst a _lot_ of scholars and priests. Did the amulet transform Martin? Did it sacrifice him to Akatosh somehow? Was it Akatosh himself who reached down and made Martin his avatar? Talia herself didn't know, and did her best not to have an opinion on the matter. Mortals know not the minds of the Gods. It was a good rule to follow, especially if you happen to be a potential heir to one of High Rock's five kingdoms; "People say there was a sharp light, others that he simply…grew, but all who survived that day saw the Golden Dragon rise from the ruins of the temple."

"A golden dragon?" Alistair stared, which was impolite. He seemed to realize this, and stopped; "How…could a man become a dragon?"

"Was he a Dragonborn?" Aedan asked, to which Brelyna's eyes widened for just a second, then seemed to remember who was in Aedan's lap. Talia herself was simply pleased that Aedan had paid so much attention to her words back in Highever; "You know, the…the man with the soul of a dragon?"

"Wait, seriously?" Alistair seemed unable to contain a disbelieving expression. It was _dangerously_ close to grin. Talia didn't care for politics nor for piety – in most circumstances – but if Alistair made fun of Martin, she'd sock him on the jaw; "What's that from, all of a sudden?"

"Aedan is not wrong, though not entirely right either." Brelyna said before J'zargo could exclaim something. Something impolite, most likely; "Martin _was_ a descendant of Tiber Septim, whom some theorize was actually the first Dragonborn. As such, he very well could have had the potential within him, though he was never realized in this, at least. Martin did not become a dragon, as most would think of one, but the Golden Dragon. He became the Avatar of Akatosh, the Chief Divine. Akatosh is the god of time, foremost, and depicted as a Golden Dragon. When Martin became his avatar, Mehrunes Dagon was banished back into Oblivion. But the Golden Dragon had been dealt a terrible wound in the battle, and petrified on the spot. It is…a site of pilgrimage, for many."

"J'zargo has been there." The Khajiit stated with far less bravado than usual. For a few moments, all that was heard was the crackle of flames from the campfire; "It was…humbling."

"Martin Septim was the last of the Septim Emperors. He ended the Oblivion Crisis, but gave his life to do so." For a long moment, fire was once again the only thing to be heard. Bodahn shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Brelyna sat with clenched fists beneath her robes. Talia closed her eyes, trying to imagine what it must have been like, to see the Golden Dragon do battle with the Daedric Prince. There had been powers at work that day, powers she would never even dare aspire to match. Martin Septim might have been the last of the Septims known to the world, but he had also by far been the one who gave the greatest gift. Tiber Septim himself had merely been a conqueror, fighting for land and power.

Martin.

Martin had given his life to save all of existence. There was no greater sacrifice, and there could never have been a more noble death. Father revered the man, and used him as an example whenever others spoke of greatness. It was, at the very least, one good trait in him, that he always reminded bootlickers what true nobility and greatness really was. A saying, she couldn't remember who had said it, spoke of Martin and his ultimate sacrifice.

_'Never before has one man given so much for so many' _it was short, and fit well the weight of Martin's last acts. He had saved a world he would never again see. Or maybe he was still inside the Dragon, aware of everything.

"You keep mentioning Daedra." Cíada said after it was clear Brelyna was done; "When we were in the Tower, a Sloth demon trapped us in the Fade, and we met someone Talia recognized as the 'Daedric Prince of Madness'… was he the same kind of being as this Dagon monster?"

"…why did you wait to now to ask that?" Wynne seemed a little surprised, if nothing else. Talia was too: what _had_ they all been doing in the forty-eight hours she'd been out? Since she assumed they hadn't been engaging in orgies, she was clueless as to how by Mundus they'd passed the time. Really, it seemed like that useless day would have been perfect for getting all the culture stuff out of the way.

Then again, Mundus seemed intent on having the Breton be aware and awake for all important and just _remotely_ interesting conversations. Which, quite frankly, was annoying. Maybe Sheogorath was actually right, and someone was enjoying himself with outrageous and insane plots that conveniently had her in the middle of _everything_. _'pfffffff. Yep, I'm the main protagonist in someone's novel._

She could actually crack a grin at that one, situation in spite.

"I figured there were more pressing stuff to consider than classifying some old geezer in a dream." Was all the elven girl replied with a shrug. Wynne sighed like a weary parent might, which wasn't all that surprising, and looked between the two College mages still capable of speech. J'zargo beat Brelyna to it this time.

"Sheogorath is the more…curious Prince." The Khajiit chuckled; "All consider him mad, because he is. He lives in the Shivering Isles, his own little…plane, of Oblivion. You, ah, do not want to go there, because most who do are maddened just like him."

"Talia sounded like he was dangerous…and well, he _did_ turn a flying pig into cheese." Alistair offered. Yeah, she remembered that one quite well. It was scary that the Prince of Madness so often lived up to his name. It was really more a stroke of fortune than anything on her own part that Sheogorath had chosen not to cheesify them all on the spot. He liked cheese, way more than a potentially malicious Daedric Lord was supposed to; "But from what you said earlier, I gather that he isn't even the worst?"

"True, though that makes him no less dangerous on for that reason." Brelyna stood and arched her back. Her anxiety seemed to have evaporated, ended with the tale of Martin's death; "Sheogorath shares the view of most other Daedra: that mortals, no matter our race, are simply toys, objects of brief curiosity. Had you bored him, likely you would all be dead…or worse."

"What could be worse than-" Alistair's question was cut off by Daveth's palm clamping over his mouth. The princeling's eyes widened in brief surprise, before he seemed to realize the grave mistake he'd almost made. Daveth removed his hand and wiped it on his leathers; "Right, sorry…But, if Shegorath can do…_that_…"

_**Sheogorath**, blonde-haired cheesemuncher!_

"_Sheogorath_" Brelyna corrected him; "And yes, Sheogorath is one of the lesser evils. Mehrunes Dagon, Molag Bal or even Mephala, Boethia or Vaermina are far more dangerous, and usually considered evil by default. Dealing with them always carry immense risks, ranging from world-wide invasions to being stabbed in the back by your best friend…"

"…Wow, your pantheon _sucks_." Cíada remarked when no one else seemed intent on speaking.

"Actually, the Daedra are mainly antagonistically portrayed, contrary to the Aedra, who commonly are known as the Divines."

"Aedra and Daedra…"

"Yes, the names are alike." Wynne nodded at her apprentice's puzzled expression; "Is there a reason for this?"

"The reason's obvious, Wynne." Daveth said; "Daedra's the evil ones', which means Aedra's their's opposites. Easy naming, you know?"

Brelyna cleared her throat;

"Actually while yes, they are opposite in nature, the naming goes from the times of Creation."

"I assume your stories do not involve the Maker's hand in that?" Wynne sounded slightly on edge, but this was most likely because she was Andrastian. That was the name for the people who followed the Chantry's words, far as Talia remembered. It made sense then, that Wynne would be the steadfast defender of the Maker being the real Divine power, just as Talia, Brelyna and J'zargo (and everyone with a skillset for looking up at night) would defend the Divines' claim as the actual powerhouse and – if unwilling – creators of Mundus. Brelyna made an '…ehhhhh' sound, and Wynne chuckled; "Don't fret. I would like to hear how your people believe our world was created."

"Well, the name 'Daedra' really just means an entity that didn't give up part of its power in the making of Mundus. 'Aedra', as that, is the title of a Divine entity that _did_ give up a part of its power to create our world. Of course, this is believed to have been unknown to the Aedra at the time. They were allegedly tricked by Lorkhan to spend their powers in the Creation. When the Aedra found out just how costly this would be, they tried to…, well, 'abandon the project', if you will…"

"Lorkhan? Is he Aedra or Daedra?" Leliana asked, sitting cross-legged as Daveth started distributing the meaty spears. When he handed Talia's to hers, she saw him wink at her, possibly when Aedan wasn't looking. A more shy or modest girl might have blushed.

"He…_was_, an Aedra. He is the one most directly responsible for our existence, as he forced or tricked the others into giving up their powers to create us. His persona depends on whether you ask human or elves. The Imperial Pantheon has him named _Shezarr_, which translates roughly into 'The Missing God'."

"So, he might be your version of the Maker?" Alistair asked between the bites of roasted nug. Talia wished she could taste hers, because judging from the others' expressions, it was damn good. Piss on it, but she was getting grumpy already. Not 'grumpy' grumpy, but still somewhat annoyed. Especially since Aedan obviously enjoyed _his_ meat, and she didn't even have a tongue to say she would like to taste it. She'd make it sound like an innuendo if she could, of course, but…again, temporary speech-impairment. And taste.

"I suppose he could be, in a way. Still, Lorkhan is different from all the other Aedra in the sense that he is actually _dead_." Brelyna munched ever so happily on her meat as she seemed to consider the next words. She then swallowed audibly and continued; "According to the legends, when the other Aedra attempted to escape Lorkhan's project, he sacrificed himself in order to bring Mundus to completion. He is the only other god aside from Akatosh mentioned in every pantheon."

"And across all of Tamriel, he is revered and remembered by thousands of followers." J'zargo mused as he looked at the night skies. Talia did too, watching as Masser and Secunda lazily drifted across the heavens, their travels too slowly for the eye to grasp; "Some, in secret. Others in shrines dedicated to him. J'zargo believes it depends on where in Tamriel you might be."

"If he died creating Mundus, the world, how do you know of him?" Bodahn asked, making his presence known in the discussion for the first time. Talia glanced briefly at the dwarf, then back at the moons, and finally at Brelyna, offering her friend a smile and a roll of her eyes. The Dunmer seemed to catch on.

"Look up." Was all she said, prompting the majority of the group to comply. Morrigan was the only one not to, her attention seemingly split between her meal and her book; "What do you see?"

"…the stars?" Alistair said.

"The night skies?" Wynne asked next.

"Nothing, it's too dark?" Daveth mused, waving a hand between his own face and the heavens for emphasis. Whatever he saw, Talia wasn't sure, but he seemed to find it amusing.

"Luna and Satina, I believe, along with the constellations Silence and the High Dragon?" Leliana then said, hugging her knees as she leant backwards to regard the stars.

"Luna and Satina, those are your names for the Twin Moons, yes?" J'zargo finished his meal and started licking his claws as Leliana nodded and raised a brow. The cat purred, something akin to a smirk on his furry lips; "We call them by Masser and Secunda. They are the sundered halves of Lorkhan, just as this planet itself is part Lorkhan's body. High up north, where even Draugr freeze, the Skaal believe one All-Maker created the world and all there is. Commonly, we know this All-Maker as Lorkhan. Really, it's the only one that makes sense."

"So, there _are_ Andrastians in Tamriel?" Leliana exclaimed with both shock and surprise; "But if the Chantry found your lands, why did you not know about Thedas?"

"The Skaal are…not your Chantry, Leliana." Brelyna explained gently. Her words nonetheless managed to smack down the redhead's happy expression into a more serious and curious one; "True, the Chantry seemingly shares the monotheistic religion with them, but the Skaal don't know of Andraste, the Chant or the Fade either. They do, however, seem to have a few things in common with how your Chantry explain the Darkspawn…"

Talia perked up. This was new, and J'zargo seemed just as surprised.

"How so?" Wynne sounded like she chose those two words with care. Talia somewhat doubted just how much care two words could bear. Still, she was not going to bother figuring that line of thought to its end.

"As I understand it, the Chantry teaches that the Darkspawn were created from ancient Magisters who tried breaking into the 'Golden City', as you call it, and claim its power for themselves." The devout of the group's Andrastians nodded curiously at the Dunmer to go on; "And then the Maker cast them down as punishment for their sins, and they became Darkspawn. That's the version, right?"

"That _is_ how the Chantry tells it, yes." Wynne nodded; "What is its similarity to the Skaal? I understood that Tamriel does not _have_ Darkspawn?"

"Not as you do, no." And Talia also counted herself lucky for that one, even as the relief was also visible on Brelyna's face; "We have an undead…I wouldn't call them a 'people' as such, but more like a scattered army, maybe. The Draugr are old Nords who reawaken from their graves for reasons as of yet unknown, maybe to serve the Dragon Priests? The Skaal religion tells that the All-Maker cursed them for a grave sin, namely cannibalism, and turned them into what they are now."

"How old are these Draugr, if I may ask?"

"Very old, though no one really know just when they were created, or cursed."

"I see…It is food for thought, if nothing else." Wynne pondered aloud. Talia decided that the conversation was over –if it continued she was simply too tired to pay attention -, sucked the last pieces of meat from her spear and snuggled deeply into Aedan's chest. Finally, he seemed to resign to the fact that he couldn't "win" this, and wrapped both arms loosely around her body as well, though he obviously took great care to be 'decent'. Divines, but at least it was a start.

When the campfire was but embers, and a watch consisting of Daveth and Wynne had been set up, the rest of the group crawled into their respective tents, with Brelyna, Talia and Leliana sharing one tent, Cíada and – when her watch would be over – Wynne another. Morrigan was still sleeping on her own, and Alistair and Aedan lumped together in the last one, leaving everyone packed in two-man tents. Everyone slept in either leathers, studded leather or robes, with a weapon always close by.

All except for Talia, who found herself unable to sleep. She twisted and turned, staring at the moons' light through the tent's hide, and found Leliana's breathing to be painstakingly loud. Every time she jabbed the other girl, the break in snoring lasted but for a minute, then began anew. As such, she was more than relieved when her watch came up, or would have been, had anyone actually decided to wake her up. Instead, she was left lying in the sound of owls hooting and delicate snoring. Armor rattled somewhere outside, but it was accompanied by the sound of a tent being left, so most likely it was Aedan. Talia had expected to sit with him throughout their watch, but if she left the tent now, it would mean having to wordlessly explain how she'd known when to rise, and even if she said nothing, he would know she'd not slept. He wasn't stupid. It was a good trait in him. Her lips were dry at the thoughts going through her head when she remembered finding him in his dream, and herself in his arms upon awakening. She could not lick them, however, and in the end resorted to chewing on her freshly restored lower lip to ward off the strange feelings in her chest. When she heard him say something to someone outside – someone else had apparently filled her role as watch – his visage appeared in her mind and a hand started creeping towards her inner thighs.

She stopped it, wanting to slap herself, but knew the sound and movement might wake the redhead beside her. _Divines, I need water…_she thought to herself as she eased her way from the sleeping roll. Her mouth was dry as fine cotton, and her cheeks scratched. Water, that was what she needed, and there was a small stream they'd used for water quite close by. Was it just her, or did they always seem to camp near a stream, no matter where they were? It wasn't that she complained, at least she wasn't meaning to, but it seemed especially weird that the streams all looked alike. Then again, water was water and fire was fire, just as J'zargo had once said magic was magic, and that all magic was the same, no matter where you'd go.

He'd sort of been wrong about that one, however...

When she left the tent, she could see two armored figures sitting with their backs turned on one of the thick logs they'd dragged into the clearing. One was obviously Aedan, and the other therefore was either Alistair or Daveth borrowing armor. The fact that she saw no bow in the dimmed moonshine leant towards it being Alistair. Neither one spoke, instead the night was resounding with whetstone on swords.

She snuck across the clearing in her undershirt, the same soft wool she'd worn in Winterhold, and her breeches, same material but denser, meant to ward off cold slipping underneath her robes. Her feet were bare, and the grass was cold and wet with morning dew. Each step, soft as it was, should have alerted the two men nonetheless, but they did not move nor shout.

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she snuck past hers without disturbing its sleep, and reached the stream. The water was cold, _very_ cold, and each mouthful made her shudder. In the end though, she wiped her face dry with the back of her hands and got up to leave for her tent and the roll. That was when she heard voices.

"So, you don't think she's had any?" it was Alistair's voice, speaking quietly to Aedan.

"I haven't seen her trash around like that yet, no…" Aedan replied just as solemnly, making Talia wonder what they were talking about; "I trashed around, didn't I?"

"Sort of, yeah…" Alistair replied; "I mean, it's nothing to be ashamed off, you know. Everyone gets the same nightmare after they join. It's part of it."

"Everyone but Talia." Aedan muttered, doing strange stuff to her chest when she heard him. This could be a chance to him talking about her without knowing she was there. Also, nightmares? Were they talking about the Tower? "Do you think…is she…is it dangerous not to get them?"

"No." Alistair replied; "Or, well, no one's ever _not_ gotten them, so I really couldn't tell you." he let out a weak chuckle, something she'd come to associate with him trying to broach an awkward subject; "Besides, if a _Pride demon_ couldn't keep her down…"

"Don't joke about that."

"I have to joke about _something_." Alistair defended himself; "The world's just too grim if you don't joke about stuff like this. Besides, as I said, it couldn't keep her down. She's going to be well and fine again."

"I know." Aedan said; "I'm still worried though."

"And after seeing your dream, I think I know why." Alistair's grin could be heard through his voice alone.

"That…How I feel about her is none of your business." Aedan sounded like he'd swallowed something down the wrong duct, forcing his voice calm despite clearly wanting not to talk about it; "And besides, you're one to talk."

"Wa…wait what now?"

"I've seen how you look at Leliana." Aedan fired back. '_Arrows fired'_ Talia thought with a grin. It was a grin that still had some gaps where teeth were regrowing; "We've all seen it. You're terrible at hiding this sort of stuff."

"Ah, right that." The sound of armor rustling meant Alistair was probably shifting uncomfortably; "I never meant…Look, please just don't tell her, okay? I have _no_ idea how to deal with that whole thing, you know the thing I'm talking about? And if she found out that I like her but never made a move and…Maker, just kill me if that happens."

"She's a sweet girl, alright. I approve, in case you needed my approval." Aedan said, followed by the sound of a fist hitting armor, likely a shoulder or an arm; "I just don't think she's…all she appears to be."

"You mean her dream?" Alistair asked, drawing a 'hmm' from Aedan; "I know."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Speak for yourself. Talia's a veritable dragon-in-disguise if ever I've met one, not to mention the whole 'polytheistic heathen' thing the Chantry's no doubt going to lose their breakfast over, or the fact that she's a mage. Or, that her dad's apparently the lord of some place called Ever More and she travels with J'zargo and Brelyna." Alistair chuckled to himself. It was the kind of chuckle that meant he was trying to prove a point by veiling it with bad jokes; "She's pretty, I'll give you that, and sassy at that too, but when the Chantry at large finds out about this Tamriel or the Empire there, we'll be lucky not to see a freshly baked March within the year."

"Gee, aren't you just the best wingman ever?"

"What can I say? It's a gift."

* * *

**If you've noticed that my style have changed a little, I blame G. R. R. Martin. Since I started reading the books, I have had to force Talia's mind to remain sassy and juvenile. It's hard enough just to keep the GoT way of describing stuff to the environment alone. Damn you Martin, why you write so good?!**

**And has anyone considered that this decade seems to be the most interesting yet? We've got Ebola(not a good interesting, mind you) Ukraine, ISIS fucking themselves in the turbans, and potentially the first female President of the US in the history of ever(This'll also be the first time two presidents have had sex with each other, fyi XD )**

**Anyway, I think I have a good one tonight. Several, actually, but I'll pose this one for those of you who haven't already pondered it yourselves. In the (unsettlingly likely) event of an Exalted March being declared on the Empire by the Chantry, who'd you think would come out on top? I'm personally constantly going between one and the other for assorted reasons, which is annoying. **


	24. Unwelcome Tag-alongs

_So, I saw Leliana and Cullen in the gardens today. They seemed like they didn't want to be seen…which of course meant I _had_ to go after them. _

_Sadly, I did not stumble upon a clandestine romance. I suppose Cullen _would_ be her type though, despite everything else. I must admit that I would have liked to see the fallout ad they really been up to something. Then again, it was also much to my amusement seeing Cullen lose in chess to Leliana._

_For our General and Strategic Leader, he lost to our Spymaster. I immediately challenged Leliana to a game, winner take the "usual" price._

She_ accepted._

I_ won._

_Middas 6__th__, _

* * *

When they broke camp the next morning, the group started the day with stiff porridge, lacking for all but the most basic of ingredients. As Talia watched the others trying to force down stale porridge and hard bread, she was for the first time grateful for her inability to taste. She would still have liked to be able to speak, however, as communication with nothing but hand-signals was lacking, at best. Alistair's expression in particular was satisfying. With each bite, he would frown and visibly _force_ the porridge down.

When the camp was packed away and the horses saddled, packed and mounted, Talia rode her gelding, Niko, at the rear of the group. It wasn't as much her choice as how Alistair chose to arrange them all. With her staff strapped to her back in the severely annoying manner, she would still be able to kill whatever came too close for firebolts, but Alistair placed her back with the other ranged fighters, and rode with Aedan at the head. Talia was tempted to throw something at him from behind, but forced down her irritation when she realized it just wasn't worth it. That, and Alistair and Aedan seemingly were still deep in whatever conversation they had started the previous night.

As such, she remained silent throughout most of the morning, and offered only grunts, nods and 'hmm's when someone talked to her. Anything else was, after all, physically impossible still. She needed to go through _a lot_ of days with bouts of healing herself before she'd have a tongue again. It was frustrating as the sixth plane of Oblivion, but she didn't have much choice in the matter. In this, at least, she could speed up the correction of her own flawed spell.

Niko followed the other horses in a steady and calm gait, and his massive body hardly rocked beneath her at all. It was strangely calming, even _if_ he was a horse, and she didn't _like_ horses. Niko felt almost more like a large wagon than an actually dangerous beast of burden. As such, she was free to let her mind wander as they rode, and contemplate what would happen when they reached Redcliffe again, what they would need to do to combat the Blight, how to prepare for meeting this fabled Archdemon, and investigate why the Regent, apparently Loghain himself, wanted them taken down.

The last part was the most confusing, as the Grey Wardens were sworn to neutrality, and as such weren't a threat to Loghain's power._ Unless he knows about Alistair._ That was a disconcerting thought. If Talia's upbringing amongst nobles in Evermor, and the occasional visit to Daggerfall, had taught her one thing, it was that when it came to the line of succession, people were often not above _removing_ contestants. Loghain was in power, Alistair was a contestant for said power. It was simply. And that was what made it so unsettling.

There was also the issue of Arl Howe, now apparently the new Teyrn of Highever. That the man was a traitorous bastard was not in doubt: he'd proven that by breaking the Laws of the Guest, murdering his hosts under their own roof. That the man was ruthless was not in doubt either, nor was his cunning. The question, the true question, was how he had managed to set himself up as Teyrn. He'd have to be instated by authority, which meant it had to be someone _above_ the rank of Teyrn granting him the seat. _And there is not one but the Throne above the Teyrn. _A thought that led to the realization that the granter of the Teyrnir would have had to be either Loghain, as the new Regent, or the Queen of Ferelden, Queen Anora. Loghain was, despite his betrayal at Ostagar, apparently a hero of Ferelden. _The Hero of River Dane, they call him…I wonder what happened there._

It was something she would have to ask Alistair or maybe Wynne about. Alistair, preferably, since he was less likely to start lecturing or preaching the virtues of the Circle and Chantry. It was, quite frankly, something she could do without. Regardless of _what_ happened at River Dane, Loghain was a hero who was not likely to risk his nation – the nation he'd apparently fought hard enough for to be given that title – by promoting a traitor. The other option was then the Queen Anora. Her name was about the only thing Talia knew about her, so her being the traitor was not out of the question. Even so, there was the question of what the _Queen_ would gain by this. _I don't know enough…Piss, this is where I wish I could talk. Or…I could write, I suppose. I don't know when I'll be able to talk again, so until then, maybe…Wait, can Alistair even _read_? _

The fear left her almost as soon as it came, with the realization that Alistair's early childhood had been spent with the Arl of Redcliffe – even if he'd not been treated as Eamon's son – followed by living in the Chantry. If half of what Leliana and Wynne – Alistair too, she supposed – said was true, the Chantry at least made sure its servants could read. Another concern then struck her: Even _if_ Alistair could read Fereldan or Thedasian, she couldn't _write_ it. Damn it.

Still, there was not much she could do at this point to rectify that matter. _If you can solve it, do not fret. If you cannot solve it, no use in fretting either._ Those were her father's words one day when he'd been asked for council on some matter Talia couldn't remember. She remembered his words though, as they held a rare ounce of humor. Humor wasn't a valued trait when you held the position of Arch magister in the Magisters' Council. Being one such required resolve and hardiness, two things Talia knew her father had in abundancies. It was merely a pity that he seemingly preferred those at home as well.

Lastly, there was the matter of how to ensure that, upon the end of the Blight, Thedas' Chantry would not go through with the Exalted March Alistair had mentioned the previous night. The simplest step would naturally be to ensure Alistair was the one to gain the throne, seeing how he was already positively disposed towards Tamriel. He would likely be less so if he'd been told of the Alessian Order or the Night of Tears, the War of the Red Diamond or even the way Tiber Septim had been nothing more than a general following orders before ascending as emperor himself. Brelyna had really delivered Tamriel in the best of lights, in that aspect. Still, even if Alistair became king, Talia knew Thedas was more than just Ferelden. There was the nation of Orlais, the powerful neighbor to the west. There was also the kingdom of Nevarra, the Free Marches and even Tevinter. There were more, of course, but of them Talia did not even know their names.

Another step that could be taken was for her to somehow send a message back to the continent of what was transpiring in Akavir, including what Akavir really was. Inhabited, and not by the savages thought to have defeated the Imperial Expedition ages past. Likely, those soldiers had run into one of the previous Blights, if what Duncan had said of there being multiple Blights had been true. _They likely thought the land was inhabited by Draugr and Dragons…thousands of men and women, slaughtered like cattle._ The thought made her a little sick. She had already seen the Fereldan army slaughtered at Ostagar. Little different for the Legion, she surmised, when they would have encountered Darkspawn in the same numbers.

If the Empire knew that Akavir was inhabited by an equal civilization, no doubt some would demand just that question answered. When they would discover the truth, maybe a new expeditionary force would be sent to help. Bosmeri archers and Orcish, Dunmeri and Imperial Legionaries. Bretoni mages and officers from the Imperial Academies. Such a force, combined with the Grey Wardens and whatever armed forces they could rise, would hopefully be sufficient to smear the Darkspawn over the ground like a squashed bug.

"Talia?"

She looked to her left at the voice, finding Brelyna riding beside her on a mare as grey as the girl who rode it. Her hood was down and hair let loose, flowing down her neck in a cascade of black. It was rather ironic that while Brelyna had never ridden before now, and Talia had, the Dunmer was visibly far more at ease with it. Both ruby eyes were focused on her.

"Mmmm?" she didn't need a tongue to make that sound, at the very least. Grunts, moans, sighs and assorted other sounds usually reserved for infants and toddlers was now all she could muster.

"Have you remembered to heal yourself this morning?"

"Mmmm."

"Good. How are you feeling?" the girl frowned when she'd spoken, obviously realizing that complex answers were currently not an option Talia had to offer; "Right, forgive me. Good or bad?"

Talia showed her a thumbs up, something which required her to let go of the reins with one hand.

"And your breathing is untroubled?" Talia, at this, merely blew a puff of air at the Dunmer, who smiled as if she'd said something amusing; "Seems like it's fine."

Talia offered her friend a flat look, trying to convey '_Girl, I am fine. Stop fussing._' But if she caught it, Brelyna didn't react to it. She just giggled that sweet giggle of hers, the giggle that would make any one person, man or woman, lower their guard. Less lucky individuals would then realize that had not been the best idea to pass their minds.

"Any aches?"

"Nnhh mmm…" Talia shook her head, pulled down her hood and yawned. There was a fresh set if stitches in the fabric from where Bodahn had repaired it after the Pride Demon had graced her with but one of the serrated claws.

"Pains?"

"Hhhhhhnnn…"

"Sores?"

"Ghhnnnnn…"

"Irritations?" _You right now_. Talia groaned and stared at her friend. When she caught the small smile on Brelyna's lips, she nearly kicked the Dunmer off her horse. The realization that Brelyna was teasing her was, while not really that surprising, both frustratingly annoying and somewhat relieving, in truth. That someone finally stopped treating her like she was made off glass was a great relief, because frankly she was getting sick of everyone looking at her like she was a sick child, or letting her skip her watch because they thought she needed sleep. _Start breathing fire, they said. It won't make everyone treat you like a cripple, they said. _

Still, this was one problem that had caused her far greater issues than she had expected. Both Father and Mother were capable of firebreathing as well as regular casting, and neither bore grim scars, nor did they lose the ability to speak. When she had asked Mother once, she had told her that firebreathing as some of the most difficult magic attainable to mages of any sort. Mother herself was a Dunmer, and thus had the advantage of being neigh immune to fire. It was not a boon Talia had inherited, however, and so she had been told that to actually be capable of firebreathing without suffering from it herself, far greater control was needed over her release of magicka. _It was a nice way of saying 'It's way out of your league, Daughter', though that didn't make it less insulting…I guess she was right though…_

It was an unsettling thought that she had once, not even all that long ago, believed herself capable of any sort of magic. _A prodigy. I called myself a fucking prodigy. Ha! That's one joke I'm not telling anyone else. Not now, at least_. The idea of being called a prodigy, a master in the making, had always appealed to her. Especially when she was a newly discovered to have a greater than usual affinity for destruction magic, fire in particular. She had thought it to be the beginning of becoming just like Aveline, the much famed battlemage. Now though, she knew better. Somewhat, at least. _It wasn't the spell itself that nearly killed me. It was my lack of control, and the stress of the situation. Divines be damned though, it was all I could do. I bet I could actually do it if I was careful enough. Small version though. Not trying something like _that_ again._

With that notion firmly settled in her mind, she gave Niko a small jab in his sides and urged him forward. It was around midday when they passed by the site of the ambush, and at early evening, they caught up to a pair of robe-clad mages, both of them women, riding their own, brown and grey horses. Mares, from the look of their backsides. _And I did not need to look. Why did I look?_

Enchanters Mabel and Nicholl were about as plain as could be. Mabel had short hair that barely had the length to curl, black as night and eyes a calm blue. Nicholl had a bit darker tan, eyes a deep brown and wore her hair in a tied-up bun behind her head. Both were dressed as Wynne was, with similar staffs on each their back. At the very least, both seemed to share Talia's problem with getting the staff to fit, while Wynne had somehow managed to fit her own perfectly. It had to be sorcery, and not the kind Talia approved of.

"Senior Enchanter Wynne." They both greeted, actually in unison. Nicholl nodded towards the rest, though when her eyes fell upon Brelyna and J'zargo, she paused; "Are these the…foreigners, you mentioned?"

"Yes." Wynne replied in an even voice; "Please, do not be alarmed by their appearances. Neither is a demon, a spirit nor an abomination."

"I see." Mabel replied, obviously weighing her words with care. As the woman regarded Brelyna, Talia felt a surge of tension in her body. Her fingers flexed, hands became fists and her legs went stiff. She willed it down the moment she became aware, but still kept her eyes firmly affixed on the enchanter. Enchantress. Were they called one or the other? "If we are to travel this last distance together, might we know your names?"

It was fairly obvious that Mabel referred to Brelyna and J'zargo. Talia kept her eyes on her classmates, but didn't fail to notice the way Jowan shrank in his saddle. When she followed his eyes, she saw Nicholl directing a heavy glare at the young man. _Oh great, she hates him. This is going to be fun._

"This one is called J'zargo. Much esteemed apprentice mage from the College of Winterhold."

"And I am Brelyna Maryon of House Telvanni." The Dunmer girl said with the most perfect respectfulness in her voice. Talia wasn't sure she herself would have been able to keep out some malice at the way both enchanters seemed somewhat cold towards them.

"A noble?" Nicholl asked, finally cutting off her glare at Jowan; "I was unaware elves _had_ nobility."

"They don't." Mabel answered before anyone else could; "Not in Thedas at least. Tell me, Serah Maryon, is it true what Wynne told us? Do you actually come from across the western oceans?"

"We do, yes."

"I see…Well, we should not waste time on the road." The enchanter mused, then reined her horse and turned back towards Redcliffe. Talia could barely make out lights on the shore in the far distance, as evening was falling, and with it, darkness. The sun was setting and the barest visage of Masser was visible on the reddening skies. She looked after the two new enchanters as she as well kicked her horse back into gait with two jabs and a click of her cheeks. _I don't like the way they looked at us. Freaks, blood mages and whatnot, I'm betting that's what they're thinking. I should probably make sure not to leave Jowan alone with either one, just to be safe._

In some people's eyes, Grey Warden recruit or not, Jowan was a blood mage. There was no guarantee Wynne's colleagues weren't going to harm him. But there was a guarantee that Talia would torch them both if they tried it. She'd been the one to conscript Jowan, ergo he was under _her_ protection, regardless of Alistair being the senior Warden of the group.

"I do not like the way that Mabel woman looked at us." J'zargo muttered as he rode besides her and Brelyna. A cat on a horse. Amusing as the image was, Talia agreed and nodded; "J'zargo felt like he was being judged. He did not like it."

"I agree. They seemed…cold, both of them." Brelyna whispered. Her hood once more covered her head, and hid her ears; "Did you see the way Nicholl glared at Jowan?"

"J'zargo did see…It makes him wonder if the woman was too scared to glare at Morrigan." J'zargo mused, glancing at the trees above where a large crow was flying short distances from tree to tree, glaring down at them with black eyes. Yet, they were not black, but a sharp yellow. Morrigan had sent her horse running back to Kinloch at first chance, and shapeshifted into a crow the second Wynne asked why; "Then again, might be the enchanter did not realize Morrigan was here?"

"Makes no difference pondering' about it." Daveth said as he appeared from Talia's left. She almost fell from Niko in surprise. _Make-Mara's twat! How the hell does he keep doing that?_ "It's clear she's not liking any of us, that's for sure. Two of you in particular, I think, but Jowan too. Ey, did you actually kill someone or something?"

The last bit was directed at Jowan, who was silent and dreading upon his chestnut gelding. It was scarce larger than a pony, but the animal was visibly packed with muscles. A mule, Talia realized. She hadn't seen one of those for some time, so it surprised her that Jowan was riding one. She hadn't seen it when they were issued the horses. Had he chosen something else because he felt unworthy of a horse? Bollocks, in that case, but it was the only explanation she could think of that made any sense whatsoever. Whatever his true reasons, Jowan offered only a shake of his head and kept his eyes on the road. Talia frowned. This was not a good development for him.

When they made camp that night, Wynne had seemingly sensed some of the animosity going on, and had asked her colleagues to set up their tent on the opposite side of the clearing from theirs. Not far enough to be an insult, but far enough that the message was delivered. Talia was for one grateful for not having to share her tent or campfire-log with one of the enchanters, and instead saw fit to look at the flames licking at the burning wood. She gathered her legs up close and basked in the warmth from the fire. With the two imposers out of sight for the time being, she allowed her mind to wander into the reaches of the fire.

Fire. She knew the reason for the fire having burned her this badly was her own mistakes. Which meant that if she did it right, she could do it without facing injury. But how? The option of asking Wynne and Brelyna to stand by was, of course, out of the question. If she managed to properly convey her intentions to them, Wynne would probably just paralyze her again. Morrigan was only a slightly better healer than herself, and J'zargo was even _worse._ And she wasn't even going to consider Mabel or Nicholl. Thus, if she wanted to try this out again, she would need to use so small amounts of magicka on the fire itself that she could dedicate the rest to healing.

And then there was the Dragonskin. The ancient ability her kind had inherited from the elven ancestors of old, which allowed the people of High Rock to sap energy directly from any and all spells directed at them. This would, in theory, involve her own fire if the case was that it harmed her. If not, she would feel little difference at all._ I hate not knowing what to do though…if it misfired, I would be lucky to escape with just my tongue burnt. My head…_No, no she wasn't going down that lane. If she started doubting herself now, not when there was the potential of getting a hold on the only spell that had apparently brought down the demon.

"You look deep in thought." It was Brelyna who spoke as the Dunmer suddenly stood next to her, by the log. Talia was, miracles happen it would seem, the only one sitting. She glanced at the Dunmer and shrugged; "I brought something you might like. Can I sit?"

"Mmmm."

"I've noticed you don't seem to…like, being treated carefully." Brelyna started as she fidgeted with a plate of wood a thick set of pages. Blank pages, no words written yet. Was she writing a book, maybe? It wouldn't come as a surprise, given her tendencies to throw herself into work of a higher standard than young women like her were expected to do. She also held a piece of wood, hardly larger or thicker than an index-finger; "But please understand that we are just worried about you." _I know that. I'm not doubting your intentions, sweetie. _

"Mmm…"

"So, I thought you might want a way to communicate again. At least, just until your tongue grows back." Brelyna awkwardly handed her the paper and writer, and Talia realized what the Dunmer had in mind. It was a shame Brelyna was straight only, otherwise Talia would have ridden her to the ground this instant. Instead, she just beamed a smile, a rare, radiant smile of teeth and missing ones, at her best friend_. You just _had_ to be straight, didn't you? _"I'm glad you like it."

Talia didn't 'hmm' this time instead she set to writing a short sentence, then showed it to Brelyna.

_Thanks. You're sodding wonderful, you know that?_

"Ah, I don't know if…Well, okay, if you say so." Brelyna actually giggled in the end, stopping when she saw Talia resume the writing; "I should have expected you'd be eager to speak again, if only sort of."

_What do you think of Wynne and her apprentice? I never got the chance to ask._

"Cíada seems like a friendly and likeable individual. She's bright, determined…a little sassy, if you will. In some ways, she reminds me somewhat of you." Talia mock-glared at the Dunmer girl, then just shook her head and pointed at the 'Wynne' part of her question; "Wynne, however…I approve of her. I know, I know, she would have us all stuck in their Circle simply for being mages, but for a person living just that ideal, she has proven open to new ideas and seems interested in learning more about Tamriel."

_Do you trust them? Both._

"…I don't know. You were the ones fighting along with her, so I don't know how she acts in a stressful environment, true, but I do not mistrust her, nor Cíada…" Brelyna hesitated as she looked towards Mabel and Nicholl's tent. They slept in the same tent, it seemed, and both had already turned in; "Those two, however, I do not know…They seemed…"

she stopped as Talia was already writing again. Beautiful writing had never been the Breton's strongest side, and the first page was rapidly filling with dancing letters. They seemed as if they had been thrown on with a shovel or a spade. It was her mother's favorite expression when Talia was learning how to write. It was also very much an annoying one at that.

_Like bitches._

"I…suppose. There is still things we do not know about the workings of the Circle, and the Chantry, and their animosity seemed to center on Jowan." Brelyna did not readily agree to coarse insults thrown at people she hardly knew, Talia remembered, so even the Dunmer's reluctant agreement was proof she did not care for their newest companions either; "I suggest we do not provoke them, and at the same time make sure Jowan is not alone with either."

Talia nodded, paused and ripped out the filled page before tossing it at the fire. Brelyna frowned, but seemed to understand her intentions. Talia wrote again.

_I have been thinking. The Blight Fire obviously has intelligence. I want to see if I can grant its properties to Two-Sock._

"Really?" Talia nodded at Brelyna's surprised expression; "Well, I do not see how it should be _im_possible. I do not, however, see how to do it either. Your Familiar is part of your soul, but the Blight Fire is merely an atronach."

_I know. I just wanted to hear your opinion. _

"It would be a boon, certainly, if you could make it work." Brelyna adopted her thoughtful pose, the one that usually forewarned of a longer lecture about to commence. Talia forestalled this by holding up a hand, writing with the other; "There is something else, I take it?"

_I couldn't sleep last night. No one came for my watch._

"Ah, that…forgive me, Talia, but I asked Alistair to let you sleep." That was not really a surprise. Talia had expected it to be Brelyna's doing, or at least her insensitive to some degree. She wasn't angry, not really, as it had allowed her to listen in on the two warriors; "He took your watch as well."

_I know… I overheard him talking to Aedan._

"You eavesdropped?" Brelyna asked, her slightly surprised expression slowly becoming one of amusement; "You wanted to see if Aedan talks about you when you're not around, didn't you?"

Talia nodded, even if she did send her friend a small glare. It was vexing that Brelyna figured her out this effortlessly. Talia still didn't know what her friend was thinking half the time these days.

"Well…did he?"

_Yes. But not like that, at first. I am supposed to have had nightmares due to becoming a Grey Warden, but nothing has happened yet. _

"Nightmares…" Brelyna frowned and scratched her nose; "Why nightmares?"

_Dunno. Alistair mentioned no one has ever not gotten them. His words._

"That's…It could be due to our lack of a connection to their Fade." The Dunmer mused with a frown painted on her face; "If the Fade is where people from Thedas go when they sleep, and we are the first here from Tamriel to document it, the explanation could be as simple as that you would need a connection to the Fade to get these nightmares…Do you want me to ask him?"

_NO! No, they didn't seem overtly concerned, so I am not going to make a scene. Also, from what I can gather, the Joining potion is basically a poison of sorts…_

"A poison?" Brelyna gasped, half-standing before Talia pulled her back down again; "I- a _poison_? What would that accomplish?"

_Darkspawn blood. It makes the connection to them possible…also it shorten your lifespan._

"It… Azura, Talia, how…how much does it _shorten_ it?" Brelyna's voice was barely above a mere whisper now, filled with fright and hurt. Talia smiled at her friend, mainly because seeing _her_ like this was worse than an eventual poison.

_I am not sure. Alistair claimed Grey Wardens thirty years from the Joining to their deaths._

"Gods…"

_But if I didn't get the nightmares…_

"Maybe your longevity will not be affected either…" Brelyna sighed and palmed her knees; "Thank the Gods…" _or you could thank the fact that I've been swigging antidotes since before I could walk. Comes with being Omluard's daughter._

_Yes. But it still means the others are actually dying._ She struggled with getting that last word down. It was as if she was sentencing Aedan to death with it_ do you think you could find out if there's ever been made an antidote specifically for the taint?_

"The taint…I wonder…" the Dunmer paused and glanced at where Daveth had dumped himself in a conversation with Cíada. Well, 'conversation' was one word for it, Talia supposed. She would call it flirting with the elven girl, but then again, Cíada _was_ quite attractive. Brelyna's eyes were, however, focused on Daveth with a scrutiny unparalleled by most common mortals; "He does not _look_ sick, nor dying. The same for the others, in fact…You are going to run out of paper at this rate, you know that?"

_Yes._ The girl had a point. Talia had already burned through, quite literally, half the pages she'd been given. She'd have to get accustomed to smaller letters, then. _I will ask Alistair myself about the nightmares._

"Of course…It is strange, you know…You have become one of them, a Grey Warden." Brelyna's lips played a small, sad smile. Talia frowned and scooted closer to her friend; "You are bound to this new Order of yours by blood, like a family. I know an eventual homecoming will be…difficult, but…Aren't you scared?"

_Yes._

Of course she was scared. She had drafted herself into an order of monster-killers, drank poisonous blood to join in the first place, and now had to live with the knowledge that even _if_ she was immune to some effects of the Joining, she wasn't going to live to see her sixty years name-day. Neither would Aedan, Alistair or Daveth…Had Dela lucked out? The dwarf had been killed so quickly that she'd never had a chance to experience the sorrow that came with knowing such things.

_But it is necessary._

"I never said it wasn't, just…When I look at you, I see my friend." Brelyna sighed and hugged the Breton, an action that surprised Talia somewhat; "I know others will only see a Grey Warden, a powerful mage or a wild girl with powers, but I…I can't see those things. I've known you for three years, Talia, and all I see when I look at you now, is that same person…I'm…not really sure what I'm talking about, to be honest, just…I don't want to see you lost. Not after Onmund."

Talia flinched ever so slightly at his name. She'd believed herself somewhat healed by now, yet even his name would set her jaw tight and her eyes moist. It had been close to two months now, since her friend had been murdered in the Circle, and yet every mention of him troubled her breathing. She forced her hand to be steady as she wrote again, her letters now uglier and less orderly than before.

_I'm not gonna be lost. And I'll kill anything that tries to prove me wrong._ She let Brelyna read the page before throwing it at the fire.

"I suppose that should not come as a surprise now…I am just glad no more were lost within that tower." Brelyna sighed, casting her eyes at the fire as another log accompanied them. The sparks flew wildly from the burning wood as the Dunmer leaned back and into Talia's shoulder. The Breton smiled faintly and wrapped an arm around her friend, allowing Brelyna's head to rest in the crook of her neck. It was a rare moment shared between two friends, and it was something Talia found immensely precious. She knew Brelyna felt the same, and enjoyed it all the more for that reason. Paper and scribe put down, she simply allowed herself to relax into the presence of her friend and classmate.

Talia's eyes opened again when she heard a bird – a crow, to be precise – make annoyed noises close by. She found the bird to be sitting on one of the other logs, sliding its beak up and down the heat-dried wood. When Talia caught its eye, its yellow iris confirmed her suspicions. Morrigan. She was still in bird form, something which actually seemed to be immensely useful to stay unnoticed. Maybe it could be taught, and if so, she could learn it? Talia gently nudged her friend aware of the bird, and Brelyna – maybe because she had spent time as Morrigan's guest – seemed to instantly know what the bird was.

"Morrigan." The Dunmer greeted as the bird cocked its head sideways in the way only birds could; "The enchanters are asleep."

The bird croaked and bopped its head, followed by its body molding, molting and changing shape. Feathers retracted and gave way to skin turning from white to pink, claws became feet clad in dark shoes, feathered chest became the telltale crimson robes worn by the witch, and lastly, the beak became a creased pair of lips on a mouth beneath the pair of familiar, golden eyes. Her staff seemed to grow straight out of the last remaining feathers as they vanished, revealing Morrigan in all her – if dubious – splendor.

"T'was a fine idea, with your notion of written communication." The witch acknowledged with a glance at the pages still resting in Talia's lap; "Though I notice the writing is not in Fereldan."

"Yes, I had anticipated that problem." The Dunmer admitted as she straightened herself from Talia's arm. The Breton did the same, unwilling to show 'weakness' before Morrigan. And yet, the witch had seemed somewhat mollified since receiving the Grimoire; "I suppose that means we'll need someone to translate her words if she wants to speak to the others." As Brelyna spoke, Talia picked back up the pages and pen.

_I _am_ still here. And the spoken language is the same, somehow, so the written should only be different by its letters._

"She is correct, in that." Morrigan nodded. It took Talia a moment to process that Morrigan could read her writings, meaning the witch was capable of reading Imperial Common; "Most of Thedas shares the same scriptural as well as spoken language. In that, learning Ferelden's written language would allow you to understand the different workings from Ferelden to Tevinter."

"How do you know Imperial Common?"

"The same way that I knew what you and the Khajiit were before either woke." Morrigan said, a superior smirk on her lips; "T'was my mother who taught me about Tamriel, its customs and its language."

"I see…" Brelyna mused, a slight smile on her lips; "But how come that everywhere in Thedas has the same language?"

"The nations themselves do not, as you assume, share the written language." Morrigan corrected her; "T'is the Chantry that requires all to be able of reading the holy texts, their 'Chant of Light'. What use is a priestess or a priest if he does not know his faith's texts? None."

"I'm confused then. If being able to write Fereldan allows her to write in all Thedas' languages, does that mean Fereldan _is_ the language of the Chantry?"

"Not quite. That is Orlesian, in truth, but Fereldan is fairly close enough that it remains discernable."

"Orlesian, that's the nation west of here, right?"

"West of the Anderfells, yes." Morrigan nodded bemusedly; "As you might know, Fereldan and Orlesian history is steeped quite severely in animosity. Wars, at that especially, have shaped both nations' histories."

"Yes, Alistair told me about the occupation by Orlais, I think…" Brelyna 'hmmm'd. Talia just paid attention to the exchange; "That's why some people seemed surprised at Talia's presence, right? Because they thought she was from Orlais."

"True, and likely they would have been less courteous had she been alone."

"I suppose they never knew how lucky they were then, that she was not." there was that slightly feral grin on Brelyna's expression, the grin that betrayed the wild girl hiding behind the persona of a shy, timid student. Usually this was only ever discernable when the Dunmer was fighting for her life. Like back in Redcliffe.

"Regardless, any actual tutoring of Thedas' written languages would have to wait to the point that you are no longer incapable of verbal communication." Morrigan smiled confidently at Talia, who wanted to ask 'what are you smiling at?' but knew the witch would almost definitely give some answer that would make her question seem stupid; "While I do not readily trust Wynne, she's far too tightly tied to the Circle, Leliana might be able to offer assistance in this endeavor…"

_Yes, but I still can't really do much until I get my voice back, you know?_

"T'is true, that remains an obstacle." Morrigan nodded, focusing her sharp, golden eyes on Talia; "Have you remembered healing yourself today?"

She had, this morning, but Talia was fairly sure Morrigan meant the evening, as in right now. Seriously though, when was she supposed to have done that. She'd barely sat down before Brelyna had handed her the scribe and paper, and Morrigan had just jumped in after that.

The rest of the evening, such as it was, consisted of fighting through the gruel that was Alistair' somewhat failed attempt at cooking. He'd been using a bunch of stuff from Bodahn's wagon, now more or less renamed or redubbed 'food train' by Talia – if anyone else shared the name, they didn't voice it – and the dwarf seemed more than happy to contribute in his own small way, considering he was supplying the last remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden, at least as far as they knew.

Alistair said he'd heard from Duncan that recruits and loners were likely scattered around the northern parts of Ferelden, retreating from Ostagar, chased by the Regent's men, or simply never heard the call to arms to assemble at Ostagar. The latter being the most desirable, as it meant they would be unharmed and ready. Still, it also meant that if Duncan hadn't been able to get word to them, neither was their own group likely able to. It was a major pain in their collective rear-ends, but that was where they were at.

Before heading for her bedroll later on, Talia made it _very_ clear to Alistair that she wasn't going to abide by being cuddled and passed by on the watch. She'd be there, if she had to kick her replacement back into his or her tent, then so be it. She wasn't going to pretend she was unable to actually do her own damn part in this. Speech-impairment be damned, she could still perfectly well set fire to any little shit trying to sneak in, and she could perfectly well raise the alarm without being able to speak: nothing quite got sleeping people's attention like a fireball powerful enough to send a tent flying, poles and all.

Then again, there was another method that would let her raise the alarm without violently deconstructing the camp as a whole. Talia, when she was actually called upon a few hours later, when her watch was due with Leliana, snapped her hands together and allowed her Familiar into this plane.

Two-Sock didn't seem to harbor irritation at the prolonged lack of freedom; quite the contrary, he borderline assaulted Leliana the second he was out, and the redhead giggled and laughed when the ethereal, dry tongue licked her face. Talia found herself split between scowling at Two-Sock's diverted attention, and grinning at the way he'd seemingly warmed enough to Leliana to assault the girl. He was part of her soul, so might be it spoke of her own growing fondness for the girl. Her faith despite, Talia liked Leliana.

"_Hey Boy, are you sure you're not going blind?_" Talia laughed in her mind when Two-Sock's head whipped up at the mock-reprimand in her tone; "_You're licking the wrong girl. I know she probably likes it, but you only got the hair color right._"

It was a strange thing, because Two-Sock had always been able to hear her thoughts. As such, he was the only being she could communicate directly with at the moment. Still, it was nice to see her Familiar again, and not just for that reason alone. Her companion, kindred spirit and a part of her soul, the wolf was a friend that could never be taken away.

The Familiar looked at her like he hadn't done anything wrong, tongue lolling from his gape as both eyes went from ghostly to a pale, translucent blue. He had long-since developed the trait of going partly material, more so than just being _physical_, in his own, strange, weird sort of way to make it clear that he preferred being _outside_. '_Some people have dogs scarping at their doors…I have one scraping at my mind. Yay…_

Still, the Familiar never failed to bring smiles and grins wherever he went, considering that people knew he wasn't a threat, that was.

"Aww, he's such a cutie." Leliana cooed, ruffling the Familiar on his lower jaw and throat. The wolf lolled and panted, looking to the world like he couldn't be happier; "Yesh you _are_. Yesshhh you areeeee…"

"_She's so much like my sister, it's actually kinda scary, you know?_" Talia sighed and shook her head. Leliana, oblivious to the Breton's thoughts, just smiled and gave the Familiar a final scratch behind his ear before standing. The Orlesian bard always seemed to have an air of innocence about her, contradicting the strange, eerie feeling she'd been giving off in the Fade. Leliana's past was not a pleasant one, that much was clear to all "_And yet, you don't seem to care much for differences, or similarities, do you? Or maybe it is just those similarities that mellows you to strangers. You sense innocence, don't you?"_

If that was it, if that was the real, founding cause for her Familiar's instantaneous trust of others, Two-Sock might be offering not just them, but Talia herself a deeper understanding of her own soul. He did, after all, embody a sizable chunk of it, a fact he seemed proud of whenever he caught her thinking it. _"But she's right, you know?"_

Two-Sock cocked his ears, tilting his head like he was confused at her comment. It was all for show, of course, seeing how the Familiar was tied always with her thoughts. What she knew, _he_ knew._ "Don't make that face at me- you're totally a big puppy when she does that."_

The wolf left Leliana's side to nuzzle his furry snout into Talia's palm. Honor restored. Most of his head was now starting to take on a brown-white texture that very well could have been any wolf from a distance. Up close like this, however, Talia could see the dancing smoke behind his appearance. _Part of my own soul, and after more than ten years, I still find myself surprised by you, don't I…?_

"Should we sit?" Leliana asked, gesturing at the logs by the dwindling fire. It felt to Talia like she'd only just left the conversation with Brelyna and Morrigan at those very same wooden seats. When the Breton hesitated, Leliana looked to the trees; "Daveth and Morrigan have already set the traps."

That was good, she supposed. Talia nodded and sat down next to the redhead. It was only now that Talia realized Leliana was not in her mail, but instead clad in studded and reinforced leathers. Likely, they would not provide the same protection as the mail, but then, when had she seen Leliana engage in upfront fighting? Her own staff was leaning against her shoulder with the bladed end upwards, ready to grab should enemies emerge from the darkness of the woods. Leliana had her bow in hands, working with the string and handle.

They sat in silence like that for a while, allowing Two-Sock to stalk the perimeter of the campsite. He stopped by the enchanters' tent and did a symbolic, if impolite gesture of territorial marking. Naturally, nothing was actually scented as Familiars left no trace, scarce even footprints. It was only when the wolf, instead of returning to the women, dumped himself by the tent of Bodhan and Sandal. And there he seemed perfectly inclined to stay.

"Brelyna told me that you want to learn Chantry writing." When Leliana spoke, it was put as a statement, but voiced as a question more than not. Talia glanced up from the glowing embers yet giving off relieving heat from their dulled, dimmed embrace with black coals. Leliana didn't immediately continue, instead choosing to pile another log onto the dying embers. Talia offhandedly sent a bust of flames into the wood, hardly more than a gust, but sufficient to cause fires to once more lick the wood. _Heehee…'lick the wood'…_

When she seemed satisfied with the fire, the Orlesian girl continued, brushing red hair behind her ears. She had an ear-ring, Talia suddenly noticed. She hadn't had that the last time the Breton had checked, had she? It was silver, and in the shape of some sort of square. Simple, yes, but still pretty. Talia nodded; "I would be more than happy to help with what I know, though I fear my knowledge is not as extensive as that of Wynne's. have you asked- forgive me, that was an insensitive question."

Talia shrugged, letting the girl know she really didn't care. She had had her bout of grief and despair over the tongue-issue, and didn't plan on becoming some sort of charity-case.

Enough people saw her as that now already.

"Right, I…_would_ you consider Wynne's assistance in this, or would you prefer mine? I know for a fact that Alistair was educated by the Chantry as well – he could help?" Talia didn't need a tongue either to make her opinion on the last option known. She snorted laughter and held her mouth to retain the awkward sounds born from tongue-less laughter.

When Leliana frowned and pouted slightly, just ever so slightly, Talia found herself wondering if the girl would ever be interested. It was an idle thought, nothing more, but there was an appeal to the girl, a casual, attractive appeal that would strike the fancy of any man- and woman. Still, it was clear she was interested in Alistair, for whatever reasons the gods had seen fit to use.

True, Alistair had…charm, sort of. He was earnest, which was always a good thing. He was witty, in his own, weird way, and he cared, which was more than could be said of most men Talia had known. He also didn't look halfway bad, but the moment he was put in a serous situation, the _moment_ he was asked to deal with some damning ramifications, like the disaster at Ostagar or something as simple as deciding whether or not to spare a blood mage, he cracked the most _inappropriate _jokes. Seriously, she could have _smacked_ him for what he'd said in the tower. Almost had too, but had stopped herself.

All in all, whatever appeal she might have seen in him, it was killed the moment he opened his mouth.

"You do not like Alistair much, do you?" Leliana asked then, looking at her with a small, faint smile. Talia huffed and shrugged, offering a soft, whispering chuckle thought her nose. Leliana seemed to realize that aside from grunts, snorts, giggles and huffs, the conversation would be somewhat one-sided. It didn't seem to bother her much, truly; "I think most underestimate him, honestly."

"Mmmmm?" Talia smirked, immensely self-satisfied with the way Leliana's cheeks darkened under her stare. It was getting fairly obvious that the redhead had developed a liking to the bastard prince, and for all Talia cared, that was fine. It was especially amusing because it elicited such amusing responses from her whenever Talia prodded about Alistair.

Leliana didn't stop pouting though, and Talia grinned as she glanced back into the living flames. She didn't mind a silent watch, even if she'd have enjoyed teasing Leliana further about her budding paramour. Eventually, Leliana brightened again, and most of the watch was spent tossing twigs, leafs and pinecones into the flames. The latter was most amusing, as the unpeeled cones gave off small '_pops_' whenever the heat would burst their seed-chambers. Leliana would chat, and Talia would listen to tales of shoes with satin bands, bells, music in Orlais, bard-related love affairs and bow-tied nugs.

Leliana's talk about trivial pursuits, love and songs, made it seem – for just a short while – that there was no war going on around them. Honestly, it was starting to almost feel like a regular night out camping.

When they arrived in Redcliffe the next morning, the good mood Leliana had instilled in Talia, was all but killed.

* * *

**A shorter chapter than planned, but I figured it might be good to end the travel this way. Journey. Whatever, you know what I mean. It is sort of amusing that potentially romantic relationships are still up in the air. Everyone could still end up with...well, whoever's bi-sexual, I guess. **

**Okay, so before I ask the regular question, I'd like to remark on something a few people have called me out on. The reason I did not include the Alessian Order. I would like to turn it to something as inane(?) as a First Contact Scenario with aliens capable of understanding our language, but not our writing. If you had _one_ day to tell all the important stuff about Earth, would you start out with Fascism, Genocides or Religious Wars? **

**Alright, time for this chapter's question, which is actually a custom seen with the Dalish, and something that has also started spreading in our real world. The Dalish bury their dead underneath trees, sort of, by planting seeds with their loved ones, allowing their bodies to nourish the plant. In a way, this represents and means that the dead person lives on in the tree.**

**So, what Thedasian custom would you like to be taken to the next world by? Burned? Buried in a grave? Become food for a tree? OR...well, since we have the Qunari in Inquisition...or would you like to just be left where you drop? Yeah, poor horn-heads, not a lot of post-mortem respect there for the body itself.**


	25. Horrible, Horrible Homecomings

_Personal log. Turdas 2__nd__, Evening Star, 40 Dragon_

_I finished settling in today, which also marks the first day I have had the time and peace of mind to do my diary since…Divines, was it before Kirkwall went tits up? _

_Regardless, I had barely packed away my last set of robes and vials, before Minerve, who happens to be one of the chief researchers here in Haven, came to my door. It should be said, my accommodations are…Well, I have lived more luxurious places when we fought the Blight, if only once or twice. I suppose I should count myself lucky to even_ have_ accommodation at this point. With the Conclave about to start, people are flocking here from all over Thedas. _

_Hell, I think I even saw a Qunari mage the other day, but at this point it might have been a hired guard as well as an actual participator. The mages and the Templars just don't trust each other – not that they ever really did, it seems – and the only thing that's bought me anonymity is the handy griffon on my tabard. Otherwise, I suspect I'd be locked up for sticking my tongue out at people here. Leliana said I haven't changed a bit. Cassandra said it's a wonder we ever accomplished anything back in the days, with the battle for Ferelden resting on the shoulders of people like me. _

_I said to her 'and now it rests on the shoulders of rebel mages, paranoid templars, and Dwarf-nappers' to which Varric laughed his ass off...Still can't stop looking at his chest. _Not_ the hairs, mind you, but the fact that he walks bare-chested at all, while even enchanted clothing can't really keep out the cold. _

_Minerve asked me for advice on something the apothecary had brought up with her. I haven't been introduced to the man yet, but Minerve says he's a cranky-pot, which I assume means he's not the most social of people. Apparently, the man stumbled over – beats me how – a dead dwarf carrying the halfway finished recipe for the Qunari powder. It's Lyrium-free, which means they must have cracked the missing ingredient somehow. I'll start looking into it tomorrow. _

_Just learned that Kinloch Hold has representatives here as well…I wonder if Cíada will be there too…I bet Cullen hopes so…_

* * *

**Horrible, Horrible Homecoming**

* * *

The first real clue that something was horribly, terrifyingly, _horrifyingly_, utterly and incomprehensibly _wrong_, would have been the plume of smoke visible even before the group had entered the village itself. The wind bore the smell of burnt wood with it as they neared and rounded the hills leading to the old, ruined windmill. A course that had at first been meant to be straight for the keep, was now instead set for the village proper.

When they were on their way down the steps, horses left with the two enchanters – no one spoke out against getting some distance to them - , when the group was within sight of the village center, _that_ was when the horrible event became visible. The optimism Talia had been feeling since the surprisingly cozy watch with Leliana, the sense that all _would_ be right, that there was a chance at normalcy in this messed up land, was killed.

The 'Crowned Cow', the inn located near the entrance to Redcliffe Village, had been reduced to a smoking ruin. What remained were a few support-beams still standing, blackened by fire and smoke. The central chimney had halfway collapsed, charred and burnt debris forming a pile around anything still standing. A few people were standing around the ruin, shoveling out wood-turned-coal, debris, rocks and what furniture hadn't been lost in the flames.

Talia kept her composure until she stood right before the ruin, then fell to her knees. The Breton grabbed her hair and yanked, tears welling up as she stared at the inn. Had she been able to speak, she still wouldn't have. She couldn't – there was nothing to be said.

"What happened here?" Alistair asked one of the villagers by the ruin. The man was dirty, most of it either smoke or coal-dust, wielding a shovel.

"Tavern-fight got out of hand, we think…" the man hesitated, looking at the group. Talia was still kneeling in the dirt, pawing pitifully at a piece of charred wood; "Wait, you're them- them Wardens, right?"

"Yes, we're back from Kinloch Hold with some help to fully…restore things in the castle." Alistair replied. He was not keen on telling the villagers that they had held a demon- Connor's demon – for more than a week while everyone who _could_ stop the thing – had it gotten loose – were far away; "What do you mean, 'we think'? Who fought?"

"Dwarf named Dwyn, lived in one of the pier-huts – He ran inside the tavern, far's I've heard, looking like he was fleeing the Blight itself." The villager shoveled a fresh batch of debris from the ruin, onto a cart waiting with a donkey.

"…Well?"

"What?"

"Was he fleeing the Blight?" This was honestly a major concern. If the Blight had already come this far north from Ostagar, the crisis was far worse than anyone had anticipated. The villager paused, looked around and shrugged.

"Well, you didn't hear't from me, but folks say this massive Qunari was after him. Kicked the door in, beat the crap out'a the tavern-keep and started chasin' lil' Dwyn around." Alistair was doing his level best to process the man's words – his speech was even worse than Daveth's, Dear Maker – while keeping a straight face. Aedan was kneeling next to Talia, obviously confused as to why the girl had just collapsed in front of the ruin. She'd never even _been_ there, had she?

"A…Qunari?" it was one part he _had _understood. It did not mean he _understood_ it, however, because as far as he knew, they were more than just _far_ from Par Vollen. Had the Qunari invaded while no one was looking?

"Right, one of them big guys, right?"

"….Yeah?" did he even _dare_ try?

"Yeah, so now they've got'im locked up in the keep, right?" the man nodded to himself as he kept on shoveling, almost as if nothing held more importance. In a way, really, this was probably in some way true: the ruin needed to be cleared for a new tavern to be raised up; "You heading to the castle?"

"Right, yes." Alistair nodded in return, remembering what they'd journeyed to Kinloch and back for: Connor. If that meant there was a Qunari in the dungeons of Redcliffe – and wasn't that just crazy? – he'd just have to deal with it. For now, the priority was to return to the castle, release Connor, _hopefully_ avoid Isolde and save Eamon. That'd be a good day. A better day would of course be if Duncan was still alive, but…_but, that would probably just be making it too easy. Sort of._

He gave the man his thanks and turned back to his group. Daveth, J'zargo, Leliana, Morrigan and Jowan were still standing behind him, seemingly unsure of what to do with the scene. Beside him, Aedan and Brelyna were resting each a hand on Talia's shoulders. The girl was still on her knees, though no longer resting her hands in the dirt: now she knelt up, eyes staring at the ruin with little more than a scant of emotions.

"What…exactly is wrong with her?" he hazarded, looking first to Aedan, then to Brelyna when his friend had no answer to give. The grey-skinned elven girl looked at him, then glanced sympathetically at her downed friend with eyes a near-unsettling ruby.

"She never got to drink there." Brelyna replied, somewhat in a mutter. Alistair's eyes widened in surprise, looking between the still-smoking ruin and the Breton; "There's…nothing to be said, really."

Talia sighed, as if to press the point. Another minute was spent in relative silence, ignoring the villager shoveling debris. At that point, Talia slowly rose, dusted her leggings off, adjusted her robes and took the staff from her back. When she finally stood straight, she once more resembled the fiery woman Alistair knew his friend had fallen for. In a way, he could see why.

Only her eyes betrayed the sense of loss she felt.

* * *

They walked the last bit of way across the bridge leading to the portcullis of Redcliffe Keep itself. Talia didn't trust a horse of all creatures to carry her on a bridge, across such a divide. She'd much rather walk, which was seemingly an opinion shared by the rest of the party, bar Mabel and Nicholl who both seemed of the opinion that having horses, one might as well squeeze the utter dry.

The grief still sat in her system. Redcliffe's tavern had been burnt to the ground because of something or someone called a 'Qunari'. From what she could understand when J'zargo had asked the very same thing of Leliana, Qunari was actually a sort of human species that wasn't quite humans after all. They were closer to the beast folk, actually, what with the massive horns some were said to sprout in pairs from their heads. And they were _big_ too, apparently, maybe even towering over the Orcs. They were said to be cold, indifferent and brutish – which was funny enough what many had once said about the Orcs as well, though that'd been mostly a product of racism than actual facts. Was the same true for the Qunari? _Regardless of what's true or not…he burned_ _down the tavern. Bastard._

And now this 'Qunari' person was in the dungeons of Redcliffe, maybe even wondering what had caused one of the cell doors to melt from its hinges. It would definitely make for a good scare if she went down there to say hello, point at the other cell before igniting her palms. A good lesson learned was that if you meet someone capable of burning your house down with a clap of her hands, stay on her good side.

It was, sort of, a rule Talia herself had made up.

When they entered the courtyard itself, it made for a very different sight than the last time the group had seen it. Soldiers, guards and archers were training and or marching around the large area. Several of them stopped to regard the newcomers, and a few even offered salutations, greetings and bows. Almost as if it had been a joke, the latter was offered by the archers patrolling the battlements or training at the ranges: they all seemed less disciplined than the regular soldiers, meaning they were most likely self-defense peasants who had taken a liking to the notion of military capability.

They recognized their saviors, was what Talia realized when she wordlessly handed Niko to the waiting stable-hands. The boy, a scrawny youth of barely more than ten, glanced between her and the horse, offered a revering bow with his neck and ran off with the comparatively massive piebald. _Damn…kid's a midget compared to Niko…_

It hardly reached her mind that she'd started referring to the horse by his name, something she hadn't usually done whenever her parents had – on the rarest of occasions – managed to convince her to sit on one back in High Rock. Then again, she _had_ been younger back then, back the last time her mother had tried to get her on a horse. 'A true daughter of Evermor should not be known to fear horses, Sweetie' she'd said. Talia had tried one last time to ride, and had been thrown into a hedge for her trouble.

"Alistair." Teagan was in the courtyard as well, dressed more as a noble than the leader of makeshift soldiers he'd been when they'd last seen him. Dressed in a two-colored tunica of sorts as befitting a Bann, he wore a tight-neck green-red combination that seemed scarcely used, if at all. Trailing behind him was an assortment of knights in plate, one immediately drawing the attention of both herself and Aedan: Gilmore.

The redheaded warrior greeted them both with smiles, though he kept silent in face of Bann Teagan and Alistair exchanging greetings and stories, such as they were: it was mostly Teagan saying all was well – aside from a Qunari prisoner – then Alistair relaying what had happened during their trip. Teagan listened mostly with a still face, though his expression folded into an unsettled one when Alistair described the final fight with the Pride demon. Talia could practically _feel_ as much as see how the Bann's eyes locked on her. It was, it would seem, back to being treated like a sick child.

"Bann Teagan, we have been informed of the…situation, with your nephew. I am Senior Enchanter Wynne of the Circle, and these are my esteemed colleagues, Enchanters Mabel and Nicholl." Wynne said. Talia knew both 'enchanters' were of the mind that Connor was going to be hauled back to Kinloch when they left. When Two-Sock had gone by their tent, he had heard them converse in low, hushed voices. At the time, his symbolic tinkle had seemed merely good-natured mocking, but when Talia had fallen asleep that night, when her Familiar had dissipated back into her soul, merged his memories with hers, she'd heard every word passed between those two; "I am sorry that we could not spare more of our numbers, but the crisis left us severely…thinned."

"I am grateful for any help you offer, Senior Enchanter." Teagan replied, his voice genuinely thankful. When he looked to the others, his eyes stayed a moment too long on Talia, then looked to Brelyna, who was trying to look like she wasn't examining Ser Gilmore from afar. The Breton sighed inwardly, wondering what entities had decided to grant her friend a crush on the least probable man she would ever be likely to encounter; "Serah Maryon, I am happy to inform you that the barrier you put up, despite the demon's many attempts, remains intact."

"W-what?" it was actually fairly hilarious to see the Dunmer's expression go from thoughtful to surprised, then to startled before shifting to a mask of embarrassment. If the latter was due to praise or that she'd been caught distracted, Talia didn't know; "I mean, thank you, Bann Teagan, that is good to know."

"Bann Teagan?" it was Aedan, this time. The young man was looking between Ser Gilmore and the Bann, impatient from the looks of it. To his credit, Aedan _did_ seem to do his best at concealing it. Teagan looked at the youth and smiled knowingly, then looked to Ser Gilmore.

"Ser Gilmore, would you please escort young Lord Cousland to the Teyrna's chambers?" the redheaded knight smiled thinly, almost as if he'd missed more sleep than supposed to, and nodded. Aedan followed Gilmore inside, while Talia _wanted_ to go with him, wanted to have confirmation that Howe's assassins hadn't gotten to her. It was not that she didn't trust Teagan's word but…She knew it was childish, but she wanted, _needed_ to see for herself. _Stop being a child. Grow up, will you? Gods dammit…_

Two-Sock seemed to sense her distress, nuzzling her hand with his snout. Talia felt only a slight pang of surprise at his actions, having briefly forgotten she'd even summoned him. A small smile crept onto her lips as she knelt down to scratch him and run her palm around his head. The Familiar was shifting into a flowing brown-grey, his colors never ceasing to change like water. It was, sort of, even more eye-catching than his usual etherealness.

The group then followed Teagan as the Bann led then up the massive stairs, and into the throne-room. It was, for now, empty and devoid of anything but a few select guard.

"You seem better manned than when we left?" Leliana inquired with open curiosity in her voice as she swept her eyes around the room. Talia did the same, and realized that many of the guards, she recognized from when the villagers had been stacking the dead after the final attack. She reached the obvious conclusion, even as Teagan spoke;

"They're villagers, mostly." He admitted, nodding to a pair of mail-clad guards with spears at one of the doors; "After you left, we…I, saw it best to tell the villagers the truth of what had transpired, to a certain degree. When they were told of Connor's possession, I was honestly quite surprised at how many volunteered to guard him. They…still don't know that we also have the Lady Cousland here."

"Yeah, about that…I'm sort of thinking Howe might know she's here anyway…" Alistair sighed. That _had_ been a detail he hadn't mentioned earlier, likely because Gilmore was there, and if the knight had known an assassin had tried killing one of his charges, the poor sod would probably have done like a Dwemer Sphere and gone to shambles. While Alistair retold the ambush, Talia remained silent, eyes forward as she looked for clues that things might not be as they seemed. Useless paranoia, she knew, but she couldn't help herself.

"I see. And this assassin, you're certain he singled out Aedan?"

"Quite hard to miss the 'Kill them, the Cousland dies here!' rant he yelled before attacking…" Alistair sighed, a bit of his witty tone coming back; "After that, we figured out he'd known where we'd be going, and thus where we came from."

"That Howe…" the Bann bristled, shaking his head. When he looked up, cold anger was in his eyes; "Ferelden stands on the brink of destruction, a _civil war_ could start any moment now, and he is willing to throw it all to the wind, just to grab power?"

"He's a cunt, that's basically the easy conclusion, eh?" Daveth surmised from where he was looking at suits of armor they walked past. Whether he was studying them for pure interest, or if he was planning on nicking one, Talia couldn't say; "I mean, yeah, he's butchering a whole House, right? Then he goes on to send 'ssassins after the rest of'em, right? So, he's a cunt."

"You have _such_ a way with words, Daveth, I'm awestruck…" Alistair deadpanned, though he relented almost immediately; "Though you are right: he's a cunt."

"'S what I'm saying."

"There's been news while you were gone, actually." Teagan said, sounding like it was something he'd only just remembered; "Aside from being made, or making himself Teyrn of Highever, Rendon Howe has also been appointed the Arl of Denerim."

"…What?!" Alistair looked utterly taken by surprise, which could be said about the entire group, actually. Talia stared at the Bann like he'd gone mad, but knew he hadn't. _This is wrong, this is just _so_ wrong! Arl of wherever he comes from, then Teyrn of Highever, and now the fucker is Arl of Denerim?!_

"Who appointed him?" Wynne asked, her voice a few tones calmer, but still outraged. Talia supposed it was understandable that the old woman had a bone to pick with Howe, considering the likelihood that Uldred had lied about Loghain's promise seeming more and more realistic. Loghain would have little to gain by freeing the Chantry, Wynne had told as much as lectured on the ride from Kinloch. Still, neither option really made any sense whatsoever. What would _either_ man have to gain from making the Tower rebel?

Talia was just vaguely aware of the irony in her thought-pattern. It didn't mean she missed it, just that she was momentarily beyond giving a shit. If Loghain really had been the one to promise everything Uldred had said, it was likely a simple play for upping his own forces. But if it was Howe behind it, not Loghain… she wasn't sure what it could mean, only that it was unlikely to be good.

"The Queen, if we're to believe the letters from Denerim." Teagan sighed, clenching his fists; "I've been called to the Capital to swear fealty to Loghain as the Regent. I'll see if I can find out more there."

"When?"

"I leave tomorrow, though truth be told I do not like it."

"Loghain or the whole mess?" Daveth asked.

"Both, though I trust Loghain more than Howe, so mostly it's the whole mess being difficult to see though…"

"You _trust_ Loghain?" Alistair exclaimed more than merely asked, obviously taken by surprise at Teagan's words; "Teagan, have you completely forgotten what he did at Ostagar? How he is hunting down the Grey Wardens, blaming _us_ for Cailan's death?"

Teagan stopped walking, exhaling a long-suffering sigh as he looked to Alistair. Both men had an air of weariness to them that Talia found unsuitable of both. Alistair she actually preferred a witty goof over this tired, disillusioned soldier. It was a rare glimpse of the man behind the mask: The man who could become king.

"I _know_ what he did at Ostagar, Alistair." Teagan's tone was hard; "Do not presume that I've forgotten, I could have been there, as could Eamon, had he not been poisoned." At the Bann's words, Jowan shrank down in the rear of the group, trying to make himself unseen; "What I mean is that Loghain's vested interests lie with the strength of Ferelden. His entire life has been dedicated to it. It makes him somewhat more predictable than Howe, a man I have never personally met."

"Then _why_ is he huntin' down the Wardens?" Daveth interrupted, his voice set in a rare tone of anger; "Why's he blaming us'n callin' us traitors?"

"I don't know. It has never been a secret that Loghain thinks less of your Order than Cailan did, but this manhunt makes little sense to me…" Teagan shook his head and resumed walking. A tense silence reigned until they reached the sealed door; "It will be something I need investigate when I go to Denerim. Now, however, our focus _must_ be Connor."

"…Fine, then. How will we do this?" Alistair relented, looking between Teagan and Wynne; "I mean, do we knock him out or…"

"To free Connor from his possession, we will need to be as close to the boy as it is safe for us." Wynne explained, glancing to the door; "If he is beyond this door, _this_ remains the closest location we can safely carry out the ritual."

"That means I can put this thing down?" Cíada made her presence known with a '_flump'_ as her backpack came to rest on the floor. Talia frowned slightly at the sight, worrying some of the blue vials could be damaged. She was of no mind to drink them, mainly because the Lyrium potions apparently were the source of replenishing the magical reserves of Thedas mages – meaning they were somehow connected to the Fade – but also because it wasn't going to have any positive effects on her. It was odd, in that way, to realize just how different she was from people like Wynne, Morrigan or Cíada, who was currently straightening her back with a mild groan; "Andraste's knickers, I'm spent."

"I thought you said something along the lines of '_magic_?" Alistair mused, eliciting a scowl from the girl.

"…shut up." She muttered, looking at the floor, face gaining a healthy, rosy color.

"Wait, why isn't Isolde here?" Alistair changed the course of his questions, looking around; "Not that I mind her absence, but Connor _is_ her son."

"Asleep." Teagan replied tiredly; "She refused to leave the door for almost a week straight, believing Connor needed her here. As a Bann, I couldn't actually order her to retire, and she refused to listen to simple reason…So I had her carried to bed when she lost consciousness half a day ago…"

"…Wow, huh?" Daveth asked with what could have been humor behind his words; "Didn't really take her for actually being the responsible one, but that's just…"

"We will conduct the ritual here, then." Wynne broke him off before the archer said something he'd be reprimanded on; "We should focus on sending just one person in. Who should it be?"

"If we are hunting a demon, would it not make the most sense that whomever we send in is incapable of possession?" Morrigan said, glancing pointedly at Talia, Brelyna and J'zargo. Wynne seemed like she was hesitant to agree with an obvious apostate, but resigned with a nod; "Then I suggest the Khajiit."

"Me?" J'zargo pointed at himself. It took Talia a few seconds to remember the conversations from their last stay at the castle. J'zargo was the most proficient user of lightning, which Talia herself had found the most useful type of magic against demons when she'd been forced into the Fade; "J'zargo _would_ like to see this Fade for himself. After all, everyone else here seems to know it so well."

"Not me, thank Azura."

"If J'zargo is willing, and if we are confident a possession is not possible…I agree, J'zargo should be the one to enter the Fade." Wynne said. She frowned as if in deep thought, then looked to Teagan; "You are the boy's uncle, Bann Teagan. How do you find this solution?"

"Agreeable. If it frees my nephew, and in turn Eamon, I see no objections."

* * *

The scene that soon after took place in the hallway was one of surreal characteristics. J'zargo was on the floor, facing the ceiling while his eyes danced around, looking at the people preparing around him. Talia, Jowan and Brelyna, standing to the side, were watching as Wynne, Mabel, Nicholl and Cíada were working with Lyrium in a ritual neither College mage really understood. Aedan and Alistair stood to the side with Teagan, discussing what would and could happen when the Bann went to Denerim. Leliana, Morrigan and Daveth were off to the final corner, watching in silence.

"J'zargo feels funny."

"Please refrain from talking." Wynne said frowning in concentration. She knelt down by J'zargo's side, vial of Lyrium-potion in hand.

"J'zargo's fur feels like he's under water…" the cat muttered as his eyes went to Wynne; "Is J'zargo going under water?"

"He can't swim…" Brelyna whispered to Jowan, possibly trying to make the haggard youth smile. It only made his eyes widen a little in surprise.

"Please be silent." Mabel said, looking like she'd have preferred not to use the 'please' part.

J'zargo bristled at her, but turned his head and remained silent when Wynne bade him drink from the vial. He did, and instantly scowled with distaste, looking like he wanted nothing more than to spit it all out. It brought, to Talia, memories of being subjugated to the same thing back in the Tower, only here J'zargo was a volunteer.

As the Khajiit's eyes closed, and the Circle mages started waving their hands, causing blue flashes to appear in their midst, Talia felt the old pit of worry in her stomach. She knew Wynne wouldn't willingly risk lives for this – or, she _hoped_ that was the case – but at the same time, the Fade was still such an unknown factor that she didn't feel in the least bit comfortable about this.

"Now…" Wynne said at last, taking down her hands; "We wait."

"…For how long?" Brelyna asked, worry for her friend obvious in her voice. Talia would have asked basically the same question, though with less hesitation, had she only been able to speak. Instead, they were all relegated to watching as J'zargo seemingly slept a perfectly normal sleep. The Breton had not seen neither her own nor Onmund's harrowing, and as such she had no clue what a regular Harrowing, or just what a Lyrium-induced sleep _looked_ like from the outside.

"Until he wakes." Wynne's three words were so simple, so _logical_, yet they could just as well be J'zargo's death sentence. The Fade was a twisted place, yet already Talia wished _she_ had gone there instead. At least then it'd be someone with just a modicum of experience.

And as such, the group remained in relative silence, with the mages remaining in their small circle, while Alistair stood at the ready, earning himself a burning glare from Talia. She didn't know _exactly_ what had happened to Onmund, exactly _how_ he'd been killed, but she'd been able to guess it was connected to _not_ waking up again. As such, Alistair seemed willing to fulfill the same role as the Templars of the Circle.

If the worst came to pass, if J'zargo actually _could_ and _did_ become possessed by a demon somehow, and Alistair _did_ what he seemed ready to do…Talia wasn't sure _what_ she'd do to him, only that his life-expectancy would be _severely_ shortened.

"Should I bring Isolde here?" Teagan asked when half an hour had passed by, devoid of any changes whatsoever. The question brought a frown to Talia's face, who'd preferred _not_ to meet Isolde again at all. It would, in her eyes, be too soon if she never met the pompous, arrogant, selfish Arlessa again.

"I would wait until we know how the ritual went." Alistair replied tersely, his eyes focused on J'zargo's sleeping form. With regular intervals, the cat would purr, hiss, growl and even occasionally chuckle. The latter seemed to be what surprised the former Templar the most, as he kept his eyes, if not his sword, trained on the Khajiit mage; "Wynne, how long_ does_ this usually take?"

"Driving out the possessing demon is an exception to the solution to Possessions, not the rule, Alistair. This is only the second attempt I have ever been witness to, and the first…ended badly."

"J'zargo might be an arrogant and competitive ass most of the time, but he's not without abilities." Brelyna's choice of words brought one of Talia's eyebrows up, as did her general defense of her friend. Brelyna was standing with hunched shoulders, somewhere between cross arms and hugging herself. Concern was painted all over her dark complexion, ruby eyes glowing. The Breton blinked a few times, realizing that her friend seemed…_aged_, at this point. Had she noticed Alistair's actions like Talia had? "Give him time."

"We are, and we will." Wynne assured the Dunmer. Brelyna nodded, an almost imperceptible movement that Talia only noticed because her eyes hadn't left her friend yet; "Brelyna, may I ask…what symbols are these on the doorway? I assume this is your work?"

It was blatantly obvious that Wynne simply wanted Brelyna's attention taken off the current scene, though there also _did_ seem to be genuine curiosity in the old Enchanter's voice. Neither Mabel nor Nicholl seemed to have even _noticed_ the wards yet, and still paid little more than superficial attention to the symbols and markings when Wynne asked. Just as such, when Brelyna explained the nature of the runes and symbols, only Wynne seemed to immediately understand, whereas her two colleagues frowned.

"Not a single_ recognizable,_ holy rune, no lines drawn by Templars." Mabel noted dryly, causing Talia to frown at her disinterested tone; "How can this possibly have held in a demon?"

"It _has_." Brelyna stated, rightfully so defensive.

"Perhaps the demon simply did not try to break out?" Nicholl added, clearly not disagreeing with her colleague. Talia's frown turned to a scowl; "I see no symbols even remotely related to the Chantry…actually, I see no symbols I recognize whatsoever. Serah Maryon, it was my understanding that your first encounters with demons have been here in Ferelden, have they not?"

"…_Yes_, they have been." The Dunmer ground, squaring her jaw as a frown marred her lips; "But these incantations have held back _Daedra_ on multiple occasions, and the Oblivion rune would have banished the demon-"

"-had it _been_ from your Oblivion." Mabel broke her off. Talia's teeth were grinding at each other now, the enchanters' pride starting to seriously piss her off; "This, however, is a demon from the Fade. Do you not have a trained Templar in your group?"

"Would the two of you _stop_ this senseless bickering?" Wynne stomped more than stepped in between the three mages, directing admonishing looks at her colleagues; "When I asked Serah Maryon of the details of her barrier, I was not intending for the two of you to see it as your chance at belittling her abilities."

"She is an unharrowed mage of undetermined abilities, not to mention she worships false gods. She-"

"She is a foreign dignitary of her people, an accomplished mage and a skilled enchanter." Alistair broke in, getting surprisingly close to Mabel's face; "Unless you would have been willing to risk the survival of Redcliffe on the hopes that a trainee Templar or an Apostate Witch could have better sealed this door, I'd suggest you go get some fresh air."

Talia blinked, her eyelids moving as rapidly as those of the idiot enchanters. Prideful mages had always been a problem at home as well- people who thought their stance in society, be it magical or political, bought them the right to toss insults left and right. It was sad that Ferelden seemed to share only the bad traits from back home. Still…_Way to stand up for her, Princeling._

Having one of their own points - that Alistair should have sealed the door instead – thrown back in their faces _by_ that very same point, seemed to at least unsettle the two women. Mabel turned first, walking out of sight with an indignant _'huff'_, followed shortly by Nicholl. Talia saluted them by grimacing, pulling the lower lid of her eyes down in a mocking expression at their backs, followed by a grin when they were finally out of sight. _Let them take a long walk off a short pier: They've done what we needed them for._

"I…I apologize for my colleagues behavior, Brelyna." Wynne's voice was laced with shame, shaking her head; "I did not decide who should accompany us, but I was hoping the crisis would have changed their personalities somewhat…it would seem I was wrong."

"At least they didn't throw stones…" Brelyna muttered, somewhat downcast. Wynne blinked at the words;

"What?" the old woman seemed uncertain if she'd heard the Dunmer right. Brelyna quickly glanced up and forced the downtrodden expression off her face. Alistair muttered something about the whole situation being so sad it was silly, but no one but Talia seemed to hear.

"I said, 'they were only words.' I have been exposed to…that, before…" there was a short pause where Talia felt like even breathing loudly would be a transgression, and so held her breath; "You…asked about the Oblivion rune?"

"…Yes." Wynne seemed perplexed at the change, and took a second to process the question; "Yes, I was wondering if there is a possibility that there really _is_ a connection between the Fade and the Oblivion. Could that be what made your barrier effective?"

"I…think so? I'm not sure, to be honest." The Dunmer's hair cascaded when she shook her head, like an obsidian waterfall. Talia had often remarked on its beauty, which had only served to make her friend all the more self-conscious. It was usually quite amusing, really; "I constructed it mainly for the purpose of resisting physical strength."

Talia sensed her part in this, had she actually _had_ one, was over. There was nothing she could do now that mattered, and Brelyna could protect J'zargo as well as she could. Better, in fact, as the Dunmer's abilities with restoration were Talia's far superior. As such, the Breton moved quietly to stand next to Aedan, who was similarly silent as he looked upon the scene. Whatever conversation he'd had with Alistair' it had ceased when the Senior Warden – who was _their_ senior Warden, but not _a_ Senior Warden – had moved to interrupt the argument.

As words were currently beyond her, and Aedan simply _stood_, Talia stood beside him. She wasn't sure _why_ she did it, _what _she wanted from it anymore. A version of her, unscarred by pains, torments, fights for life or death, would have tried manipulating him, seducing him. She could still remember Highever. She still remembered that night, what she had attempted that night, in his chambers. She pondered, thought, and watched in silence as J'zargo worked beyond the borders of his own mind.

It was sad and amusing both, how it took her friends being in danger, or putting themselves there, to realize just how important they were to her. There was a hint, a flash of the nightmare Daveth had suffered, quickly suppressed. It hadn't struck her, not really, until now, that her dreams had been calm, while _Daveth_ had been the one fearing for the safety of them all. She still hadn't really spoken to him about it, not that she really_ could_, as she was now. But was that just an excuse? Was she just making-

Her breath hitched and nearly stopped when a hand slid into hers. At first, she looked to see if Brelyna had suddenly moved from Wynne's side, but the Dunmer was still there, talking to the old mage. Heart beating, she slowly dared her eyes to her right. She stared at Aedan's shoulder, unable to go neither up nor down. It was some sort of _irrational _fear sitting in her, she wasn't sure what caused it. Not really.

Finally, she mentally forced her eyes to track down his left arm, down to where his hand emerged from the sleeve. Her eyes stopped when she saw his fingers tentatively holding onto hers, in an awkward position. She swallowed, and slid her own fingers into his. Aedan's hand tensed like it had been electrocuted, and grasped hers just a little tighter. She didn't breathe- _couldn't_ for fear of ruining whatever moment had suddenly appeared between them. It was funny, in a weird way. This was almost nothing compared to what she'd done that night at the campfire, with her head in his lab, but…it was somehow _more_ than that. Just holding his hand was _more_ than that kind of intimacy.

Was it because this time,_ he_ had been the one to initiate it?

She didn't know how long they stood there, looking. She didn't know if anyone was looking at them, holding hands. She didn't even know how to stop. Didn't know if she _could_.

"…uh…" Aedan started, then trailed off in almost the same instant. This was one of those moments where Talia_ really_ wished she could talk. It was pretty difficult to reply to something that wasn't a 'yes' or a 'no' question without the ability to form words; "…I…wanted…"

"He's stirring." Brelyna's words caught whatever Aedan was going to say, and stomped on it. Talia stepped forward, mind now fully on her friend on the floor; "J'zargo, can you hear me?"

"…Shit." For three years Talia had known that damnable cat, and this was the first time she'd ever heard him swear. J'zargo's eyes blinked open, allowing him to look around with a groggy, disturbed and maybe slightly confused gaze; "This one…feels maybe a little sick…"

Wynne laid her hands on his shoulder, blue lights pulsating from her as she did so. J'zargo seemed to perk up with each glowing light. From being still, his tail slowly started moving around on its own again, like a sentient, mutated caterpillar from…whatever the Bosmer capital was called. Talia couldn't remember at the moment, and didn't really even care to try. She knelt down next to the cat along with Brelyna;

"What happened?"

It took J'zargo several blinks to clear his mind enough to recognize them, from the haze lifting from his eyes to go by. Then, he retched and gagged, spewing up a hairball. Brelyna shrank back, as did several others. Talia just laughed.

This was so surreal, so utterly, ridiculously _weird_, that she just couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't even a mere chuckle: she laughed, loud and no-doubt irritatingly inappropriate for the rest of the group to listen to. But she didn't care. she just stared at the hairball, lying there on the floor all slimy and…well, _hairy_, and laughed. J'zargo looked at her like she'd gone mad. _Considering all the shit I've been through, it's a miracle I haven't…_

"J'zargo was…He is not sure _where_ he was…There was… lights, and…grey. Furniture floating through the air…" the Khajiit hesitated, paused as he looked at Teagan, of all people; "He met an old man there. He was shouting for the boy, Connor, yes? When I tried talking to him, he…thought J'zargo was one of these _demons_, and shunned him…"

"You saw Eamon in there?!" the Bann exclaimed, eyes wide and attentive; "Was he trapped?"

"J'zargo does not know, but he seemed…desperate. He could not seemingly navigate the strange ways that reigned in…_there_, but J'zargo could. There were…doors. Doors that opened for J'zargo inside twisted trees. J'zargo found the boy, found Connor." The Khajiit paused, looking at his paws like they were not his; "Like Eamon, the old man, Connor thought I was a demon, a…product of your _Fade_. This one had grown used to Skyrim, to the cold, but this…there was nothing. Not hot, not cold…just…_nothing_."

"That's the Fade for you." Cíada nodded; "Be glad you're not in the group susceptible for possessions."

"Yes, there was…a demon, I think. She…_it_, looked like a woman. A grey-skinned woman with horns. Naked, and…J'zargo did not like looking at her." The cat shuddered. Just a little, but noticeable; "Sh-_it_ admitted to controlling the boy, to controlling Connor. It seemed angered that J'zargo was not available for possession, tried to force this one from the Fade…J'zargo killed it."

"So…Connor is free?" Teagan dared, visibly restraining himself from grabbing J'zargo by the shoulders. The cat blinked a few more times, looking at the Bann once again as if the man had his priorities completely wrong, then sighed- a rare thing for J'zargo indeed.

"This one does not know how it works, but…if the demon woman was what kept Connor-"

"M-mom? Dad? Uncle Teagan?" there was banging on the door, soft yet erratic enough to be from a panicked child. Every head in the group turned to look first at it, then the cat. Teagan visibly restrained himself again, this time from ripping open the door to Connor's room; "H-hello? Is anyone out there? Mom?!"

"The child is free, Bann Teagan." Wynne declared, a soft smile playing on her lips; "I would send someone for the Arlessa: I do not believe you should leave now."

For Talia, what followed was decidedly _odd_. Bann Teagan followed Wynne's orders and sent a guard to fetch Isolde, thought that in itself was not odd at all. What _was_ odd, was how Isolde arrived. Teagan was already inside the room, kneeling on the floor in a fierce embrace of his nephew, while Connor was – like all children were wont to – crying. Isolde came around the corner, spared scarcely a look for anyone but the door, and stormed inside as well. A few seconds later, the guard arrived from that same direction, panting like he'd been running perimeter-duty. It only then hit Talia that Isolde had moved with a speed uncommon for women in dresses, and when she looked at Isolde inside the room, the Arlessa had actually – seemingly – ripped her own dress at some point.

Talia felt weird. Uncomfortable, because she was uncertain how to proceed from here. She'd settled the Arlessa into place inside her mind in the category of 'selfish, irresponsible bitch', but now all she saw was a mother so relieved she was bursting into tears. _Gods, do I really need to reevaluate _her_ as well? Dammit…_

"So…does this mean Eamon's going to wake as well?" Alistair asked as minutes had passed with little change. Teagan was still hugging his nephew something fiercely. _Damn though, I wish _my_ uncle had treated me like that. Teagan treats Connor better than Father treated me…More love, in any case…_The silence reigning in the corridor meant everyone eventually ended up looking to Jowan. The youth blinked, still visibly uncomfortable with being back in the castle.

"I…don't know. I think so, but…"

"The Arlessa will never let you near her husband." Wynne stated, summing up his anxious stutters.

"Which means it'll have to be someone else examining him, don't it?" Cíada mused, glancing at her mentor; "I just wish we could find a talented, experienced Healer, don't you Wynne?"

"Yes, your point_ is_ taken, young one." Wynne sighed. It was likely _not_ the first time she'd been subjected to the elf's sense of humor, if it could be classified as such. Wynne looked to the still heaving guardsman; "Would you have the kindness to escort us to the Arl?"

"I'll take you there myself, Wynne." Teagan's voice suddenly came from behind them, and he walked past even as multiple heads turned to look at him, giving Talia a sore neck. The Bann looked to the guard; "Stay here with the Arlessa."

"This will not take too long, I believe…" Wynne told them. Talia somehow didn't doubt that, but instead that there would be a simple outcome to this: Mundus wasn't about to give her that; "Let us reconvene in the throne chamber in two hours. Brelyna, would you accompany me?"

"Me?"

"Yes, your healing abilities are remarkably different from mine." Wynne nodded, already walking so as to force the Dunmer girl to follow, robes flailing; "It could be they are more suitable for this endeavor."

"Ah…I understand. Right." It was curious, seeing Brelyna react to acceptance when for so long, the people of Ferelden had either dismissed her or outright assaulted her. It was nice, really, seeing her like this. It also earned Wynne some points in Talia's eyes that she so openly saw Brelyna for what she could do, not for her different appearance.

Isolde was left with Connor, something the Arlessa probably preferred over a large group of relative strangers breathing down her neck. Talia as well preferred it this way, as it meant far less interaction with the woman for her. After that, the group more or less dispersed across the castle, with Alistair heading for the Arl's chambers, while Leliana went for the Chantry. Daveth headed for the kitchens with J'zargo and Jowan, while Morrigan wandered off without telling where to.

Talia wanted fresh air, and so went for the upper levels, where there was an exit to the main battlements. Out here, in the humid cold that was central Ferelden, she saw archers patrol along the walls, reside in the square towers or simply stand around, allowing rumors to pass their ranks. Keeping her staff strapped on her back, she wandered along the battlements, taking in the view from such heights.

Calling it 'breathtaking' hardly did it any justice, in truth. From where she stood, Talia had the expanse of Lake Calenhad before her, Redcliffe Village itself little more than a bunch of hovels thrown onto the lakeshore with a spade. Forests grew to both sides of the massive lake, dense and black with pine. She'd noticed nothing but pines near Ostagar, and so far only the Hinterlands seemed warm enough to support oak and beech. Talia knew she was looking in the direction of Kinloch Hold, but whether it was a weak fog or simply the curve of Nirn, she could not see the massive tower. _And good riddance if I never see that place again._

Still, the weather war clear, cold and frisky. Yet it was nothing compared to the biting, bone-shaking cold of Winterhold. Talia smiled to herself, enjoying the temperature. Growing up in the northeastern High Rock, Bretons from Evermor were well used to such weather. Taking in a deep breath, she focused her magical reserved on restorative energies, and started pouring the healing magic into her windpipe, throat and mouth. It was delicate work, and slow at that too. Still, it was the only way she'd regain her speech before she turned forty, which was not exactly fitting with her personal schedule.

She was acutely aware of her surroundings while releasing magicka into her own body, and as such, she noticed Aedan before she saw him, and well before he scrounged up the decisiveness to speak up. As such, she turned to regard him with open curiosity, just as he was about to clear his throat. The surprise it bought her had him coughing instead. Amusing. Definitely amusing.

"So…you're up h-here?" he started, obviously somewhat nervous given the way his voice broke.

She smiled at him, putting effort into making it as mild as she could. The smile she wanted to send him, more than anything, was one of seduction. But not now. Not yet.

"I mean…Dammit, here I had this whole thing planned…" it was really more of a weak chuckle than a statement, and Aedan rubbed his neck with some degree of clear awkwardness; "I…wanted to talk about what happened in the Fade, back…there, but…"

Talk. Yeah, there was a certain amount of humor in that sentence. Or, more like in that word. Talia smiled however, feeling warmth spreading from her stomach and up. It was that strange, nice, confusing feeling that made her feel weird inside. Aedan threw his hands out, a nervous grin spreading on his lips. Talia slid up and positioned herself on one of the crevalions within touching distance of him, legs dangling loosely on the inner side.

"I guess it's kind of a one-way conversation…Right."

He walked up and leant against the fortification next to hers. For a long couple of moments, neither made a sound. Aedan didn't seem to know how to speak, and she herself was content with making no sound but that of her breathing. This was awkward. But it was also nice. Sort of.

"So…"

"Mmmmm?"

"I…had intended to ask exactly what you meant, basically because I have no recollection of the dream before waking up in a bed. Whatsoever…" he released a puff of air, a sigh that condensed into vapors in the cold autumn air. The warm sun was the only reason neither was shivering, though every gust of wind still had the hairs standing on Talia's neck; "I mean, for a…man, I'm not really…I don't know how your…how _girl-_I mean women, how…_what_ to say or…_do_….Sod, this isn't how I wanted to…"

"Hhn hn hnn hnn hnn hn…" she couldn't help it: Aedan's attempt at talking to her – talking, not even _sweet-talking_ – was so painfully awkward that she couldn't help but laugh, and attempt to muffle it by clasping her mouth shut. If anything however, this just seemed to make him even more embarrassed.

"Right, kick a man when he's down, why don't you?" Aedan growled, but good-naturedly in that as well. He didn't seem downtrodden at the way he was failing spectacularly, even when purpose of what he wanted to say was clear as day. _What he wants to say…'clear as day…Damn, I should have been a bard._

She even knew a few songs. Good ones too. Still, point of case as it was right now, was that this wasn't going anywhere. Aedan, sweet and genuine as he was, seemed more likely to suffer a stroke before he got to the point.

"You see…I…have probably been overthinking it, what you said in the Fade, and…"

In one fluid motion, Talia sauntered from her crevalion, stepped up close to Aedan – who seemed to be processing the scene with difficulty – grabbed him by his shoulders and brought her lips to his. There was, however idly, the irritation that she lacked a tongue. Lingering just a few seconds on his, Talia brought her lips back, beaming a small, however very much affectionate, smile at him. She could feel her cheeks rosen at the same, violent pace as Aedan's entire face.

"…_Wow_, I…I…" he stammered, looking like breathing came troubled to him. Talia, however, didn't move. She stayed there, only a few inches from his face, still feeling the imprint of his lips on hers. And smiled. Grinned, really, showing every recovered tooth at last. It was something of a joyful sensation, waking up with the feeling that every tooth was restored again. And Aedan seemed ready to faint; "D-did we just…I mean, did _you_ just…"

She cocked a brow at him, teasing with her smile in a way that made his Adam's apple jump. It was really cute, actually.

Still, she knew how to play this particular game: had played it a great many times, even if this was probably the first time she had been emotionally invested in its result. Thus, allowing the same smile to linger on her lips, she gave him a smaller, lighter kiss on the cheeks, and left him there on the wall as she went back inside.

Remaining on the battements, Aedan slowly brought a gloveless finger up, touching first the lips, then his cheek, a reddening spreading on his entire expression. After a great many seconds had passed, he allowed the hand to fall down, and turned to look over the view while leaning his chest onto the crevalion.

"…Damn…" he muttered, but as he sighed in resignation, the crease spreading on his lips was that of a smile.

* * *

**I suppose it's become pretty clear by now that I attempt a sort of merge between Redcliffe in Origins, and Redcliffe in Inquisition(Holy shit Redcliffe in Inquisition is GORGEOUS!). This is because as I see it, the reason for the new look is not better graphics (explain that one in-story, I dare you) but instead that, something happened in-between 30 and 40 dragon that saw to the marginally different appearance. Thinking somewhere along the lines of all-consuming fire, or flourishing trade allowing for a refurnishing, of sorts.**

**If there is a lesson I have learned from Inquisition - other than the fact that Chantry sisters love to ride the Iron Bull (I shit you not, they talk about it in Haven), it is that the magic in Origins VASTLY understated the awesomeness that is Thedasian magic. I am also aware that so far, this story has mainly been about how many advantages Tamrielan magic has over Thedasian magic. Well, I think I've found out a fairly decent balance. Time will show if it works.**

**So, here's the question of the day, or I guess it's really more of a consideration to help me flesh some mental stuff out for Talia's introspection.  
Which version of enchantment is better? Thedas', or Tamriel's?**


	26. Just around the Corner

_Personal Log, Middas 3__rd__, Evening Star, 40 Dragon_

_I've been able to actually _leave_ my accommodations today, and had a look around the town. Haven is…quant, for a village based around the so-called 'Temple of Sacred Ashes'. It feels weird, in a way, to be back here again. _

_Hard to believe it's been ten years since the last time I visited this place…however, it's definitely seen some refurnishing, to put it mildly. The piers are still down by the lake, and the Chantry is still located top of the hill. Those are basically the only things unchanged, though. _

_I am not aware of _what_ exactly transpired, but clearly something wiped the original village's wooden huts form the map, and that something's got to be at least five, maybe six years ago. It had to be while I was outside Ferelden. _

_I'll ask in the Chantry. Maybe Josephine will know._

_Also, I have pondered further upon Minerve's suggestions. Might be, there could be a way for us to copy the Gatok…Galok, Catlock…Screw it, Catfuck' it is. I'm not even going to bother if the Qunari come running for rights violated._

_I have way too much shit on my plate for that to even matter at this point. _

* * *

**Just around the Corner**

* * *

When all were assembled in the hall, Brelyna was the one to break the news;

"The Arl will not wake."

It was a short sentence of five words, yet everyone in the room seemed in need of multiple seconds to process them. Talia, who did not know Arl Eamon, and was only just starting to grasp the importance of his revival, looked instead to Alistair for his reaction.

The older Warden – she actually did not know by how many years, maybe two? – scrounged up his face in an expression of deep concern. Despite how he'd been treated like a runaway kid in his childhood, it was quite obvious that Alistair cared deeply for the old Arl. His eyes grew distant, and his jaw set itself solid while his hands clenched into fists.

"Well…fuck us then, huh?" Daveth was the first to break the silence, as he oft was. Alistair was next, however.

"Why not?"

"I cannot determine." Wynne sighed, looking to Jowan; "Jowan?"

To his credit, the scrawny youth did not tremble, nor did he attempt to sink out of sigh. Maybe it was due to the absence of the older enchanters, Talia could not say. Instead, he stood as straight as he dared – and as his still recovering back allowed him without aches – and frowned. He didn't frown often. Usually it would be a sigh or a frightened expression when trouble arose.

"I don't understand. It's was a simple sleep-concoction: Watered, mild deathroot and fungi…Even I should be able to wake him."

"Regardless, the Arl remains unresponsive…" Wynne looked to Brelyna, who simply shook her head in reply; "Neither of us could do anything to bring him back from this sleep."

"It looks more like a venom-induced coma, I think…" Brelyna muttered, scratching her lower lip in thought, then turned to Jowan as well; "Are you_ sure_ nothing else was in it? That you made the poison mild enough not to make this permanent?"

"…I- I think so? It's supposed to…" Jowan's cheeks and neck flushed visibly at her inquiry, mild though it might be. His hands came together, wringing; "I…_could_ have…Maker no, if…if I made a mistake, if he doesn't wake…"

"Then we're fucked." Daveth summed it up quite neatly, truth be told. Had Talia been able to speak, she'd have used language not quite as civil. But Gods! She missed being able to offer her Septims in a conversation, especially one like this, where the potential future of a continent was at risk.

"What else can we do?" Brelyna asked of the room in general; "He doesn't respond at all, yet seems to merely be asleep."

"Could we go back into the Fade? See if he's still trapped there?" J'zargo asked of the Dunmer more than the rest, maybe simply because he trusted her more.

"That would be of little use, since the demon holding him there was banished as well." Morrigan scowled; "There is not even a guarantee that the Eamon you encountered in the Fade_ was_ the real Arl. For all we know, he might as well have been yet another spirit."

"But J'zargo never met the actual Arl, did he?" Cíada asked, wording the thoughts also roaming Talia's mind. Didn't they say the Fade was a representation, a mirror of the dreamer' own mind? As such, a spirt or a demon shouldn't have been able to form a man J'zargo had never met.

"Usually that _would_ be the case." Wynne half-agreed with her apprentice; "However, Morrigan might be right: This was not J'zargo's own dream, but Connor's."

"Which…of course would allow spirits to mirror the boy's own dad. Right…" the petite girl slumped, deflated that her point had been so easily disproven. Talia smiled a little at that. It sometimes felt like she could see small bits and pieces of herself – a younger self, that was – in the Circle girl.

She still despised the Circle itself, though. Always would. Regardless that it might serve a seemingly noble purpose for the mages of Thedas, it had no rights to indiscriminately jail or kill any mages it came across. It would be the equivalent of the Thalmor jailing everyone in Skyrim for being a Nord. _Which…actually wouldn't surprise me that much if they wanted to do just that._

"What then? What's left?" Aedan said, voicing the mounting distress of the group. He'd recovered quite nicely from her little surprise-kiss on him earlier, and seemed almost…more determined now, than before. Not as much in his words, but in the way he stood. The way he held his arms, the way his feet were planted; "Do we have some sort of super antidote on stock?"

Bugger.

Talia briefly entertained the idea that maybe she could make something up, some potion or mixture or draught, something to counteract the ingredients Jowan had used. But that plan was dashed before she'd even bothered reaching for her pen and papers. She'd seen the ingredients in Jowan's study, and very few of them had uses for antidotes to a sleeping-draught. The closest she'd come would be antlers or some various fungi, but all they'd do would be counteracting weariness itself, not wake the man. And considering the Arl's apparent age, using sufficient pepper-ups to _wake_ him, might just _kill_ him.

Bugger.

"Arlessa Isolde mentioned the Sacred Ashes, did she not?" Leliana stepped in. Talia frowned, unwilling to believe that even if the fabled ashes of the Chantry's de-facto founder _could_ be found, they would be able to do anything. Human ashes were human ashes, regardless of how important or pious they'd been alive. A Moth Priest rotted as well as any peasant. There was no way mere _ashes_ could heal a man: in fact they might just make him _sicker_.

Bugger.

Unless someone had enchanted the ashes themselves. The Breton frowned, scratching her cheek: she had not considered that before. Morbid as it was, it was not an impossible notion. She'd heard of people, Necromancers usually, casting spells over ashes of the dead before. Usually though, this was with the purpose of bringing back thralls even _after_ they'd been pulverized once. And she could not tell this to Wynne, nor to Alistair or Leliana, simply because they couldn't read her words, and her classmates would likely want to know_ why_ she knew about the methods of Necromancers, seeing how she hadn't told them much about her parents lives pre-marriage.

Bugger.

"But she sent almost every knight out to search, and none have returned yet." Teagan said regretfully; "I wouldn't even have any idea of where to start looking at this point."

"Well…legends say Andraste's ashes were hidden somewhere in her homeland, which is technically Ferelden, no?" Leliana asked, a small, thoughtful frown on her features; "So, is it possible the Ashes are here in Ferelden?"

"Or they could be somewhere in Avar lands, thrown in a marsh…" Alistair deadpanned, earning himself a pout from the redheaded bard.

"That they are in Ferelden is knowledge enough." Leliana said again, bringing sufficient attention on herself that Talia saw her hesitate. Still, the redhead continued; "We should look for historians who might tell us more…Did the Arlessa consult any historians?"

"Not that I know of." Teagan shook his head; "She couldn't actually _leave _Redcliffe before you arrived, and I doubt she considered it between Eamon's illness and the demon taking over."

"Still, even if there _might_ be any historians knowing of Andraste's Ashes…" Alistair said doubtfully, throwing his hands out in weak protest; "_Where_ would we find them?"

"Brother Genitivi remains the Chantry's foremost historian, and he lives in Denerim." The redhead smiled, just a little, when she said it; "I have met with him before, he is a most friendly individual, uncaring of myths over reality. Last we spoke, his assistant also mentioned his mentor looking for the Ashes."

"…and you say this _now_?" Morrigan bore the most incredulous expression of the group, something Talia found extremely surprising, and amusing at that too. it was odd, _really_ odd, seeing Morrigan genuinely surprised at something Leliana said or did.

"The Ashes only now became relevant." There was a shrug in Leliana's voice, something rare enough that it warranted raised brows from the Witch; "And you never asked."

"…Well put, Sister." Morrigan gave her, almost as if the Witch offered Leliana a point in some unspoken competition.

"If Genitivi lives in Denerim, it coincides with my departure tomorrow." Teagan offered, something of a relieved smile – just a small one – spreading on his face; "We should travel together, then. I would feel immensely more secure, and you _could_ all pose as my entourage…"

"I sense a 'but' coming." Alistair mused, halfway between annoyed and amused, from the sound of it. Teagan nodded, sighed and looked at Morrigan.

"We would need to find you a new set of clothes then…" the Bann said, and his tone of voice suggested that he very well knew the reaction to his proposal. Morrigan narrowed her eyes, yellow irises sharper than blades and colder than ice, glaring at Teagan; "Well, it's that or pose as a comfort-woman, something which I somewhat _doubt_ you'd ever agree to."

"You doubt correctly, Bann." Morrigan scoffed, though she seemed no more frustrated than when Alistair said something stupid. To his defense, it was becoming less common these days; "I require no sets of disguises to mask my travels, however, have no doubt in _that_."

"She's a shapeshifter." Alistair supplied when Teagan seemed utterly confused at her response. The Bann's eyes widened just a little, followed by his lips splitting in a bemused smile.

"I see. I suppose I should have expected no less from one of the famed 'Witches of the Wilds'?" Teagan shook his head in accepting resignation; "As long as you will not draw unneeded attention, that will do."

"Oh, have no fears. You will hardly even know I am there."

"That's…comforting, I suppose." Teagan allowed, rubbing the upper bridge of his nose with the heel of his palm; "There is another issue I need to take care off, before we leave tomorrow."

"Which is?" Alistair prompted, arms crossed over his chest for no apparent reason.

"There is a Qunari in the dungeons, as you might well remember." The Bann grumbled, sounding like he'd prefer the creature evaporated rather than having to deal with it; "Much as he has been docile for the duration of his imprisonment, I dare not leave Isolde and Connor under the same roof as him."

"You make one of these Qunari sound…invincible?" Brelyna asked, a slight tinge of trepidation in her voice; "Is he- are _they_ really so powerful?"

"You've never _seen_ a Qunari, have you?" Alistair mused, with something of a small, witty grin spreading on his lips. Brelyna sent him a flat look, basically stating that no, she had not yet been long enough in Thedas to see a Qunari.

"Most Qunari we know of tend to stay in their own lands, Par Vollen, primarily. Sometimes they _do _come south, or west in the case of Tevinter." Teagan offered helpfully, or at least tried to be.

"I know _what_ they are." The Dunmer countered; "Leliana told us what they look like, but…They sound like Orcs, yet you seem to fear them?"

"If you piss an Orc off, is he goin' to rip your arms off at the shoulders?" Daveth grinned, seemingly the only person in a joking mood. Still, his words_ did_ make Talia blanch, just a little.

"Mostly I think he'd demand single-combat…but he might tear something off, yes." Brelyna replied, and Talia could have sworn she saw the Dunmer grin, just a tiny crease of her lips, when it was suddenly Daveth's turn to frown. He looked to Talia, as if hoping for her to assuage his trepidations, but all she did was to nod and grin.

"J'zargo once heard of an Orc who beat a man half to death with his own arm…" the Khajiit grinned evilly beneath his furs and moustached whiskers; "Then, he fed it to the man. Brelyna, how many Orcs serve in the Imperial Legions? This one has forgotten."

Oh, those two were just _enjoying_ _it_ now.

"I think it's in the tens of thousands, at least." The girl's pale lips creased in amusement at the internal joke between friends. _This is where I was supposed to have added 'I heard it's in the twenty thousands' Damn my speech-impairment to the Seventh Plane._

Her own part of the jibe was left unsaid, however, as Teagan simply decided to have the matter over with, and led them to the dungeons. Talia wasn't sure how she felt about seeing yet-to-be-removed dark stains on the floor, or the scorch-marks on the walls where fireballs had removed unpleasant deceased-yet-walking villagers.

The cell Jowan had resided in, however, had seen its door repaired, and Talia now only had the words of her companions as testament to her act of cell-break…On the other hand, maybe it was all well the same, considering one of the owners of said cell was in the company. Besides, maybe seeing the cell "pristine" and without him inside it, could help Jowan get over this part. Closure, or something like that.

"Here he is…The reason Redcliffe is forced to go sober…" Teagan's voice was as dry as his humor, drawing Talia's eyes from him to the door he presented. Behind it, was a man.

The word 'Man' in this case might be somewhat insufficient, considering just what kind of a man this was. The Qunari was tall enough that the top of his head vanished above the door, giving him a rather curious appearance. He was bare-chested, dark-skinned enough to pass for a Redguard and had purple eyes beneath hair as grey as the ashes he'd left behind in place of a tavern. His beard was just as white, and short-cropped around his chin. It was, however, mainly the 'bare-chested' part that got Talia's attention, for obvious reasons. The Qunari's chest _bulged_ with muscles and bore exotic tattoos varying from a blood-red to a pale grey, or maybe the latter was simply untattooed chest. Some, however, were covered by massive, muscled arms crossed before the man's chest, furthering the impression of physical prowess.

It was eye-candy, is what it was.

She attempted an appreciative whistle, but with the lack of a tongue, it was a blow of air that came out, nothing more. A few of the party sent her odd glances, but mainly all attention was directed at the Qunari in front of them. Talia somewhat sensed a few members of the group appreciated a metal door between them and the prisoner, though in truth he looked as if he could easily rip the door out.

"Do you know why you are here?" Teagan started, though his voice made it sound like he'd asked this before, and knew the answer as well. The Qunari directed flat, disinterested eyes at him. Not angry, not cowering – if that was even a _thing_ with this race – and not even vengeful. Just…disinterested. Stoic.

"Yes."

"Did you have specific reason for burning down the tavern?"

"No."

"Then why did you do it?"

"I did not."

"Yes you did."

"No."

"Then _why_, if you please, did it burn down?"

"A candle was knocked over."

"And _who_ knocked over the candle?"

"The Dwarf."

"So Dwyn knocked over the candle, correct?"

"Yes."

"And he did so because he was fleeing from you, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then have you considered that maybe it _was_ your fault the tavern burned down?" the poor Bann already sounded tired, while the Qunari's expression hadn't changed one bit. Had he even _blinked_ yet?

"No."

"Why _not_?"

"I did not knock over the candle, hence the fault is not mine." When Talia looked from the Qunari to Teagan, it looked like the poor sod was having a hard time restraining himself, and an eyelid was battering on its own, giving the Bann a rather…exhausted look.

"Even if you did not knock over the candle – but Maker help me, you're still to blame – every survivor of the fire states the same. That you ripped the door open and attacked the first man who got in your way. If nothing else, that's assault… though in your case it might as well be attempted manslaughter…" the Bann grumbled the last bit, as if he was afraid it would be taken as acknowledgement of the Qunari's strength. If it was, the prisoner did not show it.

"They were going to stop me. I could not let them."

"And you stopped _them_ by breaking the arms and legs of two guests, giving the tavern-keep a concussion and shattering a man's hip by hitting him with a table?" Teagan exclaimed, anger thinly veiled behind his weary tone; "You _attacked_ the people of Redcliffe, just to chase a dwarf?"

"He was a _thief_."

"Which makes it acceptable to beat up villagers?"

"…They would have stopped me."

"You could have…Why am I even doing this again?" the Bann groaned; "You don't even _regret_ what happened, do you?"

"Yes."

"What?" something in Teagan's voice told Talia that he hadn't been at this point before. Interesting.

"I regret what happened."

"Regret is not going to rebuild the tavern."

"No."

"Oh for fuck's sake…" the Bann swore in a manner very much unbefitting of is title.

"Can I try?" Alistair asked, poking Teagan's shoulder like a child seeking attention. It worked, because the Bann simply stepped aside. Alistair stopped before the cell, and eyed the Qunari up and down. Talia bit her cheek. Was Alistair seeing the Qunari the same was _she_ was? Disturbing, if so; "You're the first Qunari I've ever met. Who are you?"

"Sten."

"Odd name… what else?"

"I am Sten of the Beresaad." Which brought Talia to wonder if 'the Beresaad' was a city, town or even a country. Or maybe it was a religion?

"Okay, Sten. Why are you in that cell?"

"I just told him." There was a definite growl to Sten's tone now, far different than how he'd sounded through most of Teagan's questions.

"No, I meant why haven't you broken out yet?"

"The door is lock-" Teagan started, pointing at the cell-door's lock.

"I do not wish to escape."

"But you _could_." Alistair pressed, making Teagan frown.

"Yes."

"So, why _don't_ you wish to escape?"

"I committed a crime, is it not customary for prisoners to _remain_ in their cells for atonement?"

"But if you hadn't committed a crime, what would you do?"

"I would not be imprisoned."

"_N-o-o-o_, that's fairly obvious." Alistair deadpanned; "I mean, what would you _do_, if we didn't hold you here?"

"Return to my duty."

"Which is?"

"Pashaar, why do you prod me?"

"Because I'm curious by nature." Alistair replied with a spreading grin; "I'll rephrase it then: Would you like a _reason_ to leave this prison?"

"There can be no reason. I must atone."

"How does one best atone, Qunari?" Morrigan broke in, possibly because she was as annoyed by Alistair as Sten was; "By sitting in contemplating imprisonment, or by doing good?"

Sten's eyes went to Morrigan so quickly, Talia almost got dizzy. Which was odd. Mainly because for once, Alistair seemed to know what Morrigan intended, or the other way around, and neither counteracted the other.

"What do you speak of?"

"You are a mighty warrior, are you not? There is a Blight going on: atone for your crimes by helping the Grey Wardens fight the Darkspawn."

"Are you actually considering-"

"…The Darkspawn are a worthy adversary. Defeating them would undoubtedly save countless lives." Sten surmised, sweeping a purple glare at the group as a whole, then nodded once; "Fighting the Darkspawn will be a chance for atonement."

"I guess you are…" Teagan sighed, rubbing his forehead; "Do you want him, Alistair?"

"I wouldn't _mind_ a Qunari warrior having my back." The Senior Warden admitted with a shrug as he glanced to Sten; "That is, if you're not going to stab us in the backs?"

"The Qun does not believe 'stabbing in the backs' is a valid tactic." Whether that was a personal denial or not, Talia personally had no idea. Still, it was probably the best they'd get at this point. _Heavy risk, but the price…_

When Alistair looked around to ask for consent, she shrugged and nodded hers. The Princeling smiled faintly, more of a creased lip than anything else, really. His eyes, for some reason, stayed on Talia. She wasn't sure _why_, but figured he had a point, so she stepped closer.

"Talia, would you mind…opening the door?"

She stopped, blinked and looked first at him, then the door, and finally Teagan. Ripping out the molten lock in Jowan's cell had been excusable since they hadn't had neither key nor time to find it at the time, but was he actually asking her to do the very same thing here? Now? While Teagan was watching? _Maybe he wants Sten to understand we're not toothless. The Cheese-muncher is learning: nice._

She nodded, stepped up and grabbed the lock, even as she focused magicka into the palm of her hand. Thus, when she gave Sten a sweet smile – which he only responded to with a look of _extremely_ mild befuddlement – the air above the skin of her palm had already reached well over seven-hundred degrees – hot enough to melt through Dwemer metal – and her fingers started sinking into the metal almost upon contact. Within seconds, the metal dripped away like warm butter from the handle, and Talia took half a step back before opening the door itself with a curt bow.

Teagan looked like he'd been forced to eat something unpleasant. Poor sod, really.

Sten glanced at the molted lock as if it had insulted him, then shrugged and stepped out from the cell, seemingly indifferent to Talia's mock-reverent gesture.

Really, she'd done her best at making it as real as possible, but there was little way she could hide the grin from her face: Alistair was starting to pick up things along the way, which meant he wasn't going to be such a naïve king as she'd feared. Sort of. Considering the notion of him becoming king being important had only entered her mind a few days ago, there hadn't _been_ the time for her to fear him being a naïve king.

"At least make sure he doesn't enter Isolde's sight." Teagan half-begged as the scene was punctuated with silence, mostly because everyone seemed to expect Sten to say something, which he didn't; "I highly doubt she'd be able to stand you releasing every dangerous prisoner she's locked up."

"…I'm…right here?" Jowan muttered, though he did not sound like he felt sure in his place to say it. Teagan sighed, though actually it was more of a groan, and stared at Jowan.

"And I'm still somewhat pissed at you, just so you know." The Bann replied dryly; "Intentional or not – and I'm leaning towards the 'not' here, but still, everything here started because of what you did, Jowan. I'm not saying Isolde didn't screw up, because Maker knows she _did_, but it was as a reaction to your actions…"

"…right."

"…Regardless, I would suggest we all retire for today. We're setting out for Denerim come sunrise tomorrow." Teagan announced, sounding most of all like he wanted this over with, and ten minutes ago, at that. Talia blinked at his words, concealing her inner, simmering rage._ Sunrise? SUNRISE!? Are you even fucking SANE?!_

But she instead nodded, as did the rest of the group. Expect for Sten, who merely regarded the scene with a casual expression of boredom. Gods, she hoped Alistair was right in this one: even Urag seemed to take more joy from the happenings of every day, and the man was stuck in a library as occupation. _On the other hand, not the worst job ever, just saying._

Deciding that – for obvious reasons – she wasn't going to be the one to introduce Sten to the plans of Ferelden's last Grey Wardens, Talia instead set out to find something to eat. Not that she hadn't _just_ eaten, but according to Daveth – which he used as a reason for how he could even _eat_ Alistair's food – Grey Wardens received the magical boon of infinite bellies. Which was a weird condition, but not insufferable. And now she too, was hungry.

The only problem was that everyone else had already left her and Sten behind, and Talia didn't know one end of Redcliffe from the other. She'd take one wrong turn and probably end up in the moat, with her luck. Still, she didn't intend on sharing the dungeons with the only man she'd ever met less talkative than she was at the moment. It just seemed too much like a bad joke in the making, which was the reason she simply gave him a curt nod, and started out the way she remembered having run when the rooms had been full of cranky dead people. And shades, for some reason. _Why do even Ferelden's _ghosts_ seem to hate me with a passion?_

When she was hallway up the stairs to the main hall from the courtyard, Talia realized she was being followed. As a noble, she'd been raised to recognize stalkers and potential assassins since the day she'd been able to walk from her own nursery. As a result of that, and the fact that this particular follower was built like a warrior, had coal-dark hair and an intricate tattoo over his right cheek, she simply smiled to herself and kept walking.

The game was progressing nicely, and her partner was showing definite, _deliberate _interest in her now.

When she reached a depopulated section of the corridors inside the castle – she'd long-since forgotten about the notion of 'dinner', Talia sidestepped around the corner and pressed herself back-first into the wall, out of sight from her pursuer. As she disappeared from view, she could hear the footsteps changing pace from cautious and silent, to a slight trot, echoing with frustration. A broad, wicked and just a little bit victorious grin spread on her lips. _Hormones. You guys are the best friends a girl could wish for._

When Aedan finally came around the corner, he stumbled and almost fell flat from surprise at coming face-to-face – likely far sooner than he'd thought – with her. Talia leaned back, not bothering to hide the smirk when the raven-haired boy had to catch himself from falling, and in turn ended up extremely red-faced. It was beyond funny, even though it wasn't as nice as she wanted to be. Old habits.

"Maker's nose hair…" Aedan grumbled and cursed, even as he managed to regain a somewhat presentable posture – he was still flushed in the cheeks, making him look all the more adorable. All in all, the situation was just hilarious.

"Mmmm?" she relented at last, stepping out from the wall to be before him. It always surprised her that Aedan was a good few inches taller than her – tall enough that she'd had to stand slightly on tip-toes to deliver that kiss on the battlements. Just made for a better position, she supposed. It was also all the more adorable because all the best love-stories had scenes of the heroine standing tip-toes to kiss her beau. _And I'm a sucker for those. Pathetic, I guess, considering everything that's going on, but there it is. _

Aedan took a deep inhale of air, rubbing his hands together for want of anything else to do while his mind visibly worked on overtime. He seemed extremely out of his depth, and showed all the signs of anxiety she even knew of. Flushed cheeks, licked his lips, red ears, stuttering glances – as if to ensure no one would see him screw up – and shifting feet. _Is this it? Is this the point where he gets the guts? Is it too soon?_

For once, she actually didn't know. Made it all the more interesting, she supposed. But if the sensations thrumming around her chest and stomach were any indications, _she_ was more than ready for it to start in earnest. But _was_ it too soon? Could everything still be cocked up somehow? Too much bad shit had happened for her to want this gone as well.

Flirting was one thing, and so was stealing a kiss from bewildered boys – whom she happened to very much _like_ – but if Aedan started admitting to feelings, admitted to wanting an actual commitment…_Oh shit, I've seriously cocked this up already, haven't I?_

If Aedan started wanting this too – which she actually really _wanted_ him to want – then there could be far-reaching consequences, especially if his older brother didn't turn up. Few enough knew about Tamriel, and fewer still about her positon in Imperial Society. If this went bad…Best case scenario: It would be her ending things, leaving Aedan in an emotional pit. Worst case scenario, she'd end up utterly fucking up one of the major Noble Houses of Ferelden. _By Azura, why do I never fucking think ahead? Prepare Alistair as future king and or plan examination of assorted fire-techniques? Got that covered. Avoid fucking over the Cousland Teyrnir by _not_ getting romantically involved in a country that doesn't recognize my noble standing? Never crossed my mind._

But even as she suddenly knew she'd do Aedan a favor by turning around and walk away…Piss on it, she _couldn't_. Not with the expression on his face.

"I…wanted…Shit, I can't even expect a reply, what with the whole…_thing_, so…" he paused, scowled at himself, and breathed again. Talia was torn between fleeing, using her actual common sense of consequences, or staying, taking a piss on said consequences. Aedan's deep, soft brown eyes locked on hers, and suddenly it wasn't even a choice she had.

"I've been…thinking." He started again, averting his eyes, though the damage had been done: She couldn't move, neither away nor towards him; "…mostly, it's been about you…"

And she just stood there, suddenly helpless like a deer entranced by the hovering sphere of a magelight. She simply stood there, watching him wrestle out the words. She couldn't even come up with a reason to flee anymore. It was all gone, as if a gust of wind had blown away her sense of reason.

"I mean, the way we met it's pretty much obvious _why_, but…I don't think it really started, _I_ really started thinking about you until…I think until…" he suddenly chuckled, though it was weak and without mirth; "I actually don't know _when _I started…_seeing_ you for what you are – to me, I mean, but it's just been…growing, inside me. I find I can't stop thinking about you. When you're around, I can't help but want to look at you… When you're not around, I think about you."

Talia didn't move, didn't dare breathe, didn't dare blink. There was a cough building in her throat, but she refused to allow it emergence. She simply _watched_, and listened. Aedan was laying out his soul for her, that much was fairly clear. He shifted on his feet and took a step closer, just one, but it brought him a _step_ closer to her. At this point, Talia was fairly sure he'd be able to see her heart beating its way out through her chest and robes.

What had happened to her plan, to her game? Suddenly, she no longer felt in control, no longer felt like she knew exactly what to do, how to string him. Now that sense of security was just _gone_, replaced with…she wasn't sure what. It didn't feel as much like a loss as it did being shown an uncharted region of land, and told to map it.

Was this…love?

No. No, it was not. Love would mean all sorts of cockups, screw-ups and emotional strain she just _didn't_ _know_ how to handle – it was reserved for people in books, for the kind of people who attended salons and sipped tea and brandy while gossiping on useless shit like the latest Cyrodiilic fashions, or who the Emperor's cousin was going to marry.

Infatuations and attractions she could handle. She _knew_ how those things worked. But not this…_sensation_. It was foreign, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to toss it out the window or hug it close.

It suddenly occurred to her that Aedan had started speaking again.

"…which, I guess, is what I'm _trying_ to say…And, I thought I'd gotten it down, understood how to deal with it, but…" Oh sheep-shit, she'd missed an important point, hadn't she? "Then, you…kissed me, and I just…I guess I just…don't know what to do."

The agonized expression in his face told her that yes, she'd definitely missed something important, and now she'd burn for it. Metaphorically speaking. She wanted, _desperately wanted_ to step closer to him, to hug him, to offer some semblance of comfort, but… couldn't. She was nailed to the floor as effectively as had someone glued her there. And Aedan continued, seemingly getting his emotions a bit more under control, as the agonized expression was replaced by one of "mere" utter confusion and frustration.

"I have this…I…it _hurts_ every time I look at you, and it's only gotten worse since the wall…" he gasped, almost as if for effect, but she knew it was deeper; "And I find I don't _want_ it to stop hurting. It's…really weird, something I haven't tried before…You...you told me in the Fade that I only had to ask, so…I guess what I'm trying to say, trying…t-trying to _ask_, Talia is…"

"…Mmm?" it was the only sound she_ could_ have made, regardless of tongue or not. Talia found herself terrified at the strange, new situation where she had become so deeply, emotionally invested in a person that she was frightened of what could happen between them, in any direction. She wanted to look _away_, because looking into his eyes brought up sensations she couldn't control, couldn't determine. And it scared her more than any demons ever could. But she couldn't look away. It was as if his face had become everything there was- that and the small bits of corridor she could see around his face.

"Shit, I can't even…_say_ it, because _you_ can't say anything and…Maferath's balls, I…what I mean to sa-_ask_, is if…if you meant it. When you kissed me, did you mean it?" and he left it there, standing before her exposed and vulnerable.

She could say no – sort of – shake her head, turn around and flee, even _punch_ him, just to make it clear that she didn't mean it, that there _couldn't_ be anything between them, much as she personally wanted to.

She knew that if she said yes – again, sort of – nodded, remained or even _kissed_ him, there'd be no turning back. Not for him, and _definitely_ not for her.

It'd be something she'd have to cope with from today on out, a problem that could only keep growing, like a cancerous growth, until it burst, and someone got hurt. Wars, she knew, had broken out over less than what this could become. Feuds between families of their respective standings could lead to the suffering of untold numbers, and it'd all be her fault if she didn't step away from this. If she nodded, confirmed what she knew was true, what he probably knew was true, it'd be _her_ starting a ravine of suffering in the future.

She nodded, biting her lip...

…And then fled the scene, aware of the dumbstruck expression on Aedan's face. She stopped herself after a mere five steps away, turned and looked beyond Aedan, as he stood there in confusion. Doubts and fears gnawed away at her, and she took a step closer to him, stopped and shuffled her feet, unable to make her body decide. She wanted to flee, to get away from all the feelings she didn't _want_ to have because it _would_ screw up the future. And she wanted to stay, because she wanted to find out just how far Aedan was finally willing to go.

"…Talia, are you…" he started, but stopped when she groaned and turned on the spot, trying to make up her mind. Gods, she _hated_ him for this- for making her feel this uncertain and insecure! It was _not_ like her, _not_ what she had planned, and _not_ how she wanted to go about this. She actually expected him to speak again, but his words still came as a surprise to her when he did; "…so, you…didn't mean it…right…"

His voice was broken, like someone who'd just lost all purpose to their existence. Hurt, agonized and barely suppressing the trembles within. She stopped, and looked at him, _really _looked. Aedan had gone from looking merely anxious and insecure, to utterly broken and looking a piece of emotional shit- which was basically how she felt about herself right about now. With a final groan, she threw caution to the winds of Oblivion. _Fuck it. I've come this far. _

Before Aedan even had a chance to react to her movements, Talia stopped her fidgeting and marched right up to him, much to his dawning surprise. She grabbed him by the shoulders, breathed a short, shaky breath, and stood on the tip-toes required to press her lips to his.

This time, it wasn't a light peck, not even a soft gesture of affection. This time, the kiss was hard, fierce and somehow, a lot more desperate for a return than she'd ever thought possible. Aedan made some odd, surprise and slightly shocked sounds, mostly muffled by the fact that his mouth ended on hers, but he seemed to get the picture quickly enough.

What started out - and remained so for several seconds - as Talia fiercely forcing her lips onto his, slowly became his hands cautiously taking a hold of her upper arms, almost as if he had to dare himself to actually touch her. Even so, it still meant his hands hesitantly beginning to grasp their new purpose. Talia just didn't bother giving them the time to do so unobstructed. Taking a deep breath through her nose, not breaking the kiss – she didn't dare, if he suddenly realized as she had just how monumentally horrible an idea this was – and forced his back into the wall. His eyes only widened slightly in surprise, which was all the more they _could_, considering they had been wide as saucers since she'd started the kiss.

Even without a tongue, she could still taste Aedan's breath in her mouth, and smelled him in her nostrils. She could feel his lips moving, slowly, without experience, trying to figure out just what to do with themselves. His hands, at least, seemed to have a bit more luck, as she pressed him against the wall – she was idly aware of the reversed image they likely presented: usually the girl was being pressed against the wall, though she'd never cared for the gender-set roles. They clutched her robes, pulling her closer to his chest, and she responded happily, no longer caring if she was screwing over the future both their Houses, potentially. One hand slid from Aedan's shoulder to his head, ravaging his short-cropped hair as she pulled him down, closer to herself.

He gasped, or maybe it was a groan, she didn't know. Didn't much care either. He pulled her towards him, and she returned the gesture, feeling her blood catch fire as she pressed her chest against his. She knew he could feel it too – could smell it in his breath, and feel it in the way it became shaky, rapid. Briefly, painful memories returned of the night in Highever, but were squashed by the raw intensity of his lips on hers. Beneath her legs, pressed tightly against him, she could feel her core heat, feel how her body responded to his, to the way he was holding her, _demanding_ her, even if it was probably not fully conscious on his part. And yet, she could also feel him hardening through the layers of fabric.

She knew that if she didn't stop this now, neither would be able to at all.

Biting down the resentment at having to do this, to end the fierce and passionate embrace, she put just sufficient distance between their bodies, and softly, ever so softly, placed a hand on his chest, a gesture to stop. He did, but the look in his eyes spoke of a desperation, a hunger and a desire finally awoken. And she knew her own eyes likely displayed the same, making any future attempts at preventing disaster a lost cause.

She didn't break the kiss immediately however, but lingered more softly on his lips than before. She looked into his eyes and found herself dizzied by the intensity of his usually so soft, brown orbs. He hand changed, she realized now, and she'd missed it completely up until this point. His gaze was intense, desire and need declared clearly in it, but his eyes also held a warmth and a smile she had not often seen the equal off.

Finally, she pulled away from his lips completely, taking care not to bite her lips again. Her mouth moved oddly inside itself when she instinctively tried licking her lips, and nothing emerged from within it. It was a subconscious act of sudden anxiety, and it took most of her already strained willpower not to let it show. Aedan's face, as had he only _now_ realized what was happening, started flushing a deep red, accompanied by his eyelids refusing to remain still. He blinked rapidly and repeatedly, as if in a daze. He likely was, actually.

"I'm…slightly confused…" he admitted after a few moments of shaky breathing. She noticed his fingers dancing, as if trying to grab onto her again through sheer want. He was likely feeling the same body-wide electric sensation she was, which brought more of the new heat into her body. This was new, something she'd never felt with anyone before, meaning it was beyond simple attraction or sexual desire. It was something deeper, somehow.

She couldn't help but smile at what had just happened, regardless of the future implications. Talia was well aware that she was pointedly _beaming_, and cared little for who saw it, as long as he did. Gods, what was coming over her?

"But, I…I am not sure how to go on, actually…" the words came out as stumbling as before, which was somehow all the more endearing, for reasons she couldn't put her finger on; "How…What happens now?"

He seemed to realize just how dumb it was a question to ask, considering she was incapable of replying, and instead frowned as he visibly worked to reword it.

"I suppose this means you _did_ mean it, on the wall, then?" he tried, smiling shyly, which earned him a smile and a nod from her. At this point, Talia just listened again, feeling her body returning to normal, even if she still felt the desire and heat between her legs. He shifted on his feet, seemingly unsure about how to broach the sudden change in their relationship; "…So…I also assume I'm not supposed to tell _anyone_ about this, right? Because I'm pretty sure I'd be too awkward to even…right, putting my foot in my mouth again…Shi- I mean, I'm…Damn…"

Talia just smiled at him, content with enjoying Aedan being Aedan, with everything involved. If they were meant to do this, and in doing so potentially ruin their Houses – or at least his – then she didn't want to miss a thing. It was also at this point that her stomach decided upon making its demands known, accompanied with a high-pitched growl from the her abdomen.

Aedan tried to conceal a nervous chuckle behind his balled fist, to little enough effect. She didn't even bother shaking her head at it – basically because it _was_ funny as hell, if mainly because of how anti-climatic it was – and instead sighed contently at the situation. If this was to be, then…well, it was to be. Right now, she was hungry, and still more than a little turned on.

"So…Do you…uh, I mean, want get something to eat?"

* * *

They left Redcliffe the next morning, and despite the demonic hour of the day, Talia was in higher spirits than she could actually remember having been for months. Teagan, of course, rode in front, with Alistair besides him, while Aedan shared the road next to her.

Sten had been offered a horse, but had replied that Qunari did not _ride_. Which made sense, since he was probably big enough to reach the ground from the back of even the biggest horse available.

Enchanters Mabel and Nicholl, with their parts in this finished, set a course back for Kinloch hold without hesitation, while decided that only Cíada would be returning to the Tower. When asked, the old mage had replied that there was need of _someone_ to ensure that Jowan did not cause additional mayhem, though even to the aforementioned recruit, it was obvious this was merely a cover.

"So I get to be stuck in the Tower again while _you_ tour Ferelden?" the elven girl grumbled; "No fair, and you bloody well know it, Wynne!"

"As an enchanter of the Circle, I can take a leave of the Tower within certain limits." Wynne said, speaking with a small smile on her lips; "You, however, were only allowed leave because I argued with Irving that you would be of greater use in Redcliffe than at the Tower."

"So you're giving up on me as well, at last?" Cíada scowled, causing Wynne to frown; "I knew it, knew you'd run out of patience eventually... I can't heal, I can't make barriers, and I can't even make a spark of fire. Might as well just make me Tranquil while you're at it."

"Don't say that, it's only for a short time." The Enchanter admonished; "And you shouldn't joke with Tranquility, young lady, it's a path you would be unable to turn back from, and you wouldn't even know why you'd ever want to, if first committed."

"Doesn't change the fact that you're going on a field-trip while I'm going home- and don't you dare start mentioning Cul- any of those Templars." The girl's face heated to an almost red color, striking a curious contrast to her raven hair; "the Knight-Commander's going to be paranoid after this, no way he'd let _anyone_ be alone with mages now."

"…do you _really_ desire to accompany us, so badly that you'd be willing to risk the dangers of the Blight?" Leliana asked, more out of concern than because she had a say in it. She did, sort of, though she would be unlikely to make use of it.

"Yes she does..." Jowan muttered, most likely to himself rather than to the former Sister.

"There's no way the Blight's any more scary than Greagoir when he's pissed off."

"I knew it…" the sort-of Blood mage sighed. Talia raised a brow at that, though she didn't bother trying to figure out why he seemed hesitant at her coming with them. It was likely something between the two of them, and as such she really had no business prying. Not that she'd usually _stop_ prying just because of that, but as it happened, she was currently more intent on thinking about the young man next to her than whatever relationship Jowan and Cíada shared. There hadn't _seemed_ to be any bad blood between them earlier though.

"You do realize that I will not be able to prevent Greagoir from anger if you do not return as promised?" Wynne asked, though her exasperated tone made it clear that she'd basically given up the fight at this point.

"I doubt he'll be pissed if she's saved the world comin' home." Daveth chuckled, to which the girl nodded, grinned and earned them both an admonishing stare from her mentor. Seeing as the group had not actually made it past the Crossroads: a small assortment of huts and hovels that yet managed to outsize Rorikstead in Skyrim, Bann Teagan cleared his throat.

"If you do not mind, could we then perhaps get a move on?" the Bann asked impatiently; "The sooner we set out of Denerim proper, the less risk there is of Howe's eventual spies catching wind of our departure."

When it became clear for all to see that Wynne had resigned - the group now counting an extra mage – kicked their steads into a steady gait, and left the village and its surrounding countryside behind.

* * *

**Mm Mmmm.**

**Gotta admit, I was _really_ tempted to make this a full-blown encounter of the sexual kind, but...It would feel pre-mature, I think. Instead, I hope I can treat you great folks to a somewhat-slowmance, even if I personally would like nothing more than to make this one long steam-story. Ah well, I think I'd actually prefer it like this as well.**

**Also. Sten makes his entrance to the stage. YAY! :3**

**I would also like to thank you all for the fact that I have never had this much attention shown to my stories before. 10 reviews per chapter for the past, I dunno, six or so chapters...You have NO idea how glad that makes me :D**

**It's basically the reason I've been able to resume writing this soon, and that I am able to give you people this update. **


	27. Going to the Big City

_I talked to Solas today. _

_I think it was the first time since I met him in the forest that we exchanged more than 'you're an apostate? Me too, only I'm also a Warden and won't give you away' to which he said 'thank you' and left. _

_I found him at the far side of the lake, performing some sort of meditation. Curious as I was, I approached him and asked what he was doing. _

_As it turned out, he was asleep, studying the Fade in a more…active manner than people usually do. He likes it there, for some reason, though I might just be biased in finding it weird._

_He told me that every battlefield, every ruin, every old structure with a history also dreams. I asked him for an example, and he…talked to me about Ostagar._

_Mildly put, I was not prepared for the way he described _my _emotions at the battle. It felt wrong, but not quite again, the way he knew what had passed through both ours and Loghain's minds that day. Honestly, I hardly remember it myself._

_It was all so very long ago…Feels like I was nothing but a child back then…_

_Turdas 11__th__, Evening Star, 9:40 Dragon. _

* * *

**Going to the Big City**

* * *

The ride from Redcliffe to Denerim was very much different from the ride to Kinloch Hold. Mainly, this was due to the fact that Teagan was clearly even less accustomed to traveling than Talia had been when she'd first set foot – so to speak – in the Grey Wardens.

Already on the first nightfall, Teagan seemed not to fully understand why Alistair stopped for camp while the sun was still up and bright. The Bann was still sore from riding even after the evening's meal, once more procured by Bodahn's exceptional cooking, though as the Dwarf had not known to gather supplies to leave already the day after arriving in Redcliffe, Daveth had had to go hunting for food. Talia had helped as she could, which was basically just lighting the fire. Basic, but then again, there really _wasn't_ much she _could_ do.

Another change was that, though they still retained tents separated by gender, Talia now knew better just what she wanted, and what Aedan wanted. The same carried on into the second day of travels, where the group crossed what was described as the Southern Reach, or just 'South Reach' as Teagan pointed out helpfully. He'd clearly been through here before, though judging from his skills on horseback, it had _not_ been as a rider. Much more likely, he'd been escorted in a palatine, if Fereldan Nobility even _had_ those. Talia hadn't seen one yet, so all bets were off until she did. Sten, somehow, seemed perfectly capable of keeping up, even as he walked while they rode.

He was an odd one, definitely. Talia wasn't going to claim she could read him – because she couldn't – but he was definitely a soldier of profession. The way he moved and marched betrayed that fact, and she could often as they traveled catch him in feeling for a great-sword that was supposed to be on his back. As it was, he was traveling armed with a simple sword, though it seemed pitifully small compared to his hulking size.

Put an Orc next to him, and the poor sod would think Malakath had spurned him. Probably. She wasn't exactly sure how the mind of Orcs worked, since Urag had never seen it fit for discussions. Not with her at least. Maybe because of the whole 'Sacking' bugger back in the days.

This route was supposedly the longer option, as the shortest went through the lands of Bann Talgert, who also just so happened to include the so-called 'Brecilian Forest', a massive swath of forest and unmapped regions. When Brelyna asked Daveth just why it was unmapped if the forest was central to Talgert's lands, she was instead answered by Cíada – while Daveth seemed to be annoyed at being deprived a chance at showing off his geographical knowledge to the girl – who then told Brelyna, and by extension Talia, of a separate grouping of her race called the 'Dalish'.

Apparently the Dalish elves rejected all forms of human society, worshipped the old elven gods, and generally did not get along well with anyone not inside their clans, even other elves. Cíada counted in on that, as she had been born in one of the alienages of Denerim, where her older sister and young cousin also lived. The Dalish had a specific word for elves who lived in human cities, it seemed, because they had accepted human 'lordship' as they put it: 'Flat-ears', Cíada explained, was the derogatory description used by the proud and conservative Dalish.

And the Dalish had a nasty habit of disrupting trade, travels and even patrols going through the forest, which in turn discouraged charters from going there.

It did not exactly heighten Talia's opinion of the Dalish, but as Cíada had also used positive words about the Circle of Magi, the Breton knew to not instantly take_ everything_ the girl said at face value. Still, she'd be buggered if she'd left behind the Thalmor – if not intentionally at that – only to encounter _another_ group of elven supremacists. She could frankly do without that happening any time soon.

Aside from that, the journey took place with little unnecessary chatter, though that was not to say it went silent. Each night, while Bodhan would cook and Sandal would…well, be _Sandal_, the group of Wardens and non-Wardens would take time to acclimatize, train and recuperate. There was a particular interest in Sten, who did not seem all that interested in small-talk. When asked, he'd replied that it served no tactical purpose, and only two people, Brelyna and – naturally – Leliana – refused to leave him alone after that.

Despite how annoying, not to mention timewasting it probably was, Talia couldn't help but grin at the way he was utterly oblivious to – or maybe just didn't give a shit about – their obvious fawning. Though for some reason, he refused to wear armor above the waist, so maybe…Amusing as the notion of the towering warrior's deliberate baiting might be, there _were_ other things on the young Breton's mind. Mainly, what to do about herself and Aedan.

Since that day in Redcliffe, something was changed between them. She knew _what_ as well, and yet she couldn't actually have explained it had she been asked. They hadn't kissed again as much as having simply found ways to sit together, ride together and work together when they could. It was an odd way for a relationship to work, she thought, but then again, she'd never actually _been_ in a romantic involvement before now. It'd always been 'meet-sex-leave' with the boys and girls of her adolescence, not this whole…thing, with Aedan.

Not that she minded, in truth. Somehow, just being with Aedan was better than any orgasm she'd ever been given by even the most dashing or talented servants of her parents' estate. It was better in a _different way_, of course, but still better. She consciously knew this, because she knew she'd fucked more people than she could remember in her younger years, but she remembered every moment spent leaning into Aedan's side, resting her head in his lap or even just sitting close to him.

_That_ was how she knew it was better.

Made her wonder how it would actually be screwing him. Would it still be called 'screwing' with Aedan, or would it be making love? Weird, that there had to be different words for it, but she hadn't written the book – or books – about it, so she didn't really presume to have a say in it.

His shoulder was also a great place for contemplation, as she rediscovered every time she rested her head on it – like now. Aedan seemed to enjoy it, if only for the unspoken effect it had on the both of them, and she liked feeling them rise just an inch with every breath he took. Reminded her that he was very much alive against her cheek. She pondered, mostly of what to do when they came to Denerim:

Teagan would be going the Landsmeet, a gathering of Ferelden's nobility – and usually the king and or queen – with the purpose of deciding how to govern the nation. Ferelden – much like High Rock, Skyrim and most of the Septim Empire's holds and provinces – was a feudal monarchy, though it wasn't ruled with an iron fist, but with a sort of odd democracy. The people could influence who would be their Bann, and the Bann could then use his or her voice in the Landsmeet.

There, he would be asked to swear fealty to Teyrn Loghain, who had been made Regent of Ferelden, though his daughter Anora was technically still in charge. This would also give the Bann a chance to investigate what had transpired to make Rendon Howe the Arl of Denerim. Howe being the city's Arl, however, brought with it an unwanted complication of _their_ tasks, of which there were now two.

Firstly, they would need to find Genitivi and get information about Andraste's Sacred Ashes. Leliana knew where he lived, apparently, which was good, since Denerim was one of the biggest cities on the continent. Val Royeaux was larger, and richer, but Denerim covered a larger area – somehow. Talia wasn't quite sure how that worked – and held not only the Royal Palace, but also Fort Drakon, built by some sort of nobleman from _very_ long ago. Alistair had described it as the closest thing Ferelden would get to Weisshaupt Fortress, located in the Anderfells. Fort Drakon was a massive fortress situated on the top of a hill in the southern part of Denerim, and functioned as garrison, command-central and prison for whatever purposes might be required.

The second task, which Alistair had seemingly come up with on the fly, was the Grey Warden compound in the city. It was highly unlikely they'd find anyone there from the Order, but the Senior Warden was also more interested in getting Warden documents and artefacts to safety. That was something Talia could understand the need for, as their enemies would probably want the same thing. Thus, whatever your enemies wanted, it was a rule you wanted it_ more_.

Other than that, the idea was to maintain a low profile. Get in, get what they needed, and get out before they were discovered. This was, of course, made more difficult by Teagan's presence, but as long as they wore no uniforms or symbols, the group would more likely than not be seen as mere soldiers escorting the Bann, maybe even simple sellswords. Hopefully, that was. Talia could pose as…well, _not_ a mage, since her staff looked like a spear from a distance, but Wynne, Jowan and Cíada would immediately draw attention. _We're in Denerim tomorrow…is now too late to have Morrigan teach the lot of us shapeshifting?...Yeah, it probably is…bugger._

* * *

The city of Denerim came into view early next morning. As the group topped the final hill, crested only by a windmill turning with the howls of Fereldan autumn-storms, the rain poured from the early hours of the day. Farmers, despite this, remained in the fields where they gathered crops, almost as if to spit the weather-gods in the eyes.

Denerim was a sprawling city, putting Cyrodiil to shame with its raw size, though not by _that_ much again. She knew from upbringing that the Imperial City held hundreds of thousands of citizens - it _did_ cover the entirety of the central island, after all - , meaning Denerim likely held _at least_ tens of thousands of thousands, if not more. She'd make it a point to ask Alistair later, when she'd be able to _speak_, that was. The towering structure to the right of the city was no-doubt Fort Drakon, and she could just barely make out its outline throughout the rain.

Most of the party was miserable through the last bit of the journey, drenched from rain and shivering with the cold of autumn. The warriors, at least, had the fortune of overlapping plates of armor, whether they be leather, iron or steel, and so suffered less from the rain than Talia and her fellow mages, a concept she barely registered using of them. Wynne and Cíada represented themselves more than their Circle here, which made them bearable to be around. The old mage, for some reason, seemed less ill at ease than the rest, and Talia believed she could see some sort of shimmering field on the old woman's shoulders and head, as if the rain stopped mere inches from her robes.

If the old crone used some sort of Wards, she was not alone in this. Brelyna was less subtle, in that she simply held a hand above her head, projecting a weak shield to stop the rain. Talia tried the same, but found she couldn't concentrate with the heavy drops constantly smacking her in the face as the wind tore off her hood.

Still, at least she was not a Khajiit.

J'zargo looked utterly _drenched _and drowned, giving credence to the saying that Khajiit didn't do one bit better in water than any and all regular cats. They _could_ swim, yes, but there was a reason their homeland was Elseweyr and not the swampy lands of the Argonians. His whiskers hung down like thick, black robes, and his hood clung to his likely equally drenched fur, giving one the impression that he was actually human, if not for the tail forming a thick bundle underneath the back of his robes.

"This one almost _misses _Skyrim." He grumbled as the horse sloshed through mud and clacked on cobblestones; "At least in Winterhold J'zargo was just cold. Here, he is cold_ and_ wet."

Talia grimaced at his words, if only again because she was too cold and lousy to actually grin. _Don't we both, buddy?_

Yet, she could at least give herself some warmth, and rubbed her palms with a mild fire that dried the skin and made her robes steam. They would stiffen like this, she knew, but preferred stiff robes to soaked ones.

"What do we do if they know we're coming?" Brelyna asked as she rode up next to Teagan and Alistair. The Bann still seemed slightly surprised each time he saw her, but to date Talia still suspected it would be her eyes: a voice as mild and gentle as Brelyna's was often unexpected with such intensively red eyes.

"My arrival has been announced the day Connor was freed." Teagan replied; "the only way they would not know is if my bird was taken by a predator."

"I mean if they know _we_ are coming." The Dunmer stated, gesturing for the rest of the group. Teagan nodded at that;

"I relayed I'd be traveling with entourage. For a Bann, that can be several dozens of people, Serah." The Bann replied evenly, as if he was not in the least worried; "Although, you do have a point. The Wardens can all pose as mere soldiers, maybe except for Serah Talia, but you and the rest of the mages will be more difficult to disguise in the city…"

"I'm _not_ staying outside in the rain, if that's what you suggest." Cíada scowled as she yanked at her hood. The fabric dragged at her ears for a moment, bending them amusingly far back before bopping back up. The girl hardly seemed to notice; "I can't even start a bloody fire, if you haven't noticed."

"You will not need to." Teagan replied; "There are several inns and taverns outside the city walls. Enough that no one will know where to look even if they suspect your arrival."

"I didn't exactly bring coin with me when we left the Circle."

"…I would gladly pay for however long you would need to stay there." Though he sounded rather hesitant in that. Still, Talia could not help but frown at the way this was going. She had planned for what to do if they were discovered – many of her plans involved setting fire to something or someone important enough that the guards would stop any pursuits to put out those flames – but not how to _avoid_ being discovered. Mostly because she'd fully expected to be discovered, what with her classmates somewhat striking appearance. _I wish Onmund was here…he'd at least know just how I'm feeling at this shit…_

But he wasn't, and all she had to remember him by was…nothing. She had her memories of him, and that was it. They had never found his book, and he'd been burned in his clothes, according to Fereldan customs. It sucked, and she wished she'd had a chance to at the very least slap Irving – she'd probably kick his ass right now if he suddenly appeared – in the Tower, but a small thing called a demon had gotten in the way of that. _That_, and brutally murdering a person simply because he didn't wake up was viewed as perfectly fine by the Circle.

"I don't believe there is a threat to myself or Cíada." Wynne noted as the buildings, most of them small hovels and the occasional brick-house, grew closer. Without the staffs, we can go for simple enchanters, scholars or even members of the Chantry."

"People won't notice your mage-robes?" Daveth asked, slightly incredulous from the sound of it.

"You might be surprised how few common folks ever actually _see_ mages, Daveth."

"..fair 'nuff."

"J'zargo and I could remain outside the walls, in the tavern, then." Brelyna said, drawing an annoyed huff from her feline friend; "We will maintain a low profile and wait for the rest of you to come back."

Alistair glanced around, likely considering how likely this was to work, then nodded, and looked at the Bann; "Teagan, while you're going for the Landsmeet, the rest of us will take care of our tasks as they are. Hopefully the rain will continue, and we won't actually get caught and hanged. I mean, even evil bastards prefer being dry, right?"

"Says the bastard?" Cíada grinned through the rain dripping from her hood like a thin veil. Alistair glared at her, though there was really more of a 'how did _you_ know?' in it; "Wynne and I could take Genitivi, couldn't we? Leave you guys to your 'Warden' things?"

"Do either of you actually _know_ Arl Eamon, or the scholar?" the Warden asked as the group passed the first of the outlying hovels before the gates of Denerim itself.

"…ah. Nope." The elf admitted, trying to warm a hand in the opposite armpit. Considering every part of her was soaked, it didn't seem to work.

"Then you won't be going there alone." He decided, then added as if on a whim; "Actually, I think we'll only need maybe…oh, say, maybe four people for the other job. Leliana, you said you knew Genitivi?"

"I-I've wo-worke-worked with-" the redhead cut herself off with a sneeze that almost sent her horse panicking. Talia shook her head, though not enough that more water fell down: one would think the horse had become used to its rider's cold by now, sad as that was. Leliana had been nursing-slash-suffering from a cold since before they even started riding this morning; "…I've worked widd him _onss_ befoor inn personn."

"Bless you. But he knows your face?" he asked, face just a little scrounged in concern. Instead of speaking, the redhead merely nodded, trying her best to tug the roughspun hood closer and tighter around her neck, as if that would ward off the cold: the fabric was so drenched that water simply no longer had the space to penetrate it at this point. The wet, sticking material was more likely to worsen her cold than to warm her.

Talia would have liked to help the other girl, maybe with a small fireball she could have warmed her hands over, but at this close to the gates, she didn't dare it, and suspected Leliana would prefer security over comfort. It was a trait she'd noticed Leliana letting more and more show, maybe as a slip of character, or because she'd simply become more practically oriented because of their travels.

"This is then where we will depart." Teagan stated as they stopped within a few dozen meters of the impressive city gates. The noble looked at Brelyna and J'zargo, then dug into his pockets and fished out a fat coin-purse, which he threw to the Dunmer; "I would suggest you take a tavern removed a bit from the main road here. It should make the tavernkeep less likely to ask questions. Whatever he demands for a room, offer him double for his silence."

"J'zargo senses the Bann has done this before."

"…maybe a few times." The man admitted offhandedly; "Make sure you will be able to keep eyes on at least this gate. If at all possible, find some way of letting us know where you are when we're ready to leave."

Brelyna nodded and pocketed the pouch of gold. A thoughtful frown played across the Dunmer's face, whereafter she turned to Talia. The Breton straightened just a little in her saddle, and returned the look at her friend. Whatever Brelyna had considered, the Dunmer shook it off before simply regarding the black-feathered bird nestled on the back of Cíada's saddle.

"Morrigan could accompany us." Brelyna suggested, earning herself a yellow-eyed stare from the bird; "Your shapeshifting would allow you to keep track of everyone, would it not?"

A croak was her answer, but the bird's head bopped in confirmation shortly thereafter, whereafter it took off from the elven girl's saddle and took up a new rest on Brelyna's shoulder. Something which seemed to both confound and amuse the Dunmer, who then looked at the group;

"We should take your staffs, then." She said, earning herself nods; "We'll make sure they're safe in the meantime…and, maybe Sten as well?"

"What, you mean a bare-chested, scowling Qunari will draw attention?" Alistair feigned surprise, then nodded; "You're right, though."

When the arrangements and preparations were done – and Brelyna looked downright silly with three staffs on her back, strapped there with leather ties as her robes had not been designed for a staff – the group split, and Talia sent a last, worried glance at her departing friends, accompanied by a hulking Qunari. _Calm down. Morrigan is with them, she'll _eat_ anyone trying to cause trouble…so why does something feel completely wrong about this picture?_

She knew why, though. It was because every time she'd departed from her classmates since coming to Ferelden, someone had died. An irrationally paranoid part of her mind argued that this was a sign, and that someone new would be dead before she saw her friends again.

She banished such thoughts as they once again made for the gates, now without that which more than anything marked them as mages. Alistair and Aedan rode with Bann Teagan between them, as regular guards would, and Leliana and Daveth made up the rear, as household archers likely would. In the middle of the entourage, the four mages rode center with Jowan and Cíada behind. Between them and their archers, Bodahn and Sandal trailed along with their wagon – which somehow pulled itself. Talia suspected it was another form of magic unique to Thedas.

The gates of Denerim were even more imposing up close. Thick doors of heavy oak reinforced with grey iron could be swung shut and sealed again with a wrought-iron portcullis, while murder holes in the arched ceiling would allow defenders to pour everything from rock and burning pitch, to human waste on any attackers who managed to breach the portcullis and set to work on the inner gate itself. If the gate was anything to go by, Denerim was as much a fortress as it was a place of living.

Behind the first set of gates, Talia somehow wasn't all that surprised at finding a massive courtyard between them and the innermost gates. The main feature here was a pair of large, square towers hosting ballistae's atop each. Aside from that, the courtyard was derived of anything but flat cobblestones and braziers providing heat for the on-duty guards. Teagan, naturally, was allowed through the moment he used his name, little or no attention paid to his followers.

Inside, the group quietly parted ways, with Teagan setting out for the Royal Palace on his own. Talia would have been worried for the man, had he not already survived the undead siege on Redcliffe village and keep. Instead, she knew he would be fine on his own, especially since he'd been asked to come here to swear fealty, which meant any rivals and enemies still were undecided on his allegiances.

Hopefully.

* * *

"And this isn't going to bite us in the ass…why again? Aedan grumbled as he pressed himself through the window. Talia was undecided on whether to smirk at his obvious discomfort at having to break and enter into the Grey Warden compound – which only had one suitable entrance through a basement window – and frown because she'd just been through that same window. It was tight, inaccessible and cramped, and Talia very much doubted Daveth – who'd been the first through the window, since he'd been the one to get it open in the first place – had _not_ stolen a glance when she'd been hanging into the room.

"'Cause we're allowed to be here?" the archer-turned-lockpick replied with an easy grin as he looked around the corner, giving the sign for all clear; "'Sides, this is the last place anyone'd expect us ta be, maybe 'cept for the Palace."

"…right." The bulkier Warden did not sound sufficiently comforted by those words, so Talia just gave him a sweet little smile, something which seemed to have a far greater effect than any smiles Daveth could send him, for obvious reasons; "So, where're we going first?"

"…The Warden-Commander's office is closest to us." Daveth replied as he pointed out their assumed position on the map Alistair had given them; "See? We're here, so the office'd be…there."

Daveth turned out to be right, in that. The Warden-Commander's office – and it was easier thinking of it like that than 'Duncan's office' which really was what it was – was not very large, but rather large enough that it had the space needed to be functional, and not one inch more.

Talia found herself looking at a painting on the wall rather than anything else. It was a scenery depicting a towering, white-walled fortress in a stormy region, skies black in the background. Considering this had once been Duncan's office – now it was no one's – this painting was probably something of personal value to the old Warden. Had it been a gift, and if so, from who? _Gods…You've been dead for almost three months now, Duncan…what would you have done now? Are we doing what you'd have done?_

"Found it." Daveth's voice broke her thoughts off, and she turned to see him before an opened strongbox nestled into the wall. In his hands were a goblet similar to the one they'd used for the Joining, and a set of empty vials on a string, six in total; "Everything you'd need for a cozy Joining with the kids, eh?"

"You have a sick sense of humor, you know that?" Aedan asked, but delved into the strongbox himself while Daveth just nodded and grinned. Aedan came back up shortly after, holding a collection of documents and papers rolled into one tube; "That's all there is."

"Then the armory's the next stop, right?" Daveth was already halfway out the door when he asked. Aedan nodded, and Daveth smirked; "'Bout time, I've been itching to get into the uniform since Ostagar, you know?"

Talia gave Aedan a curious look that she made sure conveyed her question as to the whole 'uniform' matter. She had not known they were here for that, and if they were wanted _for being Grey Wardens_, wouldn't it be a less than intelligent notion to walk around in the uniform of said Order? The answer: yes. Yes, it would be _monumentally_ stupid to dress their purpose, but on the other hand…There was a certain amount of pride in going against reason for the sole purpose of declaring to the world 'Yes, we are still here!'which was likely the exact reason Alistair had for putting the armory on their list. Not because it was a good idea, but because for Alistair, the Grey Wardens represented the one thing they needed now, more than ever: _Hope_.

Though just how much use 'hope' would be against a city's entire garrison was beyond questionable. Then again, they were not supposed to _wear_ the uniforms inside the city's walls. Doing so would be dumber than even Morrigan would have the gall to call Alistair, because he could not be that stupid. And neither would they be.

The armory was locked with a heavy set of padlocks barring access. So naturally, Daveth got them in with little effort and barely a minute's of fiddling with a pair of lockpicks. It seemed like he'd been born with them for fingers, the way he used them. When they entered, Talia found herself somewhat…disappointed.

She had expected rows upon rows of Warden armor, swords and shields on racks and bows, spears and axes on display. Instead, the room was barely larger than the Hall of Attainment, and held two composite racks of assorted weapons with the walls holding suits of armor for diverse purposes. Some were clearly for heavy fighters, though others seemed barely armored at all, being robes for mages, obviously.

"Nice." Daveth was already at a suit of armor that reminded Talia a lot of what Duncan had worn, only less…used. It sported the blue and white colors of the Wardens, and had a single piece of armored chestplate with the griffon – whatever that _was_ – symbol at the center, as well as armored boots and forearms; "Hey, Aedan, that's you and Alistair's there then?"

He was pointing at the much heavier sets of armor. Talia kept her eyes on Aedan as he moved closer to the suit, standing on its own at the wall. The armor was made up of neatly interlocking plates of steel, with just a narrow gap of mail where the wearer would need to bend at the waist, followed by a pair of hip-covering sheets of metal, these also made of several pieces, protecting the legs from side-ways blows. The legs were three sets of steel – thigh, knee-joint and shin – followed by the heavy-set boots with a sharp tip on each. Only the front of the legs were plated, the rear was protected with mails of tightly knitted rings.

Each arm was protected from shoulder to elbow by a single sheet of thick steel wrapped around the arm, leaving just a small gap of relative vulnerability underneath. The forearm was protected with a vambrace similar to what Daveth's armor seemed to have, followed by gauntlets where scales ran along each finger to protect even the tip.

Aedan was holding the helmet in just one hand, using the other to open and close the visor. It was a single-piece visor that could be lifted up to allow the wearer food, better sight and non-impaired speech. When it came down, it was only a narrow gap that almost made up a V-shape when seen from the front, though the bend was almost completely horizontal. The rest of the head-piece was thick steel padded with leather and lambswool, making it probably more comfortable than the helmet Aedan had been using since Ostagar, a reinforced iron-hat that had kept his head_ safe_, but not much else.

This was clearly of a completely different standard, and it made Talia…happier, knowing Aedan was better served with this new set of armor. The way it was designed drew her mind to the fabled Ebony Warriors, except that steel would still succumb under an ebony blade.

It just was not optimal that the only piece of Warden Mage gear she'd seen so far was the robe that clearly did not bear its design with close quarters in mind. But then, she could compensate, somehow. Maybe strap the frontal plate from the armor Daveth had found onto her own robes for protection, as well as a symbol of being a Warden.

At least it'd be a start.

* * *

Bann Teagan left the Palace in a fit of smoldering anger.

He'd been asked to swear fealty to Loghain as the new – but temporary – regent of Ferelden. That, he had expected. He had also expected Anora to be there, to defend her father's actions to a certain degree. That, she had done.

He had not expected Loghain to be derisive, arrogant and even patronizing. Those, he had been.

The man Bann Teagan had known and respected for years, decades even, had become…this? Loghain Mac Tir had become something worse than Teagan had been able to expect, even fear. When he had knelt to swear fealty, when he had been about to utter those words, something had stopped him, and he had looked up in time to see a truly _cruel_ smile on the man's lips, and Anora standing beside him, staring into the distance as if she could not truly be bothered to even _look_ at her subjects.

How? How had this happened? When had the Hero of River Dane become…a villain? A true villain who would look upon the death of his king, of the Grey Wardens, and smile, knowing the throne would finally be his? Maker, and how had no one seen it come?

Had Cailan gone to his death, believing his father-in-law to be the same man who'd spent fortunes and scores of Ferelden's recourses on finding King Maric? The young king had known the Teyrn since childhood, hadn't he? Had he in those final moments on the battlefield realized the truth? Had he been able to look beyond the battle, and see Loghain abandon the field?

Or had he died, believing his general a good man? Teagan honestly was no longer sure which was worse at this point, and ground his teeth as he walked past the final pair of guards, ironically bearing the sigil of House Theirin upon their shields. He scowled and ignored the salutations assorted members of nobility sent him, unbeknownst to them that he had refused to swear fealty, and left the room when he'd realized _what_ he saw in Loghain's eyes.

He needed to find Alistair, and quickly.

* * *

Having followed the persistent crow, Talia was the first through the door to the small, inconspicuously looking tavern, followed by the rest of the group. At having met up with Alistair's party, Aedan had dumped the sack containing the disassembled suit of Warden armor meant for the Princeling in his hands, ignoring the Senior Warden's complains that it was heavy – Aedan had carried both Alistair's and his own all the way from the Compound himself. Talia had just smirked, feeling the much lighter weight of her own set in the bag.

She'd ended up taking the robes meant for a Warden mage, even though she knew the enchantments on it would likely be no good to her – if not even clash with her own magic – because he planned on having Sandal see if he could remove the enchantments bolstering Fade-bound magic at some point. Mainly, she had taken the robes for the fact that they sported Grey Warden colors, and as Alistair had pointed out what she had expected upon meeting up again, Warden mages were not bothered by the Chantry.

She was, however, still working out how to make it work having two sets of robes.

Inside the tavern, eyes and heads turned to look at them upon entrance, and Talia returned any direct examination of her with a burning glare. A few possessed the courage to linger for a few seconds under her eyes, but all eventually turned back to each his own business. Good.

The crow followed them inside, on Talia's shoulder, and pointed its beak in the proper directions, offering croaks of warning if someone tried to remark that animals – aside from Mabari – were not allowed inside. When they found the right room, Talia knocked on the door.

"W-who is it?" it was unmistakably Brelyna's voice, even muffled through the wood of a door as it was.

"It's us." Alistair said, quietly but firmly, from where he'd broken off the rather heated discussion with Bann Teagan – who'd rejoined them close to the gates, looking like a regular storm of emotions.

Brelyna obviously heard him, and the door creaked open, just in time for Talia's ears to pick up the sound of a dissipating weapon, likely the ethereal dagger Brelyna sometimes made use of. The room itself was not _small_, per se, but only barely held enough room for the group to sit. Not that they had time for that.

"What's going-"

"We need to leave Denerim." Teagan broke her off, his voice heated; "Now."

"W-what? Why?"

"Can't say here. We need to get well away from the city." The Bann replied, shuffling as he stood. Usually, Talia would have taken some amount of offense at people talking to her friends like this, but she knew enough about Teagan to know he was a pragmatic. If he said they needed to leave _now_, they should already have been underway.

"I'll get the horses ready." Brelyna offered as she grabbed the few of her things taken out. It was a book and a piece of bread and cheese. That was it.

"Daveth is already doing that." Alistair said, halting the Dunmer where she stood, though only for a short second; "Cíada and Leliana are helping him, and Bodahn and Sandal are ready. We just need you and J'zargo."

"We are in a hurry, yes?" the Khajiit mused as he stood from his chair; "J'zargo would assume danger, but smells no one coming."

"…right." Brelyna said evenly, swinging her satchel over her shoulders, then strode for the door. As Talia had been the first in, she was last down the stairs of the two-stories building, just in front of Brelyna and J'zargo. This, in her mind's idle corridors, just marked yet another tavern she had missed out on drinking in. Whether this was a bad habit, or some Divine's attempt at waning her off, she didn't know. Nor did she really care, not right now, at least.

Teagan was on his horse before she even emerged from the tavern, and Niko seemed to sense the duress effecting the group. He nickered quietly, irritated by the fuss. Sten had somehow found his way to the front door without anyone noticing him, and was waiting with his arms folded at the stable.

"We are fleeing." He noted.

"That's the gist of it." Alistair remarked dryly, adjusting himself in the saddle; "We might need to ride fast, can you keep up?"

"We should be taking this fight to the enemy, not run around like a headless chicken." The Qunari grumbled, though nodded first; "What purpose does this solve?"

"Not getting caught and tortured?" Daveth tried, kicking his mare into a trot.

"I do not fear torture."

"Well, the rest of us do." Aedan muttered as he held Niko's reins for Talia to have an easier time at getting up. She took them upon mounting, nodding a thanks to him; "and getting caught or killed would make it harder to kill the Archdemon later on, don't you think?"

"…point." Was all Sten offered, as he set into a steady jog. Surprisingly – or not, really – he seemed to have little trouble with keeping up the pace, even when the rest of the group rode their horses into trots. Teagan likely didn't dare asking them to gallop, not with so few of the group being experienced riders.

Troubled as Niko was by the ongoing stress, he seemed to calm down once offered a chance to leave behind the city, no longer impressive in Talia's eyes, but instead dangerous. If what few sentences Teagan had let slip meant what she believed them to…this was bad. Therefore, she bit down on the unease at riding a horse faster than she liked it, and simply hoped Niko wouldn't throw her off when she eventually panicked and kicked him too hard – which she knew was bound to happen at some point.

Yet it didn't, and the group stopped shortly thereafter, back at the windmill on the hill. Talia clapped Niko's neck, but didn't dismount as Bann Teagan did. The man panted, resting his hands on his knees as he bent over, looking for a moment as if he would throw up. He didn't, and eventually regained enough air to speak. Sten, who stopped just next to Talia's horse, didn't even seem winded.

"What happened?" Aedan was the first to ask.

"The- the Teyrn…Loghain, he…" Teagan shook his head, like he was trying to shake off a nightmare; "I never thought…"

"Did he try having you arrested?" Alistair demanded.

"No, but…his eyes. He…something was changed." Teagan managed then; "The man on the podium, he was not the same man I once knew. Something's changed."

"What do you mean 'changed'?" Brelyna asked, more hesitantly than the situation could have called for. Teagan stood and pulled back his hair, taking a deep breath before simply remounting his own horse;

"We need to get back to Redcliffe."

* * *

Compared to the ride _back_ to Redcliffe, the ride to Denerim had almost been placid. Teagan barely tolerated any breaks aside from the necessary sleep-stops they had to make, as well as allowing the horses water when the froth stood from them in fountains.

As such, when they finally slowed to a walk, Niko's gait was shaky, and his mane was drenched and glistering with sweat in the light of the setting sun. Talia was beyond the point where she couldn't feel her legs, and was now mostly relying on her hands to make sure she didn't fall out of the saddle when the horse moved beneath her. She was also fairly sure she'd need to go through some self-healing after this, if the sense of burning from her butt was any indication.

They were past the gates to the village itself, and in several places braziers were burning, providing illumination and heat for the patrolling guards. These people were simple villagers with clubs and swords, wanting anything but a repeat of the undead attacking their homes again. Talia could respect that, even if it meant they were challenged the moment their horses made a sound.

Teagan answered every challenge, and the party barely stopped before they finally dismounted in the castle's courtyard. Those who were used to riding, even just short distances, dismounted easily from their horses. Talia, who was anything but an experienced rider, couldn't even move her legs beyond wiggling her toes.

Aedan, being the sweet-heart he was – namely _hers_ – came up to help her down. Talia managed to pull one leg from the girdle on the left, then had to use her hands to swing it across Niko's back, until she could rest her legs in his grip. She could – despite how serious the situation was – still take some pleasure in how great an effort he took in being a proper gentleman, as he had no doubt been raised to be.

As such, she slid down from Niko's back, fully trusting Aedan to catch her, which he did, though she ended up more or less deliberately using his chest as a support. She couldn't really help the grin at his slightly flustered expression, though he smiled, so she knew it was likely just the newness of the situation to him as well.

"Got you." he huffed, though he didn't make a move to remove her from his chest. Talia smiled, both inwardly and for all the world to see if they cared, and planted a peck on his lips, just a short one. Then, she hardly knew how, before she'd done it;

"Knew you would." She said, and Aedan's hands tensed on her hip, like something was very, very wrong.

It took her several seconds of hearing his breathing stop to realize what had just happened. Fearing it had just been a product of her imagination, Talia hesitantly focused a conscious effort into the muscle she hadn't used since waking up that morning two days after fighting the demon. And she moved that muscle. And she felt her tongue rubbing first the roof of her mouth, then the back of her teeth.

"…Maker…" Aedan whispered, a smile growing on his face. One of his hands stayed on her hip, while the other lifted to cup her face.

Talia herself just blinked, repeatedly feeling around the insides of her mouth with the new, infant tongue that had somehow managed to grow back to full size without her even noticing it. Or maybe she had? The past three days of constant riding had made her heal herself every single hour, just to combat the pains the saddle caused her – had that been what did this?

"Talia? You can speak again?" Aedan asked quietly, sounding as if he was afraid of hoping against hope, as if he hadn't actually heard her just now, or simply did not believe his own ears. She slowly moved a hand up to her lips, parted them, and slipped a pair of fingers inside to feel for herself, with something she trusted. It was not intended to make Aedan react, but she didn't fail to notice that it _did_ affect him.

There. It was _there_. It was back, something she hadn't previously believed possible even with magic. And yet, _there_ _it was_. Her tongue was regrown. _Brelyna will never let me hear the end of this…_

"I think so…" she tried, still reeling from the fact that such a central part of her being had come back, and she hadn't even noticed it. And yet, reeling as she might, it also left her _very_ much happy that it had. Aedan's hand still held her cheek, and she placed her own on his, closing her eyes for a moment. This would be the first time she'd been able to speak for almost half a month, and the first time since they'd committed to a relationship; "And I meant it."

"W-what?" it was clear he didn't immediately understand what she was talking about. His smile did not vanish, though his expression did grow more confused. Talia solved that by kissing him once more, lingering just a few additional seconds on his lips before pulling back.

"On the wall, and in the corridor. I meant it." She said, finally able to answer with her own voice what he had asked, pleaded her to tell him back then.

It would have been difficult mistaking the expression on Aedan's face for anything but happiness. Talia realized idly that everyone else had gone inside, and that the stablehands had walked off with Niko, leaving them alone with each other. _Now is…well, I guess now is as good a time as any._

"Talia…" Aedan was visibly having trouble speaking, as if this was as much a punch in his stomach as had she physically punched him. Which she wouldn't do. But he was obviously feeling something new, now that she had verbally confirmed it.

"But, we…it won't work…" she bit her cheek and looked away, ashamed to look him in the eye when she spoke next; "It won't work long-term, and…I think you know that too, don't you?"

Aedan didn't say anything, though she could feel the muscles in his hand tighten under hers, against her cheek.

"As much as…as I'd like not to care about it, if your brother doesn't return, _you_ will be the heir to Highever, and…Shit, and you'll _have_ to marry another noble." She breathed, shakily, feeling her resolve falter. Shit, this wasn't how she'd wanted to celebrate regaining her speech; "No one in Thedas knows about Tamriel, which means no one knows about the Noble House Aulus, which means…we _can't_ be-"

She hadn't expected him to kiss her again.

Actually, this was the first time _he_ had kissed _her._ And it took her a few seconds to process that it was actually not just a figment of her imagination. It took her feeling his hands grasp around her shoulders, _him_ grabbing a hold of _her_, to realize what was going on.

She wasn't even sure this had ever happened before. Not a real kiss anyway. The servants had sometimes tried, and she had just waited for them to get to the point. Not this. And as soon as she realized this, she reciprocated his action, and grabbed for him as well, tip-toing to better reach him, while his hands cupped her chin and slightly lifted her upwards, tilting her head a little. _…Shit, this is _just_ like the books, and I _bet_ he knows that!_

But the way he kissed her now, like it was to sate a hunger, desperately, fiercely, was something else entirely. For the first time in years, Talia felt herself being drawn more than being the one to draw, and found herself wanting nothing more than to have Aedan carry her off to do wicked stuff to her body. Or to his. Whatever they might fancy.

When he finally let her go – and wasn't that an achievement in itself right there? For both of them – she realized just how badly she had missed this, kissing him. Maybe it was the fact that he was now the one to have started the kiss, she did not know. He was out of breath, clear by the way he panted, though the smile on his lips just made her want to reciprocate and start all over. _Sneaky bastard…stopped me by giving me what I wanted, not what I _needed_…sort of…damn it._

Neither said anything immediately, probably more out of surprise at the turn of events than awkwardness, though she could feel Aedan was currently asking himself if he'd succeeded in making her forget about the consequences of their involvement – could it be called love? – and she wasn't about to humor him in that. If he wanted the same as she did: being together, because she'd basically resigned to that eventuality at this point, he needed to get the cold, hard facts smacked in his face, and _then_ decide.

She set her face in serious folds, pointedly ignoring that footsteps could be heard drawing closer.

"Aedan…" she started, her voice lower than before. For reasons she could not fully comprehend herself, she wasn't yet ready for the others to know she had regained her speech.

"Are the two of you don' smooching yet?" it was Daveth, and he sounded annoyed at having been the one who had to return to the coldness of the courtyard to get their two remaining members; "Alistair's waiting, and the ol' Teyrna's there too."

The mention of Aedan mother meant Talia could forget about getting anything on the table – not that she wanted to, right now, not with Daveth within earshot – and she resigned to the fact that she might as well just follow the archer back inside. When Aedan glanced at her, she shook her head, hoping to convey that she wasn't ready to do a public speech just yet.

To his credit, he seemed to catch her meaning, and nodded.

"We're coming." He said instead, mainly directed at the huffing archer. Daveth might be Fereldan by birth, but he seemed as annoyed by the cold as she had been when first arriving in Skyrim. If there was _one_ good thing about High Rock, it was that even in the northernmost reaches of the province, you'd still be less likely to have a blizzard than you'd be in Whiterun.

Alistair, as well as everyone else bar Bodahn, Sandal and Connor, waited in the main office of Redcliffe Castle, which was where the Arl apparently did most of his work – when he wasn't sick, that was. Their Senior looked up when the trio entered, a slight frown marring his expression. Talia often wondered just how devastated he'd been left after Duncan's demise: it was pretty clear that the old Warden-Commander had served as something of a surrogate father for the Princeling. And from the short time Talia had traveled with Duncan, she'd understood why.

And still, she had probably seen less than a fraction of what Alistair had seen in the man.

"Good, you're here." He said, sending them both a somewhat tired look, but didn't say more – maybe because Eleanor Cousland was in the room was well, clad in a somewhat…_un_nobel outfit. It was a hard-sewn leather-suit, looking more like it was made to stop a blade than knitting in. and still, the old lady bore it with all the dignity a life in the nobility of Ferelden would demand. Talia found her respect for the noblewoman rose, just a notch.

Same with her trepidation for what the Teyrna's reaction would be when she eventually noticed the actual bond between her son and Talia. The Breton wasn't naïve: she'd guessed enough from her talks with Eleanor, Aedan and Alistair over the months, to realize that magic had no place in nobility. Much as Eleanor might like her, that would change when she found out the truth. That what was between them was more than mere friendship.

"So, we've got a lot on our plate." The Senior Warden started, gesturing at a map of Ferelden, splayed out over the massive desk; "Genitivi's apprentice told us he'd gone searching for a lead to the Sacred Ashes, and that he'd be staying, guess where?"

"…Redcliffe?" Aedan dared, earning himself a sardonic smile from his superior – and Alistair _was_ their superior, wasn't he? Usually he never actually emphasized on this, making it difficult to remember – followed by a headshake.

"Close, but not quite." He sighed, witty expression gone; "There's an inn in the very same village we stayed in when we were in Kinloch Hold. 'Princess' something, it's called. That's where he should be."

"You're _shitting_ me." she hadn't meant to speak up, but now she had, and Talia could only watch as the rest of the group stared at her in surprise. Really, it wasn't _that_ shocking, was it? They'd all known she'd be talking again sooner or later, hadn't they? Brelyna was the only person present simply looking pleased, not surprised.

"I…Well, glad to hear your voice again, Talia." Alistair said, quickly recovering from the surprise; "Somehow it doesn't really surprise me that your first line is a swear. Anyone else surprised?...no? Anyway, no, I'm quite serious…We need to head back, and hopefully _before_ Genitivi decides he's going to find nothing there and heads home."

"J'zargo suspects Sheogorath is laughing off his weird chairs right now…" the cat grumbled, clicking a claw repeatedly on the surface of the desk. Tak…Tak…Tak…Tak… Talia could somehow sense Teagan's nerves fraying at each impact, which was also painfully evident on the Bann's face.

"There is also the issue of Loghain." He said, drawing all eyes to him. Teagan looked years aged, just like when they'd first found him during the undead siege. His palms rested on the table, supporting the man as he stood; "Whatever has come over him, it puts Ferelden in even more danger than merely facing a Blight…"

"Did the Darkspawn just get one-upped?" Daveth quirked, earning himself a chastising glare from Wynne.

"With Loghain as he is now, I no longer think it a mystery how Rendon Howe achieved the position of Teyrn of Highever…" Talia could see Eleanor's face tighten, likely trying to conceal or control the swirling vortex of rage the Breton could see in her eyes; "…as well as Arl of Denerim. The general has gone mad, and Howe somehow managed to gain on it. As long as Loghain is in power, it is likely Ferelden will not muster any kind of further resistance against the Blight."

"Civil War it must be, then…" Eleanor scowled.

"…Yes, I fear that is our only option." Teagan sighed, then turned his eyes to the map, running his finger over Bannorns, Arlings and Holds Talia had yet to even hear about; "We will need a strong powerbase, if we are to be anymore than a strife. If we are too few, we will only achieve weakening Ferelden, dooming this nation..."

"Loghain will almost definitely have the Bannorns around Gwaren on his side, as well as the Arling of Amaranthine and the Bannorns beneath _that_. We need every House west of the Brecilian if we are to offer a meaningful opponent." Eleanor's voice was hard and firm, somehow making the woman seem even more powerful than she was. Talia had seen her stab a man in the spine, she _knew_ the Teyrna was indifferent to getting her hands dirty if need be. Still…

"And we don't even have the fucking mages…" she groaned, making Teagan mirror her almost immediately.

"…Yes, that was an unexpected setback." He agreed, rubbing his forehead hard enough to leave whitened marks. Slowly, he lowered his hand and looked first at Brelyna, then J'zargo and finally directly at Talia. Gods, she should have shut up. She _knew_ it'd been a bad idea to start talking, and yet, what had she done?`

"…what?" she finally caved under his stare.

"You are mages." He simply stated, not breaking his stare off. Which was slightly unnerving. Talia could suddenly feel her left eyebrow twitch, just a little, at his words.

"…yeeeeeeees?" she said, pinching her shoulder, lifting the dark-green robes up a bit. Just enough to emphasize that she _was_ wearing robes, a staff and everything standard for a mage. It was not as if she was _concealing_ her magic, was it?

"I've…heard that in your homeland, magic is far more common than here." He continued slowly, cautiously, setting Talia's mind in gears; "…would that mean that you have more mages than-"

"Much as I agree with your obvious request, Bann Teagan, I have to stop you right there." She held up a hand, much as it pained her. She knew he was going to ask if mages from her 'homeland' which in this case was the whole of Tamriel – they didn't exactly _know_ any more than that, except maybe Eleanor – but what Teagan didn't know was the circumstances surrounding that particular issue.

"You are aware of what I wanted to ask?" he lifted a brow. Talia suddenly became aware that everyone in the room was paying attention to them now. Just her and Teagan. She nodded, regardless.

"You want to know if there is the possibility of mages from High Rock, or even Tamriel as a whole, could assist us." She stated wearily, hands behind her back. So he couldn't see them wring in frustration. Teagan nodded slowly, likely processing her words; "There are…circumstances you would need to understand first, and then you can ask again."

"…being?"

"First, there is the fact that although my Father is technically the ruler of Bankorai, he does not have the leeway to just _dispatch_ an army of mages from our garrisons. Especially not for a trip across first a continent, then the Eastern Sea as well. Teleportation is _costly_. _Very_ costly. Not to mention it would considerably weaken his stance in comparison to the other kingdoms…" She paused, biting her cheek; "Furthermore, even_ if_ he sent mages by other means than teleportation, they'd have to cross…Arlai?"

"Orlais."

"Yes, that. Sea-vessels would need to go…I don't know, land in Orlais maybe…Airships _could_ cross the land, but they are ill-suited for travel across the oceans…Storms, and such." And she had no idea if Father ever even _would_ consider sending people. Pride, and such, was a delightful thing to inherit from one's parents, and Talia's wasn't from Mother.

And for some reason, the entire room was now staring at her like she'd pulled a dog out of her pockets. She wasn't even going to ask what the problem was, and instead waited for the question to be asked. Could Father send _soldiers_ instead? Warships? Why was mass teleportation so expensive? Then how had _they_ arrived in Ferelden?

"…Airships?" Alistair was the first to break the silence, and momentarily confused Talia with his question. It took her a full three seconds to realize that maybe airships was unique to Tamriel _because of the Dwemer! Dammit! I should have thought of that!_

"Platforms carried by hot-air balloons." She sighed, trying to brush off another impending explanation of how stuff worked. Really, it was not what she'd planned on spending her evening doing; "Simple science…But in short, much as I want to, _I_ cannot guarantee or make any sorts of promises about aid from my homeland."

"…I see." Teagan said, sighing. It was the type of sigh – a long blow of air from his nose – that signaled resignation to defeat; "Then…do you have a way of contacting him?"

Ah.

Bugger.

"…Not really, no…" she admitted, and felt incredibly _dumb _doing so. It should have been first on her list of things to demand of Father when he'd visited their camp, but she'd been too stuck-up and scorned to even consider asking for his help. She'd just wanted him gone, and now when they needed him, what had her pride earned her? A pair of red ears, that's what they'd earned her; "He's…actually the only one of us who can perform Spectral Apparition…"

"You mean your father can project an astral reflection of himself across distances?" Wynne was the first to speak, which was unexpected, but in hindsight not all that surprising. She was, after all, a mage. Also it was likely she knew more about magic than Talia had ever _heard_ about, and that Thedas happened to have its own version of Apparition. Talia was, however, glad that all eyes turned to the old mage for at least a few seconds, though Wynne seemed unperturbed by the sudden attention; "It is an old art, thought lost with the Arcane Warriors of the Elven Empire…Most would know it as Blinking."

"The name doesn't matter if we can't contact her dad." Alistair stepped in, looking from one mage to the younger; "Talia, I seem to remember your father being a little…_robe-ish_ when he apperated…"

"Apparited." She corrected him, though she was too tired to really care if he took notice. She wanted this done with, something to eat, and then she wanted to sleep for a week. There still remained parts of her thighs she lacked feeling in, after the ride to Oblivion they'd just been through. And now a Civil War, just because the Darkspawn themselves were starting to seem beatable.

"Right, that. When he did _that_, he looked like…well, like a mage."

"Which he _is_." Gods, hadn't she already explained this once already? Or maybe she hadn't. if it'd been brought up after Father's appearance, she'd most likely just brushed it off or insulted someone; "I thought that much was already clear."

"Right…" Alistair drew out the 'I', which was frankly rather annoying because it made him sound like he wasn't tired at all; "I meant he looked like…well, _more_ than just a mage."

"He's Arch Magister Omluard Aulus Geotien. King of Bankorai and member of the Council of Magisters in Daggerfall." She droned out, feeling like she was reading aloud from a book; "He is also one of the most powerful mages in Northern Tamriel. He is a political asshole, vegetarian and prefers his wine _after_ the meal, father of three children of which I am the second. His son will succeed him upon death, followed by myself and my sister, whom I haven't seen or spoken to in three years."

When she finished speaking, no one seemed keen on offering a reply. Talia scowled as she focused her eyes at Alistair and Teagan both, ignoring the baffled look on Arlessa Isolde's face – and why was _she_ even here?

"If that's all, can we please stop digging in my family's shit and instead come up with a plan for where we as Wardens, _supposedly neutral_ Wardens, go next?" she ground out, dumping herself back into the chair she'd stolen from the wall upon entry. She leaned back, resting her neck upon the chair's top and closed her eyes; "…I'm fucking _beat_, so forgive me if I sit, okay?"

"…of course. We're all tired." Alistair offered in an attempt at understanding. Which he wasn't doing all that well, though she was_ pointedly_ too tired to point that out to him at this moment. Food. Drink. Bed. It wasn't as if she was asking to be crowned queen of Ferelden, was it? "In that case, I suggest we wrap this up, as Talia pointed out. Since we cannot rely on Ferelden's Circle of Magi after the disaster there, we need Eamon awake. We also need to meet with the Dwarven King in Orzammar, and we need to find the Dalish clans."

"…for?" Cíada asked, making her presence known for the first time since Talia had entered the room; "I mean, even if we _find_ them, they'd probably rather sit in a tree and laugh while the Darkspawn kill us all, regardless if it'll kill 'em too."

"Which is why we have the documents binding them to their old oath." Alistair pointed out; "The Treaties require any and all Dalish Elves we can find to assist the Grey Wardens in stopping the Blight."

"Dalish can't read _shemlen _words, you know?" Cíada huffed; "Still…if it stops the Blight, I guess it's worth a shot."

"That's the spirit, right there." Daveth grinned, seemingly to spite how tired Talia was. She knew he knew she was tired. That had to be why he was in such a good mood. Bastard.

"Right…So, first things first. We head to Kinloch Hold and that weird little village that's not on the maps, hope we don't get jumped again on the way, find Genitivi, get whatever information he has, make our way back here, get some lunch, find the Ashes and cure Eamon…" he actually had to stop to catch his breath after that one, something Talia found immensely amusing, and just a little justified in that as well.

"In the meantime, I will see to finding out the whereabouts of the Dalish, and organize an opposition to Loghain's reign." Teagan concluded. Eleanor looked like she wanted to add something she as well could do, but simply breathed instead when she realized that all was seemingly concluded; "For now, I've arranged for you to have the same chambers as last you stayed here. Servants will bring food to them shortly. Well…I think we've done about all we can for tonight."

Talia did not hear the last part. She had fallen asleep in the chair.

* * *

**You know that kind of chapter that has a start that just doesn't want to make sense and demands to be re-written over and over and over? Well, the part leading up to the Warden compound - basically everywhere between the start and the Compound - just punched me in the face. Still, got it done. **

**Oh yeah, and Talia can speak again. Yay? Gotta admit, I actually did enjoy the parts where she had to get her message across to Aedan without being able to say a word.**

**I felt like the whole start of the Fereldan Civil War was rather...vague. I decided that Eleanor and Teagan might well be instigators of the whole thing after Teagan's visit to the Landsmeet.**

**I wonder...How many of you guys can guess where I'm going with Loghain's role in this?**


	28. Touring the Town

_Research Log 1# _

_First, I think I might have misspelled Minave's name in previous entries, but I find it too embarrassing to ask how to spell it, so this is basically guessing on my part. _

_Now. _

_I have started looking for viable locations for a laboratory. For obvious reasons I cannot have a Catfuck-experimenting…Gatok…Explosive powder producing facility in the middle of Haven, which is why I believe I might move to somewhere closer to the lake. _

_Will also need to find suitable ingredients for this. Will ask Cassandra if she knows what…_he_ used in Kirkwall. _

_The Conclave is still gathering. Arkay's Arse, people keep coming every single day. Mages, Templars, scribes, priests, scholars who want to witness history, victims of the conflict, victims' families, notars, clerks, businessmen, bakers, farmers, pilgrims…If they don't start that meeting soon, Haven's going to be paved with sleeping rolls and poop._

_And yet, it feels…good, to be here. To witness this happening. I just wish Aedan was here. _

_Fredas 14__th__, Evening Star, 9:40 Dragon. _

* * *

**Touring the Town**

* * *

She awoke when someone dumped her – even if it was probably meant to be gently – on a bed, probably her own. She refrained from opening her eyes, but could hear some sort of conversation was taking place a few yards away – which meant it was probably on the other side of her closed door – yet the words were muffled beyond comprehension.

A chair was put down next to her bed – she remembered the only chair in the room was a padded, wooden stool by the small desk and mirror at the far wall – gently enough that she suspected the intent was not to wake her, but maybe rather to observe. Which was sort of creepy, if it was some random servant. She was way beyond dealing with creepy servants at this point, really. She also figured Aedan wouldn't be trying to creep her out like this, all silent and sneaky.

Hence, before she even opened her eyes, she forced open a bridge and allowed Two-Sock entry into the material plane. She was still lying down, covers over her chest when she heard the muffled gasp from next to her bed, though the ensuing growling did not come.

Instead it was the sound of her Familiar lolling his tongue, panting with delight.

Feeling more curious than was probably healthy, she sat up in the bed and opened her eyes. Finding Eleanor Cousland in her bedchamber was…unexpected, and somewhat unwanted, seeing how the Cousland matriarch might have a specific reason for being here, and nobility rarely did something unexpected without _good_ reasons.

"My apologies, I did not mean to wake you." Eleanor spoke softly as she ran her fingers through the ethereal wolf's jaw, offering the Familiar scratches as if he were a regular hound or pet dog. The sight made Talia's jaw tense – not because she did not like others cooing her Familiar, but because the sight reminded her of Oren, Aedan's little nephew – but she made an effort to relax her expression; "Two-Sock is…a rather remarkable creature."

She wasn't sure what to say now. Should she offer that no harm was done by waking her – and what time was this even, she wasn't entirely certain – or agree that Two-Sock indeed _was_ rather remarkable, as the Teyrna put it.

The room was dark aside from the light seeping in from gaps above and below the door, and Eleanor was barely visible beyond a silhouette against it. And yet, Talia found she could see every detail in the older woman's face. It was weird, but maybe this was simply another aspect of becoming a Grey Warden. It was likely that the potion worked differently on minds not bound to the Fade, which was in a way supported by the fact that Alistair seemed to think it rather unique that Talia had not experienced nightmares.

Nightmares.

It was all about _nightmares_ these days, wasn't it? If she went to Highever, nightmares happened. If she went to Redcliffe, nightmares happened as well. When they went to Kinloch, nightmares had dragged them all into the Fade. Again. What was her life these days, if not nightmares in a long stream, broken off eventually by the ray of light that was her companions, friends and…loved ones?

Shit, she still had to talk to Aedan about that one. _At length_, this time. And she'd do it in a way he couldn't interrupt.

Though she _did_ like his way of interrupting.

"I would like to…ask you something, if you would humor an old woman?" Eleanor started again, letting the Familiar go with a begging whine. That wolf was _such_ a puppy sometimes, it really beggared belief that he could tear out throats faster than people could clap their hands.

Talia adjusted her seat and pulled the covers a bit higher around her shoulders. She wasn't sure _why_ – she was still wearing everything but the boots and gauntlets she'd taken from the compound in Denerim – but Eleanor's soft tone made her feel slightly more self-conscious, somehow.

"Always, Lady Teyrna." She replied, firmer than she really wanted to sound. Almost _defensively_, and she was sure Eleanor picked up on it as well.

"Last we spoke, you told me Aedan was a good friend to you." Eleanor started. _Oh shit, here it comes. She knows, and she's going to have my innards hung on the walls or…something. _

"Yes, I did." She replied, keeping her voice level as the Familiar climbed into the bed and dumped himself over her covered feet. Talia's hand idly went to his ears, just to have something to do.

For a long pause, the Teyrna did not speak, but rather seemed to regard Talia in the light from Two-Sock's form, seeing as the wolf was fully ethereal now.

"…has that changed?"

Three simple words, forming a simple question with a simple answer: 'yes'. But simple as the answer was, it was also incredibly hard to answer, because Talia wasn't sure how the Teyrna would react, and wasn't sure if she could convince herself it really hadn't. Or that it had. Either way, her feelings were a mess right now, and being asked about her relationship to Aedan was nigh about the worst timed thing she could imagine.

"…Why…do you ask?" Gods beyond, that was just _stupid_! Eleanor could ask and claim so for any number of reasons! By asking _why_ she wanted to know, Talia had probably made the Teyrna even _more_ suspicious, and just overall suspicious if she hadn't already been. _Fuck!_

"The sunset from the Arl's office is very beautiful these weeks, did you know that?" the question was about as unexpected as had Eleanor asked Talia how many men she had bedded. And it left her with the same gaping expression, one of utter confusion. Yet the Teyrna's expression remained mild.

"I…did not?"

"…The best view is actually offered by the window towards the courtyard." Eleanor continued, and Talia nearly kicked her Familiar in the non-existent ribs when she realized what the Teyrna was saying. _The sun was setting when Aedan kissed me - We were in the courtyard - Office window faces courtyard - Craaaaaaaaap…_

"…I don't…know what to say, really…'Sorry for kissing your son?'" she tried, feeling incredibly squeamish as she spoke the question. Really the question should have ended with a 'when he kissed me first?' but she couldn't get herself to say that. Her own House was non-existent here, Aedan's wasn't. If someone's name had to be sullied, let it be the one with nothing to lose.

Gods, he'd really done it now. Aedan was guilt-tripping her without even _being_ around. Or maybe it was something else but 'guilt-tripping' but if it was, she wasn't sure what.

Once more, a long while went by where Eleanor did not speak, but rather sat in contemplative silence, legs straight. Why was she noticing the Teyrna's legs? _Because straight means business. Shit…_

"Aedan has been taken to you since he met you in Highever." Eleanor said, startling the Breton with the sheer unexpectedness of the question that followed; "Did you know that?"

"…sort of?" Talia said, but instantly regretted her words and continued before the Teyrna would get the wrong impression, if she hadn't already; "Look, I _know_ what's at risk."

"…you do?" Eleanor's voice was honestly surprised, which made Talia blink in confusion. Hadn't this been the intention of the Teyrna's visit?

"Our…relationship…" Shit, it felt so weird to say it like that, and yet she'd use that same word again if she'd been asked twice; "…I know what could happen if I stayed with your son. If Ferg- Aedan's brother does not turn up alive, Aedan would be the heir to Highever, and with me around, that would be jeopardized by the Chantry's view on mages…I think."

"That was…not what I was steering towards…" Eleanor admitted, though she for some reason sounded almost amused. Whether that was at Talia's expense or not, she could not tell; "I suppose it was only to be expected, I just imaged the other Wardens had told you first…"

"Oh gods, please don't tell me there's some sort of death penalty for Wardens being romantically involved- I mean, kissing or- …_shit_, I'm not really doing a good job of saving face, am I?" Talia huffed and kneed herself in the face where she sat, staring at the bedcovers and her own abdomen; "Sorry, I'm usually much more aware of what I'm saying when speaking to nobility…I'm not used to being so…_messed up._"

"Talia…" Eleanor's tone made her pause and look at the Teyrna, waiting for her next words with baited breath; "Wardens are not only politically neutral, as you yourself pointed out in the office before…you also cannot inherit titles or rule lands…It is what has ensured your neutrality for centuries."

"…Oh." Talia first instinct was to smack herself in the face, but that would likely make the Teyrna wonder what was wrong with her. Instead, she simply stared at the older woman, which in hindsight maybe wasn't all that normal either.

Wardens could not inherit titles or rule lands.

One sentence that basically solved every objection she'd had towards committing to a relationship with Aedan – every _sensible _objection, anyway – but at the same time presented a _major_ problem for Alistair. Did he _know_? And if he did, what was the whole thing then, what with the plans for him to become king of Ferelden?

"I take it from your surprise that you truly did not know?"

"…No, I was not aware of that…" Talia faltered, unsure of what to say, then found her tongue again and continued; "…if…if that wasn't what you were steering towards, my Lady, then…what was?"

"Did you not earlier describe your father as being a king?" Oh bugger, this was way worse than Talia had feared. Mainly because there was a _very_ broad definition of the word 'king' these days, and Bankorai wasn't exactly that much larger than the Teyrnir of Highever was…on the map, at least. Maybe Highever also expanded across the inland sea between Ferelden and…was it Rivain or the Free Marches?

"…Yes, ruler of Bankorai, one of the five smaller kingdoms making up High Rock as a whole." Well, if Eleanor wanted the full explanation, she would be getting it. Better to lay everything out, than to be called on a lie of omission. Basically the total reverse of Imperial Court; "But in terms of power, he is little more than a Teyrn, and nowhere near the power of Ferelden's king. Bankorai is…_smaller_, than Ferelden. It is actually only a little bigger than the Teyrnir of Highever, but rich because of our timber, skin and fur."

"And, what would you do if your father called you back to Bankorai?"

"Stay here." Talia's response was firm and quickly delivered, mainly because she knew it was the truth; "I am a Grey Warden, my purpose is to serve the Grey Wardens and in turn your nation, even if I disagree with many of your laws and customs."

"And is that the _only_ reason you would remain?" Eleanor's voice held some amount of…something. Talia wasn't quite certain _what_, but knew it was less threatening than before, if before even _had_ been threatening; "It is a noble cause, I agree."

"My Lady, I…I don't feel like beating around the bush." Talia breathed, heaved and looked straight at the Teyrna; "I feel as if you want confirmation, maybe for my intentions with your son."

"…I…suppose I do, at that." Eleanor admitted, which put Talia in the once more reversed position of taking on yet another role so often imaged only fit for men; "Talia, I like you. Fergus knew more women than Oriana, yet she was the first I approved of. Aedan has never…_known_ a woman before you."

"I cannot read Aedan's mind."

"I am his mother, leave that part to me. I am asking _you_, not him." The edge to Eleanor's voice became more of a mild chuckle; "And thank the Maker for that. I suspect he would redden to tips of his fingers if I did."

"I know, he's done that more than once while I've known him." The girl grinned at the memories of Aedan getting flustered beyond measure whenever she made a move or advanced upon him, like at the campfire that one night after the Tower; "I don't know if I _love_ him, he's…I suppose I don't really know _what_ love is like any more than he does…but I care deeply for him. He is more than a friend to me, that much I _do_ know. I tried to…tell him earlier, in the courtyard…"

"You didn't, I assume?"

"I didn't realize my speech was returned until I replied to something he said…between that and him kissing me out of nowhere, I…didn't really know how to go about it." She felt foolish and stupid for admitting this to Aedan's mother, of all people, but she could hardly remain silent in the face of direct questioning, now could she? Bugger all, because that'd really been _so_ much easier if she could; "…does this mean you want me to stay away from him, or…?"

But the Teyrna was already rising from the chair, one hand reaching for the door when she turned her head to look down at Talia, who was currently contemplating whether or not she was supposed to get out of bed to follow her.

"Sleep well, Talia. I will see you tomorrow." Eleanor's voice was lowered when she opened the door, and Talia was left blinking in befuddlement as the Teyrna left the room, and the door closed quietly behind her.

Well…shit. How was she supposed to fall asleep _now_?

* * *

Sleep _did_ come eventually, though it was filled with images and frustrations concerning the Blight, Loghain and Aedan, as well as both her parents and his – Bryce Cousland holding onto his bleeding side – discussing the most inane of matters, then started raining down accusations on her. The dream turned into a nightmare when Aedan's and Alistair's heads came off, replaced with the heads of Howe and Loghain, both wearing malicious sneers.

It was mildly disturbing, to say the least.

When she woke, the sun was still not yet up, but sleep no longer held any temptations for her, and as such, she got dressed, left her staff behind and grabbed the sack containing her Warden robes and chest-piece and left the room. She'd gotten something of a better look at Redcliffe's interior the last time she was here, and as such she could find her way to the kitchens – though it still took some exploring to find the right staircases, not to mention asking a tired, sleep-deprived guard for directions – grab a roll of sausages, a loaf of bread and a lump of cheese. The cheese and bread got stuffed inside her satchel while she decided to eat the sausages as she walked.

She left the castle and drawbridge behind as she headed for the village, not entirely sure what she intended on doing down there. Most of the village was still fast asleep, maybe with the exception of the fishermen headed out for the day's catch. Talia was greeted by the few that recognized her with the hood up and staff missing, and…it felt good.

She'd always been greeted by the commoners of Evermor and Bankorai in general, but that had been simple folk, greeting their lady.

These were villagers greeting one of their saviors.

The difference did not fail to leave her with a smile, one she didn't bother trying to hide as she wandered the village in the early dawn. Redcliffe was already rebuilding from the undead attacks, with the last of the bodies having been burned, sermons were now still being held for the dead, and extinguished candles stood near the lake, on the piers and the wave-breakers. There had apparently been some sort of vigil for the dead, one Talia could feel the importance of, just from looking at the halfway burned down wax-candles. The numbers alone betrayed the fact that each candle likely symbolized a deceased.

There were _a lot_ of candles.

She wasn't quite aware of how long she had been standing at the shore, looking at the candles, before she realized someone had approached her. The individual didn't immediately speak, so Talia assumed it might simply be some villager wanting to see her up close. As such, she simply remained where she was, trying to count the candles on the piers, idly realizing that the sun was rising.

"There are one-hundred and seven." The first thing Talia noticed about the woman was not her gender, but that her accent was very much alike that of Leliana's. Talia turned her head halfway to the left as the woman slowly walked up next to her; "They are for the dead of both sides, the risen and the killed alike."

She had a very soft, brown skin-tone, though only her face was visibly framed by the white Chantry-robes and headpiece she wore. Talia's eyebrows followed her eyes as they went up, trying to follow the odd hat. She hadn't seen that on the Chantry people neither at Ostagar or in Lothering. Had Leliana worn this usually? She for some reason could not determine the woman's age just from looking at her, which was odd because it was something she usually had little difficulty doing.

"I figured as much…" she replied, trying to figure out if this woman was trying to spark a conversation – and in turn a conversion – or if she'd simply sensed the Breton's unspoken question.

"Forgive me for asking, but you are one of the Wardens, yes?" the priestess asked, cementing the fact that a conversation _was_ on her agenda. Bugger, but at least she was polite. Talia nodded, remaining faced towards the candles with all but her face.

"I am, yes." She simply answered, reluctant to offer her name to a member of the Chantry. Despite Leliana's multiple assurances that the Chantry was good and noble, Talia did not thrust them. But it was not her place to question their misguided faith, nor to attempt a conversion. If the Divines grew angry at the people of Thedas, let that be their case, not hers; "You are with the Chantry of Redcliffe?"

"I am Sister Giselle, yes." The woman replied with a thoughtful smile on her lips. She was attractive, that much Talia wouldn't deny, even in the face of her being Chantry. Her features were kind and intelligent, reminding her rather much of Mother, except for the skin-tone, that was. Maybe this was what made Talia's resolve crack, just a little.

"Warden Talia Aulus." She figured she might as well let that much slip. No harm done in an exchange of names, far as she saw it. Giselle raised a brow, just slightly.

"Your accent is…familiar. Orlesian, yes, but I find I cannot place the region." The Sister mused; "I myself was born in Emprise de Lion. You?"

Oh boy. Was this where she was supposed to just name the one place in Orlais she actually knew of, or tell the truth? Maybe a compromise? A truth, but one of omission?

"Bankorai." She simply said. Giselle's expression shifted to one of contemplation, likely trying to place the town, city or region in some sort of mental map. She evidently came up blank.

"I…do not know this place, I am afraid." She admitted, though with not a trace of suspicion in her voice; "Is this near the northern border?"

"It's actually about as far west as you can get." Talia said sounding – or trying to make it sound - as if it was a simple matter; "It's a very small region, near the ocean."

"…Of course. Forgive me, my geographical knowledge still seems to be somewhat…lacking, even when it comes to my own country of birth." Talia merely nodded, turning her eyes back to the lake. As it was now, calm, blue and serene, it was hard to imagine the dead crawling from its waters; "How do you find Ferelden?"

Talia blinked quite a few times; "…how do I…_find it_?"

"Myself, I quite enjoy the more informal way of life here." Giselle explained, still looking at the candles as well. Talia wasn't quite sure if there was supposed to be some sort of Orlesian understanding here, because she wasn't really sure what to answer; "I never did quite like the masks."

"…I…_like_ Ferelden, maybe minus the whole Darkspawn thing?" she tried, brows simultaneously furrowed and raised, unwittingly scrounging her nose slightly upwards. A single bell started ringing in the background, most likely from the Chantry – Talia had noticed they seemed to carry a bell tower no matter what town or village they visited, she'd even seen one in Denerim's market, just outside the Chantry there, though _that_ one had hung in a robe from a stand – and she turned her head just a little to better hear the sound; "…I don't know, I haven't really seen it without the Blight hanging overhead, you know?"

"The life of a Grey Warden is…rarely one of peace." The Sister nodded slowly, gradually turning towards the sound of the still ringing bell; "I need to go now, I'm afraid. But, if I can offer you a word of solace…?"

"Yeah?" it was unexpected, the offer made by the Sister, but Talia found herself actually curious to hear what she had to say, and with the chaos currently threatening to swallow Ferelden, maybe words of solace were very much needed. Giselle smiled at the acceptance, maybe. Or maybe it was something else she was smiling at, Talia did not know.

"Have faith." The Sister simply said first, making Talia wonder if that was all she had to say, then continued; "For the one who repents, who has faith – unshaken by the darkness of this world, she shall know true peace."

Talia was left blinking, eyes turned at the departing woman's back as Giselle headed for the Chantry. She mulled over Giselle's words, trying to figure out if the Sister knew her better than she'd given her the impression of. It was somewhat disconcerting how the words seemed to nail down what Talia's mind was on these days. '_For the one who repents, who has faith – unshaken by the darkness of this world, she shall know true peace?' What does she mean by that? _

She had done her share of repenting, especially after what happened both in Kinloch and Highever. Faith…had Giselle meant the Maker, or had she actually known of Talia's true devotions? Regardless of which, the remainder of the woman's words had seemed to indicate a knowledge of Talia's desires: peace. The 'Darkness of this world' was obviously the Darkspawn, and as a Grey Warden, it was her duty to never be frightened of those particular creeps.

She nevertheless remained at the lakeshore, staring numbly at the lapping waves until enough people emerged – many of the greeting her – and she realized that the sun had risen above the far mountains. It was good she had snatched food from the kitchens, as with this pace, she would not make it back to the castle in time for breakfast.

She had started walking from the piers when a child grabbed her sleeve, and she stopped, uncertain of what to do. She nevertheless looked down, staring into a pair of bright, blue eyes, halfway hidden beneath messy, brown hair.

"Yes?" she wasn't sure _how_ to address obviously distressed children. She could deal with regular ones, provided Two-Sock was there to soak attention, but as it was, he was more likely to cause a panic here than comfort children. Ghostly wolves and undead could be seen as two sides of the same coin, especially in Redcliffe.

The little girl held onto her sleeve with one hand, clutching on like the fabric was her mother's hand, and pointed at the pier with the other. Talia followed the hand, and nearly ripped her own from the girl's grip just to smack herself in the forehead.

"Miss Warden, you forgot your bag!" the kid exclaimed, trying to pull Talia towards said piece of gear. The Breton groaned inwardly, but outwardly simply smiled to the girl.

"Thanks, it'd have been very bad to forget it." She grabbed the sack and hoisted it back onto her shoulders, slowly realizing just why she'd brought it. Still, she dug into her satchel and came back out with a golden Septim, which she gave to the girl; "Here."

"…_Wauw_! A _gold_?!" she held the coin up, practically jumping on the spot when the sun was reflected off its surface. Talia didn't regret letting a Septim go, considering its weight in her satchel, and the fact that no one seemed particularly keen on taking them in shops; "Is this a Nevarran coin?"

"…Nevarran?" Talia paused at the words. Nevarran. Nevarra, was that not one of the central kingdoms of Thedas? She wasn't quite sure why the girl would assume she had currency from there, of all places.

"Yeah, because of the _Dragon_ on it, right?" the girl continued to beam at her, looking like a puppy that had just been praised in particularly high tones; "Mother Hannah taught us about coins from different parts of the world, and said Nevarra's got dragons on their coins…I don't know the man though, is he the Nevarran king?"

"That's right, he is." Seeing as no one in Ferelden – or Thedas for that matter – could read Imperial Common, Talia supposed she could as well play along and label the coin Nevarran. It made the girl happy, and that was, oddly as it was, enough for her; "Alright, I need to head back to my Warden duties now, okay?"

"Okay!" the smile the kid sent her lacked a few teeth.

"Stay on the look-out for Darkspawn and mean boys, okay?" was she enjoying this reverence too much? Probably, but it was _fun_ to suddenly have people looking up to her like this. The girl snapped to a salute, hand over her heart in a clenched fist.

"Yes Warden Ma'am!"

As the girl ran away, clenching the Septim in her little hand, Talia shook her head, a soft and amused smile spreading on her lips. Kids, they truly were marvelous little creatures.

Still, she needed to get a move on, and Owen's smithy was just across the small plaza paved with cobblestones and dirt. Most of the villagers had risen and emerged from their homes in the time Talia had been at the piers, and she received enough greetings as she walked that Owen already knew she was there before she got a chance to knock on his door.

"Looking tired, Warden." It wasn't exactly what she had expected him to say, but then again, he looked a lot worse, so if push came to shove, she could mention he looked like shit and be done with it. He was covered in soot everywhere not covered with clothes, and a thick apron decorated much of his front. From inside his house came the sound of hammers on metal, and Talia had to blink moisture back into her eyes when the heat of a furnace came billowing out as a wave of shimmering air.

"Looking dirty, Blacksmith." She replied, which somehow made the man crack a smile, the white-and-yellow teeth bright against his blackened face. She cocked her head just a little, to make her confusion at his amusement show without actually asking.

"Ain't a blacksmith no more, thanks to the undead and you guys." He waved her inside, but left the door open, for which she was grateful. Inside was a hellish heat, as well as a pair of young boys pushing bellows at a furnace dominating the center of the room. Both were clad just in smalls, illuminated by the smoldering embers and blossoming flames of the furnace itself.

"…I'm…sorry you got fired?"

"_Fired_?!" he actually laughed now, prompting the boys to shift their attention from the bellows to the newcomer; "Boys, keep working, didn't say anything 'bout a break yet…No, Castle's smith died in the chaos, and suddenly Bann Teagan shows up here, in _my home_, offering me the job. I'm now officially Castle Smith of Redcliffe Castle, just waiting for the facilities to be repaired up'n the new place while we keep working here."

"Damn…Well, congratulations are in order, I guess?" this was definitely not what she had expected to walk in on, but as long as he would take her order, she could hardly care if he was made King of Ferelden. Owen waved it off, wiping his forehead with the other arm.

"Ain't nothing to it." He replied simply, looking at her sack; "You Wardens did right by me and my daughter. I owe you more than I can ever repay you, though don't come askin' for coin now, don't have none but for materials'n paying the boys."

"I wanted to ask a favor, you know, if you're not too busy?" she hoisted the sack off her shoulder and dumped it – gently as she could – on the floor. The metallic parts clanked against each other, somewhat muffled by the cloth and robes. Owen looked at it with a cocked brow, arms crossed before his chest. When he nodded, she opened the sack and pulled out first the blue-patterned robes, then the chest-piece and placed it neatly on top of the pile; "I wonder if-"

"You want me to get some proper armor on this thing?" he cut her off, but seeing as he was _right_, she didn't object, but merely nodded; "I could do that…_Or_…"

Talia crossed her own arms, raising a brow as she looked at the blacksmith. Owen held up the chest-piece, clearly admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into making it.

"…Or?" she pressed, ignoring the curious gazes from the two sweaty boys at the furnace.

"I've heard about how you fight." He dropped the piece back down onto the pile; "Can't use magical buffs, right?"

"…how did you hear _that_?" she was not prepared for him to know that. It didn't even matter if he knew the fundamental details, he knew she couldn't use _their_ magical buffs; "Never mind…Yes, that's right, what about it?"

"I was just thinking, since you can obviously use whatever stuff's on your current outfit…I could fit it on that?" Owen poked her in the chest with the armored piece; "Can fit this here on right now, and some more whenever you've got somethin' spare to use while I'm working?"

Talia was slightly baffled, most of all because she herself hadn't even considered that. But Owen was right, actually, in his suggestion. If he could improve what she was wearing right now, _right now_, she was not about to tell him 'no'.

"…And…what's that gonna cost me?" she felt like she _had_ to ask, even if Owen might name some absurd price.

"Not a thing."

"…not a thing? Nothing?"

"You Wardens saved my life, the life of my daughter and even brought along my promotion." Owen grinned as he pulled a rod of red-hot iron from the embers. He looked it over briefly before taking a hammer to it on the anvil. After Talia simply watched him hammer it four times and took it back into the embers, the smith let it go and turned back to her; "It would be wrong to ask coin of you, and we could get your robes outfitted with some proper protection right now, if you'd stop doubting me honesty."

"…Right, right, didn't mean to…Right…" at this point she just shrugged and threw her hands out in defeat. Owen raised a brow, though more in amusement than victory. He picked up the chest-piece again and gestured for her to follow him. She did so, and stopped when he placed the armor on a table and took out a set of measurers. Talia eyed them skeptically, having not been measured for armor before. The only times she'd been previously measured were for fancy dresses, and that had been by women; "…what are those for?"

"Gotta know yer size, don't I?" he replied evenly as he set to work; "This thing goes on yer chest only, not yer back – I can fix that later if you want – so I'll put straps over yer shoulders, here, and around yer waist, hold out yer arms?"

She didn't really bother complaining at his methods at this point, and simply obeyed. Owen took her measures in silence, the only sound made when he mumbled the numbers to himself.

For some reason, it brought to mind her mother when she'd been helping her into a dress for Talia's first ball. That the ball itself had been a hellish exercise in trying to stand half a hundred nobles who thought the each and every one of their buttholes was a connection to Atherius, and life was all about trying to make others get a closer look of yours.

"Right, that'd do it." He said, breaking off her less-than fond memories of home and its ceremonies. Talia took her arms and down and shook some blood back into them while the smith turned the measurements into appropriate lengths for leather-straps; "You know, whoever made this, he bloody well knew his stuff."

"Grey Wardens get the best, I guess…"

"That they do, and need." Owen agreed. Talia was about to reply with a shrug when she felt a heavy weight on her shoulders, and the steel chest-piece clamped down over her chest, cutting her off; "Hold still, I'll just get this here adjusted…"_ OW! Tight, tight, tight!_

"Maybe… a little _tight_?"

"Right, yeah it needs to be. Believe me, you'd rather want tight than rattling around when you're fighting…Just loosen it a bit…There, how's it feel?" Owen stepped back and seemed to admire his work, straps of leather that they were. Talia rolled her shoulders and tried moving around, leaning left and right.

"Not…" she paused and rapped her knuckles on the steel plate, feeling a bit of vibration through the underlying padding of the chest-piece. The griffon-symbol was just a few inches thicker than the rest of the piece, but seemed made from another material, giving off a brighter glow. It fit tightly, but not uncomfortably so, actually; "…bad, really."

"Good." He wiped his hands on the apron, though dirty as it already was, his hands came off equally dirty; "Next time you come back, maybe I'll be up'n the castle."

"And…if I bring you more Warden stuff?"

"_More_ Warden stuff?" Owen raised a brow, looking at her like he was attempting to discern if she was pulling his leg. When he decided she _wasn't_, he nodded; "Aye, I'd armor you up to the point you could pass for a Chevalier. Without the haughty accent, if ye please."

"I think I could pass on the whole 'knight' thing, but I'd love whatever more you'd be willing to strap onto me for free."

"I could strap a small note onto ye, saying 'made in Redcliffe'?" the blacksmith grinned, his teeth eerily bright against his soot-blackened face; "Maybe the Arl could get me more assistants even, set up production for your Order?"

"Hey, best of luck with that, but I think I'll pass on the monopoly-issue, if you don't mind." Despite it all, she gave the smith a bright grin and stuffed the Warden-robes back into the sack; "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Castle Smith Owen."

"Like the sound of it, don't ye?" he grinned, walking her out of the building. Outside, she hoisted the sack back over her shoulders; "Do spread my good name though, won't get plow-repairs when I'm up'n the castle. I'm leaving that to Thomas, you know. Kid lost a foot in the onslaught – he's good now, sort of – so he can't really run much around anymore. Me, my business will come from the soldiers, from now on."

"Will do. Thank you, Owen." She rapped the chest-piece for good measure, feeling somehow more confident now with it on. The smith nodded in farewell, and turned back inside. Talia suddenly wished she'd taken a back-piece as well when they'd been in Denerim, but…there was nothing to be done about that now.

At least now robe-gashes above the waist would hopefully be a thing of the past, and the steel was light enough that she didn't feel encumbered by its weight. She still had her steel-clad boots, shin guards and steel vambraces. _I can do this shit._

And at that moment, she actually believed her own brain.

"So…enjoying the scenery?" a cautiously chipper voice came from her left. Talia turned, realizing Brelyna was walking away from one of the Chantry Sisters. The Breton's eyebrows shot up in confusion, though she tried to keep her surprise hidden. A smile played on her gray lips; "I never understood how you could manage to fall asleep in a chair, of all places."

"Practice." Talia replied with a cocky smile, crossing both arms over her chest. It felt a little odd when hard metal pressed against her arms. She noticed Brelyna's eyes staying on the Warden symbol; "You were talking to Chantry people?"

"As were you, earlier."

"You saw?" she asked, feigning dismay; "Damn, now I'll have to kill something for you to respect me again."

"Actually, I've been attending the sermon this morning." The Dunmer admitted, a wry smile on her lips as she faced downwards, though both eyes were on her friend. Talia just stared, blinking slowly; "It can only be considered profitable to understand more about Ferelden."

"…Still, it's…No, it's a good idea, just…surprising." Resigning to the defeat, Talia laced her hands behind her head and yawned. She could definitely use some mild pepper-up, but the only thing she had left in her satchel was a bit of the cheese. The Dunmer girl actually chuckled, drawing forth a raised brow.

"Speaking of surprises…" Brelyna mused, a finger tapping slowly on her cheek; "Your speech returned somewhat unexpectedly early."

"…early?"

"Honestly, I had expected it would take at least another two weeks."

"Really?"

"Yes." Brelyna nodded slowly; "Your burns were quite severe."

"That's a nice way of saying I completely roasted myself." Talia grinned sardonically, shaking her head. Her hood was down, and the fiery red hair was spilling all over her shoulders. The strands gleamed in the early noon sun, something a more childish part of her never failed to take pride in. fiery hair and sharp, green eyes had always been a trait of rare beauty.

She still liked her hair that way.

"Well, yes, you did…" her friend reluctantly agreed; "And yet, if you hadn't done it…"

"Then you wouldn't have had the chance to call me a dumbass to my face?" Talia replied smugly, sending her flustered friend a grin. Brelyna huffed indignantly, visibly annoyed with her friend's antics; "Listen, I _know _it was dangerous. I didn't have the control I needed to do it properly, and hence I got burned."

"You're terrible, you know that?"

"I try."

"Regardless, what do you mean by the 'control you needed'? Please don't tell me you're planning on breathing fire again…" whatever Brelyna saw in Talia's expression – and Talia _really_ tried not to let it show – it made the girl blanch; "Azura…you _are_?"

"…my mother can do it?" she tried, somewhat weakly in the face of a frustrated and concerned friend.

"Your mother is a Dunmer, Talia." Brelyna stated flatly; "…and before you use your Father as an example: Omluard Aulus is one of the most powerful mages north of the Imperial City."

"_Now_ who's the terrible one?"

"I also try." Brelyna snarked, offering Talia a cheeky smirk. The Breton gasped in mock-shock, blinking several times as she held a hand over her mouth. She narrowed her eyes at the grey-skinned girl and huffed in amusement.

"…You know I find it _incredibly_ hot when you do that, right?"

"I really wish you weren't the only one, though…" the Dunmer sighed, this time earnestly. Talia relented and hooked an arm inside Brelyna's elbow; "…could you…maybe give me a few pointers?"

"…seriously?" Talia looked at her friend, suddenly all shy and timid once more. It wasn't the first time she suspected her friend of suffering from some sort of undiscovered mental condition, and it likely would not be the last. _Just a shame neither version responds to my offers…Too late now, though…Damn._

"…please?"

"You want advice from the person who until recently viewed basically every same-aged male on the planet as a walking penis?" the darkening of Brelyna's cheeks at her wording was every bit intentional. Talia enjoyed breaking people's expectations, especially when it came to looking like just another pretty face, then mouth off some obscene language.

"You don't…have to put it like _that_…" Brelyna muttered, then paused before finally speaking again. At this point they had already reached the windmill; "But…yes. I would like some advice."

"_Girl_…ask me _anything_ you want, but first…" Talia's lips parted in the most devious of smiles, putting them close enough to Brelyna's ear that she could have nibbled the earlobe. Oh, how she had fantasized about doing that so very often; "You've gotta tell me…_who_?"

"It's…ah, I…_who_ said there was anyone _now_?" the Dunmer flushed, whipping her face away from Talia, though this only served to enlarge the redhead's smirk. Oh, but if she could not have Brelyna – at least just _once_ – she would at least have a say in who _did_.

"Is it Gilmore?"

"Nnnnnn…I…don't know…" it was borderline _painful_ how uncomfortable Brelyna was about the subject, but at the same time it was also incredibly rewarding. Maybe she was a bit of a masochist in that way; "…maybe? I'm not sure, but…I _think_ he _might_ like me?"

"Brelyna, I think even_ Morrigan_ wants to throw you into a haystack." There was some definite, heavy blushing at that, and Brelyna averted her eyes; "If Gilmore doesn't _like_ you, he's…I dunno, _not_ human?"

"Talia, _I _am not human." The Dunmer deadpanned, her voice laced with anxiety.

"You know what I mean." Talia snarked, poking her friend in the shoulder; "Gilmore likes you, he's just too chivalrous to act upon it. He's more the type to drown himself in a mud pit to give you a stepping-stone, than he'd be to actually do something emotionally bold."

"…really?" the poor girl sounded so downtrodden, Talia stopped and hugged her out of pure sympathy. Brelyna accepted the hug, though both her arms were held towards her body, so she was unable to respond. Still, Talia knew it was appreciated.

It might be seen by some as sad, but she felt closer to Brelyna than to her own sister. _Definitely_ closer than to Aveel, her idiot brother.

"Yeah…Believe me, knights are tricky like that."

"…Bugger." Brelyna cursed softly, making Talia's smile grow a little wider. And a little fonder.

"Now you're starting to sound like me."

"I can't figure this out…" the Dunmer sighed, shaking her head as they resumed the walk; "…Since when…have you worn chest-armor?"

Talia blinked at the question and stumbled, enough that the arm-hook was broken. That was a bit of a subject-change if ever she'd heard one. And yet, it was a valid question.

"Since today?" she replied, looking back down at the village below; "I visited the blacksmith just before meeting you, with a piece I'd brought back from Denerim…It's a Warden chest-piece, I suppose I wanted something official, seeing how I can't use the Warden mage robes." She wrapped her knuckles on the armor; "My own sustain me well enough, I just needed something with a bit more protection, and maybe I can even get it enchanted?"

"That's actually a very far-sighted precaution." The Dunmer nodded, a curled finger at her lip; "I didn't expect that from you, I admit…"

"You don't think I'm mature enough to be far-sighted and take precautions?" Talia crossed her arms and pressed them back against the chest-piece; "I happen to be _very_ mature."

"You don't just state your sexual preferences like that, and then claim to be 'mature', Talia." Brelyna deadpanned with a flat stare. Talia, in turn, simply knocked her chest-plate, and pointed a finger at the Griffon;

"Hey, which one of us decided to give up her own future to protect her friends, _plus_ a land she didn't like?"

"Not _fair._" The Dunmer grumbled; "No one ever asked me."

Talia looked her friend in the eye as they passed across the bridge, pointedly making sure to stay_ in the middle_, and not anywhere near the edge.

"Believe me, you do _not_ want to be a Grey Warden, Brelyna." Her voice was firm, as firm as she could make it. Knowing that she herself might have lucked out on some of the disadvantages due to the sheer amount of antidotes she'd been fed since childhood, Talia didn't want to risk one of her best friends dying because the potion disagreed with an untested physiology.

And even if it didn't, there was shortened lifespan, the Calling and the whole infertility-thing. Bugger, because it meant Talia herself could throw manure after the idea of someday getting kids of her own, but…maybe that was all for the best. Brelyna was the motherly type, not her. She'd probably end up raising intolerable brats if she ever actually _did_ get some.

"Oh…by the way, I heard Bodahn and Sandal are staying here?" Brelyna stated more than asked as they passed through the raised portcullis. Talia gave her a raised brow – this was the first she had heard of that; "Alistair decided they'd better stock up here while we're gone, so they'll be ready for when we come back and need supplies for a longer trip."

"To find 'Andraste's Holy Ashes', yeah…Damn, that's got to be the weirdest thing I've ever heard of." Talia grumbled, rubbing her palms with fire as the sun failed to chase off the cold in these heights. Neat-looking or not, Redcliffe Castle _was_ built high up, and the result was a tradeoff between safety and comfort. Comfort lost.

"Andraste's _Sacred_ Ashes, I think it is." The Dunmer pointed out, a bemused expression on her face; "According to the Chantry, she was and is the 'Bride of the Maker', as they call it…"

"Yeah I know, Aedan's told me all about her…sort of, anyway…She's like Mara and Akatosh, basically." A short pause followed where Talia frowned as an old idea struck her again. With dozens of others also in the courtyard, she did not feel secure in common tongue; "_Do you think their 'Maker' might actually be Akatosh?"_

"_Unlikely, since they don't seem to have any dragon statues around, and the Chantry says the Maker is gone from this world…" _Brelyna obviously recognized the reason for Talia's shift to Dunmeri.

"_Bugger, sucks for them, I guess…_"

"Talia, I have been doing some thinking…" Brelyna started afresh - now in common - when she stopped by the well. Several cups of clay were set up to provide water for the already training men and women around the courtyard. Almost none of them seemed the least bit curious as to Brelyna's appearance now, which Talia took as a good sign; "…I don't think their Maker is wrong."

Talia blinked.

"You think he's _real_?" she could not quite keep the surprise from her voice. Brelyna was stalwart in her reverence of the Divines, as well as Azura. It did not make sense for her to suddenly believe another religion was real – especially one that utterly discounted the Divines.

"Very real, yes."

"Then…" she _had_ to ask; "I have to ask…_why_ hasn't there been…I dunno, like, a sign or something? And what is the whole thing with 'turning away from his people' Leliana says the Chantry preaches? Why would a god or Divine _do_ that?"

"_Because he is dead."_ Brelyna's voice did not change from simple and conversational, though it did return to Dunmeri, but her words were still as well thought out as always when theology came into the picture; _"Do you see where I am going_?"

At first, Talia didn't. She had to remember everything she knew about the 'Maker' and the stories about him, the Golden City and all the rest. It took her embarrassingly long to figure out her friend's idea. When she _did_, her eyes were as wide as they could be.

"_You…think they worship Lorkhan_?" she asked, incredulous at the simplicity to it. She was also somewhat ashamed at having not figured this out herself so much sooner, mainly because it made so much _sense_.

"_It makes sen_se." Brelyna unwittingly agreed, leaning her back against the well; "_if you take away the name, the two deities are the same. Both were credited with creating the world alone – we know Lorkhan was the only Aedra deliberately wishing for Mundus, and both seem to have vanished from the world. The people of the Chantry believe he will return, though not before everyone 'sings the Chant' as I've heard it."_

"_What about the Golden City, then?"_ Talia asked as she poured herself a cup of water. Clay cups had never been her liking, with how they felt against her teeth; "As far as I remember, neither Lorkhan nor any other Divine ever created a city of gold."

_"I remember_…" Brelyna paused, putting down her own cup; "_I wish I had my books – any books here that I could actually read. The Heart of Lorkhan was a golden artifact of some sort, I read about it once, but…_"

"_The Heart of Lorkhan?_" Talia's brows shot up; _"…I think I remember my tutors mentioning that, at some…point, maybe. I…didn't pay that much attention, aside from the Dwemer parts, but…it's some sort of extremely powerful artifact. Could it be the actual heart of Lorkhan?"_

"…_I don't know. Even if it was, that would mean the cause for the Blight in Thedas is…debatable."_

"The Tribunal?" She did not know the Dunmeri word for it, though it was one thing Talia _had_ paid attention to. Mother had stressed that it was a mistake never to be repeated, and Mother was a person Talia had always listened to. Sort of. There had been unleashed an unheard of kind of magic in those days, something called 'the Blight' as well; "_It's not enough, Brelyna. Every disease potent enough will at some point be labelled a Blight."_

"_Maybe you're right…_" the Dunmer sighed and stood from her seat on the ringed stone forming the well's wall; "_Still, I'll see if I can get something from Wynne or maybe someone from the Chantry about how the Blight here started. We can only have too little information, after all."_

"True…" Talia agreed in Common with a nod, following her friend; "Do you know when we're leaving for Kinloch again?"

"Soon. Today, I think." Brelyna mused, pausing on the stairs. She cocked her head slightly as she looked back down on Talia, her face an expression of amused curiosity; "Why, do you have something planned?"

"Don't have to make it sound like I'm gonna try getting into Aedan's pants before we leave…" the Breton huffed, sending her blushing, but grinning friend a mock-glare; "I just need to find our lovely Halflings and ask Sandal nicely to remove some annoying magic from my robes."

"…your robes?" Brelyna blinked in the two seconds it took her to recall the Warden robes; "Right, those robes…I think Sandal is in the kennels."

"The kennels?" Talia did not remember coming across any kennels; "Where are those?"

As it turned out, the kennels were located right next to the dungeons, housing seven big, muscly Mabari war hounds – Talia more than once thought she recognized Turk in one of them – as well as one overly ecstatic Dwarven boy.

"Doggy." The boy beamed, petting and scratching the hounds in all the right places. He was practically surrounded by them, all for some reason out of their opened cages. Talia paused in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. She didn't mind dogs, not at all. But a Familiar or a single hound was one thing. A pack of them, all unknown, was seven other things entirely.

"Hey, Sandal. Your daddy's not here?" she started when it somehow struck her that the boy knew she was there, even without looking or turning. Sandal turned towards her, his pudgy face a study in innocent joy. He shook his head. _Oh Divines, he's just so adorable!_

"Sandal, I have something I need your help with." She said then; "Do you want to help me with it?"

"Enchantment?"

"_Dis_enchantment, actually." She paused at his expression, then held up the Warden robes; "Do you know how to disenchant stuff?"

"Enchantment!"

She decided to take that as a 'yes'.

* * *

**Someone said they wanted more of adorable Brelyna - 'cause she is! - so, here you go: Adorable Brelyna :D**

**There were quite a few of you remarking on Cyrodiil's stated size and population. I made the mistake of going from the in-game sizes shown in Oblivion and Skyrim, not the lore-sizes, which really, I should have. The population has thus been changed from 1.000 to 70.000-80.000, with Denerim's having been changed to tens of thousands as well.**

**I was not expecting the ideas many of you had on Loghain's behavior. Nice, is one word for it. I remember no stories where the Blood mage coven under Denerim has been used, actually. **

**So, this chapter was basically just a 'chill-out-and-wind-down' chapter. Lots of talking and some theories aired. Just the way I like them.**

**This question is a bit...different. It's actually more of a personal, sort of story-related-and-not question. It's basically for the eventual future event of some steamy relationship-stuff. I'm male, and as you might have noticed, Talia is...not. Whenever we get to that point where she and Aedan 'master their taint' - thank you very much for that, Isabella - I would love to know if you people want steamy, graphic scenes, or Bioware-type blackouts.**


	29. Taken for her Sins

_I walked inside the Chantry today…_

_Almost didn't. _

_Almost couldn't go into _that_ room._

_The legendary evil of Dragons will always pale before the evil of Mer and Jor._

_They washed off the stains at some point._

Piece of torn parchment, crumbled and discarded in the snow.

* * *

"This takes me back, it does." Daveth mused as they rode their mounts into the small, unnamed lake-side village near the Tower of Magi.

"Why is that?" Talia asked, looking at the archer as he rode proudly, wearing his new set of light Grey Warden armor. It was mostly mail and a few strategically placed plates, though the Breton supposed she wasn't actually all that different herself. Both wore a chest-plate with the symbol of the Grey Wardens, though Daveth's was of a brown metal, likely bronze or maybe something close to Dwemer metal. They both had vambraces of steel, though his were simple while hers were adorned with ornate and elaborate runes and symbols, strengthening her ties to Atherius and her own physiology.

"Just the five of us, travelling the unknown again?" Alistair mused from up ahead, steering his horse towards where they'd originally gotten them.

"'cept Jowan isn't a saucy little woman." The archer grinned, though his voice held a tinge of nostalgia at the reference to Dela. Talia didn't miss it, and doubted the two warriors in front of them did either. The mage in question, however, hadn't known Dela, and as such Jowan merely looked utterly confused, then seemed to decide he simply didn't have the energy to investigate.

There had been a decision – while Talia had been discussing theories with Brelyna – that it would be best to seek Genitivi out as the Grey Wardens, instead of a group of armed strangers. As Jowan was technically a recruit, he was taken along for the three-day ride to Kinloch, regardless of whether he wanted to go near the tower again. Talia inwardly regretted not having had the mind to bring a set of Warden robes back for him, seeing as he could now still be accosted by any and all unfriendly templars.

Still, she dismounted with Aedan's help – Gods, he looked so _strong_ in the armor, with just the visor open to allow his face to be visible – though at this point she _could_ technically have dismounted unassisted. It was a thing she enjoyed having him do, and it gave _him_ an excuse to grab her hips in public.

A win-win, for both parties.

"What's going on down there?" Daveth's question brought her mind back to where it was supposed to: on the mission at hand. When she followed her companion's gesture, it was to see a pair of Templars escorting a handcuffed mage to the waiting boat at the lake-shore.

"Considering the guy's age, I'd say he's an apostate brought back to the Tower." Alistair explained, though he didn't seem inclined in any way to prevent the imprisonment of another human being. Talia had to bite down on her indignation at the scene, forcing herself to remember what she had learned about magic in Thedas.

It still did not mean she was any less fuming. The group of Wardens instead remained at their horses, looking at the scene as it unfolded.

The templar currently forcing the mage along was wearing his bucket-like helmet. The only thing that made his gender clear was his constant cursing whenever the pony-tailed mage did or said something.

"Come on, Boris, why so touchy?"

"Get in the fucking boat, Anders, I'm missing supper."

"Jeez, it's not _my_ fault you didn't pack a proper meal before leaving."

The other templar was a woman, evident by the way she walked. Like a soldier, yes, but with more sway of her hips. She walked a good three feet behind the two of them, but didn't seem concerned enough to have her sword drawn.

"Anders, stop antagonizing him."

"But he's making it so easy."

"Don't make me smite you, Anders."

"You wouldn't do _that, _would you?" the mage inclined his head towards the female Templar, offering her an easy grin. Charming, almost. Talia was confused. And curious. She was still angered to witness the imprisonment of a man who's only crime likely was to be born with magic. But she was curious, especially because of the oddly casual banter.

Therefore, she started towards the scene, ignoring the words of surprise from her companions. It was obvious from the sounds behind her, that they eventually just followed her lead.

"And why is that?" the man, Boris, asked in a weary, irritated voice. The mage, Anders, shifted his attention to the speaker.

"Because I am so…cute?" Talia was close enough now that she could hear the Templar's curses and oaths even as he grumbled them out through the helmet.

"Why do I always get _your_ escapes?"

"We're bonding, can't you tell?"

"Please, _shut up_, Anders." Boris growled, sounding like he was close to tears; "Other apostates are _silent_ when we bring them back, _sad_! Why the Hell can't you at least keep quiet for just _one_ hour?"

"Oh look, I have an audience!" the blonde mage exclaimed happily when he noticed Talia's presence, as well as that of the others. His eyes stayed on her though, locked onto her staff for just a moment longer than polite; "And a mage at that, too."

The female Templar turned to regard them, a change going through her stance when she seemed to realize they were Grey Wardens. Instead of an immediate greeting though, she took off her helmet.

"Knight-Lieutenant Ava." Talia recognized the woman instantly as the only female Templar she remembered meeting, and greeted her as such. Not warmly, but with the memory of receiving her aid the last time they had been at this place.

"Grey Wardens." She greeted them all in turn. Her companion, Boris, offered a respectful nod, though he kept his helmet on, and his hands on the mage; "I did not expect you back here again, now that the Circle has turned out unable to help you."

"We're not here for the Circle, actually."

"Oh?" the lieutenant seemed surprised; "I notice you seem reduced in numbers since last time. Is this a Grey Warden matter only, or can the Circle assist?"

"There is an inn nearby, called the Spoiled Princess." Alistair started, once more acting the leader he was. Talia still wasn't sure what the whole 'Grey Wardens cannot inherit' issue would mean for the plans of putting him on the throne, but if he could be groomed while traveling, there was a real chance that he might end up a proper candidate.

"…you are looking to get drunk?" Ava's tone lost a bit of the respectfulness, and gained simple confusion.

"Hey, no one's perfect." Anders mused from the side, prompting his escorting templar to simply shove him firmly into the boat. Alistair seemed to find something funny about the scene, Talia wasn't sure what it would be, however.

"We're looking for a man said to be there." He said, looking between the trio of Circle affiliates; "Do you know where it is?"

Instead of replying, Knight-lieutenant Ava simply pointed at a building behind Alistair. When he, and the rest of the group as well looked where the templar pointed, Talia could hear Alistair smack himself in the forehead. True, there was a helmet in the way, but that only served to make the _clang_ louder.

On a large building just a few meters behind them, a sign was dangling from a pair of chains on a post, spelling out 'the Spoiled Princess' along with the image of a pig wearing a princess-crown. The style was ridiculous enough that the Breton couldn't quite keep the grin off her face.

"Would that be the inn you are looking for?" Ava mused, a slight hint of definite amusement to her voice. In the boat, the blond mage Anders was laughing hysterically, and the Templar Boris had resigned to simply slumping in the end.

Daveth was almost as bad as the captured mage, forcing a hand over his mouth in order not to laugh. Still, it even better. The Warden in mention simply shut his visor down and turned on his heels, muttering something about people in plate armor ought to jump in the lake.

"Not _one_ word, or I swear…" Alistair groaned. Still, he turned and started to make for the inn. Talia, and this was likely the first time she had ever decided on this, remained where she was, which Alistair actually noticed; "Talia, something wrong?"

"Nothing wrong, I just wanted to ask the Knight-Lieutenant some questions." She waved them off; "You guys just head in, but come get be if it turns into a drinking game, okay?"

"Oh thank the Maker, here I was thinking you'd gone sick or something." Alistair chuckled, then simply shook his head and went inside the tavern.

Before Aedan managed to follow, Talia grabbed him by the elbow, popped open his visor and kissed him. He seemed briefly surprised, then simply went with it and kissed her back, lingering on each others lips for a few seconds, then she gave him a small shove to get him in after the others. She made sure she was facing away from the no-doubt watching eyes of at least Ser Ava.

Talia turned to regard the female templar, crossing both arms over her chest as she prepared for a conversation with a templar. Quite frankly, it was not something she wanted, but she _was_ curious.

"I was wondering if I might ask you a question, Knight-Lieutenant?"

"…You may?"

"That man, Anders was it, he didn't seem all that downtrodden…Almost like he's used to this?"

Ser Ava sighed, but it ended as almost a groan. Still, there was a chuckle in her voice when she spoke; "He pretty much is, if you'll believe it. I think I've lost count of how many times he's tried to escape, and every time I bring him back, he does _that_."

"So…he's not dangerous at all?" Talia asked, narrowing her eyes to look at the mage in question, still sitting patiently in the boat, chatting up a not-so patient templar Boris.

"Knight-Lieutenant, can we please get moving?" he called, not just impatient but also annoyed. Ser Ava waved him off with an 'almost done' hand-signal, which was really just a dismissing palm-wave.

"Anders is…quite unique, in the way he seems to view the world." The Knight-lieutenant admitted; "He wasn't caught in the demon attack because he was on the run when it happened, and Boris was one of the templars sent after him, hence why he also wasn't killed. But Anders…He's a powerful mage, I will give him that, but as for using his powers to actively _harm_ people? No, I don't think Anders had it in him to kill anyone, not even one of our Order."

"He did seem…entertained." She gave her that much; "I just…I'm having some difficulties deciding what I think about your organization at the moment."

Instead of seeming confused or even annoyed, which was what Talia had honestly expected from the templar, Ser Ava merely nodded.

"I think I understand." She replied, shifting her stance to hold the helmet under the crook of her elbow; "You did not grow up in a Circle, so you do not see its importance. You passed your Harrowing with little difficulty, and so you did not fully understand its inherent dangers before your friend failed in his trial."

"Onmund _didn't_ fail." Talia scowled; "College mages _can't_ be possessed."

"I spoke to Cullen after the Harrowing." Ser Ava continued, her expression not changed in the slightest; "Your friend would not wake. In the end, whether or not he lost to the demon mattered little. His body would not have been sustain him for long, and the Templar in charge of his Harrowing viewed the sword as the more merciful death."

"It was _still_ murder."

"Every failed Harrowing is a grave loss, both to the Circle and in the loss of a life in its own right." The woman paused, glancing briefly at where the bound mage still waited in the boat; "I presided over my first Harrowing when I was but sixteen. It went well, so I did not understand the dangers until the second, where _I_ was the one wielding the Sword of Mercy. My charge succumbed to a demon, but I refused to believe he had failed. The apprentice was a friend of mine, and my hesitation only prolonged his suffering."

"You're not helping my perception of your Order a great deal by admitting to murder yourself." Talia pointed out, though inwardly she was hard at work trying to figure out why the templar was telling her this. In the end, she simply asked; "Why are you telling me what you did?"

"Because I only wish for you to understand." Ava pressed, though her voice remained calm; "Like myself, most templars view it as a sacred duty to protect the mages we live with. We may be their watchers, but no human can live among others without growing close to some extent."

"The people trying to kill two of my friends in the Kocari Wilds didn't seem very sympathetic." The Breton grumbled, pressing her arms against the griffon-symbol. She found it frustratingly hard to focus her anger on Ser Ava, when the woman seemingly was doing everything to ease the tension.

"There…are sometimes exceptions." The woman admitted; "Especially with older templars, some come to see their duty as more that of a warden than a guardian."

"You've done this before, haven't you?" it was the only way that made sense, how Ser Ava knew what went on in her mind. The doubts, the anger, the guilt.

"Many times, yes." The Knight-Lieutenant nodded slowly. Before she continued speaking, she propped the helmet up and slid it back on; "And every demand for answers have been as justified as yours."

"Knight-lieutenant! I'm this close to pulling Anders into the lake with me if you don't make him shut up!" Boris call seemed as if timed.

Ser Ava simply gave Talia a respectful nod, turned on her heel and left. The Breton watched as the older, armored woman boarded the small boat, gave some sort of command to the men in it, and Anders promptly silenced, while Boris stated rowing.

Talia remained standing where she was, looking after the boat until she could no longer see it against the darkness of the lake. She heard someone approach from behind, likely Daveth, judging from the sound of light mail when he moved. She sighed, rubbing her neck. _Divines, if this is what acceptance is, I really don't want any part of it._

"I still think the Circle needs some_ serious_ revamping, but…maybe it really is needed?" she muttered, though loud enough that Daveth, who had stopped right behind her without making his presence announced, was bound to have heard her. When he didn't answer, she turned to look at him.

The last thing she saw was a wooden club coming down.

* * *

"Anyone else think that guy was seriously scared somewhat shitless?" Daveth asked as he was the first out the door. The 'Spoiled Princess' had revealed little, least of all any signs of Genitivi, but the tavernkeep had definitely been nervous.

"He seemed to think someone was watching the place, but…" Aedan paused as he looked around. The moon was bathing the square in a soft, bright glow, and they could see the Tower of Magi in the distance. The last time they'd been here, no lights had been visible, but this time there were several dozens of bright strips of light dotting the structure; "I don't see anyone."

"Me neither." Daveth huffed, chuckling to himself; "Do you think the guy might've been a bit paranoid?"

"And Genitivi wasn't here." Alistair said; "Do you think we missed him on the way, and he's back in Denerim by now?"

"That'd just about be the most embarrassing by-pass ever." The archer shook his head. Aedan, at that point, stepped forward and pulled his visor open. He looked around, then blinked, and looked around again. He couldn't see her.

"No, I mean I literally don't see _anyone_." He repeated, trying to get the others' attention; "Where is Talia?"

"What do you mean, she's…right here?" Alistair paused in his speech as he finally seemed to realize what Aedan had. The younger warrior didn't understand this, and he didn't like it. It was not that he believed Talia unable of finding her way around the small village, rather the opposite.

So…where was she?

"Did she leave?" Jowan asked, glancing about. Aedan briefly looked to the former apostate, wondering what he might be thinking. Talia was the one who had proposed and conscripted him from the dungeons of Redcliffe, so he wouldn't be surprised if Jowan felt a more direct loyalty or debt to her than simple comradeship; "Why would she leave?"

"Talia!" Aedan called, feeling a sense of wrongness grow inside him. He knew it was irrational, that Talia could take care of herself. Even if a templar had tried to take her, there would at least be some definite signs of a fight. Yet there was nothing. Which meant she couldn't have been attacked; "TALIA!"

"Calm down eh? She's probably just…visiting nature, or something." Daveth suggested. Aedan looked at the archer, feeling unsure if he should be annoyed at the rouge for being so relaxed, or thankful for the offered explanation; "I once walked up on a soldier woman taking a piss outside camp…She did _not_ want to be disturbed."

"I am somehow not surprised that you take a liking to spying on women, Daveth." Morrigan scoffed coldly, though Aedan could see her eyes flicker around the square as well. When they locked on something, Aedan turned to look, and saw that something. It was a man, a villager by the looks of it, carrying a sack of cabbage; "You there, villager, did you see where the redheaded Warden Mage went off to?"

"She the one talking to the templars?"

"Yes, she wanted to discuss something with them." Aedan explained, feeling like there was something wrong when he didn't know where Talia was.

"Right, she took the boat with them, went to the Tower." The man said, pointing at the Tower of Magi, as if there had been any doubt as to what 'Tower' he'd meant; "Seemed to be freely enough, didn't see any chains or nothing."

"Talia went to the Circle?" Alistair asked before Aedan could; "Why would she do that?"

The villager merely shrugged – because really, how would _he_ know? –, causing a head of cabbage to fall from his sack. Jowan picked it up for him and put it back into the sack. The man nodded in thanks.

"…Thank you for your help, then." Aedan offered – what else could he? -, and sighed. The villager looked at him slightly longer than what was comfortable, then yawned;

"Don't mention it. May Andraste's mercy be with you, Grey Wardens."

"Right…you as well." Alistair replied somewhat sheepishly. When the villager – and really, _who_ hauled around cabbages in the middle of the night? – had vanished, the Senior Warden turned to the rest of the group, and Aedan held his breath for any orders Alistair might have; "Well…at least we know _where_ she is now, just not why."

"We're gonna get her?" Daveth asked, craning his neck to look at the Tower without turning; "You know, _before_ she kills someone?"

"I knew we should have brought Wynne- _Yes_, we're going to go get her." Alistair groaned, marching towards the shore. He stopped on the pier, however, looking around; "…anyone knows where the boat is?"

It was another half hour before the boat returned, this time rowed by a rather young Templar. He seemed skittish and irritated with being stuck as ferryman, and slightly terrified at the way Morrigan scowled at him. Aedan could understand the last one, though he really could not find it in him to give a shit. Not right now.

Right now, priority was getting to the Tower before Talia killed someone.

According to the ferryman- as he rowed them across – he'd just come from supper, and hadn't seen any new mages, aside from Anders who had been laughing at something, and a man named Boris who had seemed ready to draw blank.

"She's probably going to be chewing out either Greagoir or Irving." Aedan remarked as they came closer to the shore. He wasn't sure which man he worried the most could harm his comrade, but knew he wanted neither provoked to violence. Not around _her_. Powerful as he _knew_ she was, Aedan could only fear for the outcome of such a fight. He ground his teeth and gripped the prow hard; "We should really try finding her _before_ she gets physical."

"Hopefully she's going to settle for pillagin' the First Enchanter's office." Daveth replied casually, though Aedan knew he worried too. It was obvious in the way Daveth pointedly refused to look away from the Tower.

"_Hopefully_, she's going to remember Duncan's words. Everything we do reflects on the Grey Wardens as a…whole…" Alistair paused. His speech made Aedan actually look away from the Tower, and to him, just as the boat reached its destination. The young Warden didn't like the way Alistair had seemed to stop talking out of…some reason Aedan couldn't yet figure out; "That's odd."

"What?" Daveth asked, even as Aedan jumped from the boat to the pier in one swift motion. His armor weighed enough that he nearly fell flat, but he grabbed a post and managed to haul himself upright, then set off for the Tower entrance without even bothering to wait for the others.

_Please don't be hurt- Please don't be hurt- Please don't be hurt!_

He more or less tore the doors open, at least that was how it felt, and made his way inside.

* * *

Ow.

_Ow._

_OW!._

**_OW!_**

Talia wanted to scream, but found she couldn't. She couldn't see, couldn't open her mouth, and could just hardly breathe. The headache in her mind was pounding her senses to a delirious state, but it was the trouble breathing that had her nearing a state of panic.

She could see nothing but darkness, but could feel her eyelids open and close, meaning something was held over her eyes. She couldn't see what, and was growing too pained already again to gather sufficient coherency to figure it out. She only knew that she was lying down, on a hard surface, and that said surface was moving, making it likely to be a cart.

What had happened?

Where was she?

And _where_ the _hell_ was she going?

* * *

When Aedan made his way into the Tower proper, followed by the rest of the group – even Morrigan had seemingly seen no other course but to enter – he only grew increasingly concerned by the fact that the people inside, most of them Templars now, seemed surprised to see them.

Maybe it was just that they hadn't expected more Wardens this soon, but a part of Aedan's mind – a part that was slowly getting louder – was screaming at him that they were all surprised to see Wardens_ at all_. Which would have meant Talia _wasn't_ _here_.

In which case, he wasn't sure what to do, other than accept that the villager had for some reason lied to them.

"Aedan?" Alistair called from behind him, his voice slightly winded from having to jog and talk simultaneously. In Aedan's mind, their leader had wasted precious time explaining something to Daveth. The subject didn't matter, only that it had slowed them down.

So Aedan didn't stop to talk, instead intent on tracking down Talia, or at least someone who could confirm she was here. Right now, either would be fine, but he sensed he wouldn't be finding the latter, and he had no clue as for where to search for the former now.

"Aedan, _slow_ _down_."

But Aedan wasn't in the mood for slowing down. Each step marked more of the Tower where Talia _wasn't_, and narrowed the area where she _could_ be. Each step also increased the rate of his beating hear, causing the adrenaline to flood his legs and make it seem like he wasn't even walking, but floating in a mist of anxiety and concern.

"Grey Wardens?" the man who stopped them in the hallway was familiar, but it took Aedan several seconds to recognize him as Knight-Commander Greagoir. The man was as usual in armor, head free and arms held behind his back; "Well, this _does_ save me the raven to Redcliffe."

"Is she here?" Aedan wasn't sure if he was shouting, but Greagoir's expression seemed surprised regardless; "Talia, the redheaded Warden Mage, is she here?"

"Aedan, I don't think-" Alistair started, but Aedan simply waved him off. This was not what he would normally even consider doing – cutting Alistair off in this way – but concern, unease and need brought his thoughts to center on just one thing: where Talia was.

"Talia?" Greagoir asked, greyish brows furrowed in thought, or maybe it was an attempt at remembering her – it should be hard, considering she had _saved_ the Circle! – then shook his head; "I have not seen her, nor did Knight-Lieutenant Ava make me aware of her arrival beyond meeting her in the town…She left her there, as I understand it, when she and Knight-Sergeant Boris brought Anders back."

"Oh for fuck…" Daveth groaned behind him, but Aedan didn't pay any attention to him. Instead, he stepped closer to the Knight-Commander, desperate for answers. Greagoir seemed slightly uneasy with the closed distance.

"Ava- where is she? Can I talk to her? Or Boris, or Anders?"

"…Wardens, has something occurred that I should know of?" the Knight-Commander asked in a slow, measured tone.

"We think _something_…may have happened to our comrade." Alistair said, as Aedan was trying to process how this had all so quickly spiraled out of control. One minute, he'd kissed Talia and left her to talk with the templars outside the tavern. Now…she was gone; "She is nowhere to be found…Your subordinates were the last to see her, can we….?"

"Of course." Greagoir nodded, and grabbed a passing Templar by the shoulder; "Find me Knight Lieutenant Ava and have her brought to the main entrance."

"Yes, Knight-Commander." The man replied and took off down the hallway. Aedan stared at his departing back as if it would make the templar return faster.

As it turned out, the man actually did return surprisingly fast. He brought with him the same woman Aedan remembered from both their stays at Kinloch, Ser Ava. Seen in actual light, instead of the halfway illuminated glow from one of the moons – he couldn't even at this point bring his mind to remember which – the Knight-Lieutenant looked older than her voice had given him the impression off, with the hair tied into a bun over a face set in furrows of deep seriousness.

"You wanted to see me, Knight-Commander?" she saluted Greagoir with a hand over her fist, as well as offering respectful – but disturbingly surprised – head-bows to Aedan and the others. He didn't feel in the slightest comforted; "Wardens."

"Knight-Lieutenant, am I correct in assuming you did indeed leave Grey Warden Talia, the woman we initially held here for a short duration, on the shores by the pier, and that she was perfectly well at that point?" Greagoir demanded more than asked, though his voice stayed level. It seemed he wanted to conduct this questioning himself, which Aedan was totally fine with. As long as it got them the information they needed.

"Yes, Ser." Ser Ava nodded, her voice firm; "She seemed curious at Anders' behavior, but did not seem willing to accompany us, mainly because she was waiting for…You." the last was turned at Alistair's group, and at this, Ser Ava's confusion was understandable; "I do not see her with you."

"Because we seem to have… _misplaced_ her." Alistair ground out, his irritation clear; "When you left her, was she…fine? Alright? Unharmed?"

"Yes, she seemed perfectly healthy and unworried upon my departure."

"Did you see anyone with her? Around her? Maybe sneaking in on her or just _looking_ at her?"

"There were people around, but I must confess I did not pay attention to them more than passing glances."

"…would one happen to have been a villager with a sack of cabbage?" Daveth tried wearily, shifting on his feet.

"…I think I would have remembered that." Ser Ava replied, but without scorn; "I am sorry, but…I do not know what occurred after we departed."

* * *

Bump.

_Ow!_

Bump.

_Ow!_

Bump.

**_Ow!_**

Bump.

**_Fuck!_**

The surface she was lying on kept rumbling, and every time what she assumed were its wheels passed over a stone, she was jostled and slammed down into the planks. Her back was aching at this point, and her head was searing with pain.

She couldn't move even a finger, couldn't cast any magic, and could only shiver as rain started pelting her. No one seemed in a hurry to cover her up, which meant they were apparently far enough from civilization that her captor or captors dared simply having her lying in the back of their cart, uncovered.

Each drop was big and heavy, and whatever clothes she had on – she could feel the drops hitting her chest, meaning they had taken her Warden-piece – were soon soaked to a clingy fabric, which hugged her body and cooled her down to the point where her body became wracked with shivers.

"Cover her up. We need her _alive_ when we get back." A male voice said.

"What do you mean?" a woman replied with clear irritation. Whether it was from walking in the rain or having to be a decent human being, Talia couldn't process. She was _cold_, and she was _wet_ and she was _Cold_.

"Hypothermia. She's going to die from cold at this rate." The same man – or was it another? – replied.

"What, you want me to give her _my_ coat?"

"I don't know, just find _something_."

"There's a roll of cow-hide in the cart." A new voice, a man, said; "Toss that over her and shut it."

"You think she's awake?" the woman asked, followed by a grunt of effort as Talia could hear someone – likely the woman – jump into the cart close to her; "Where's the hide?"

"Back of the cart."

"Who cares? We'll be there soon enough, and the Revered Father can deal with her."

"I wonder what she's thinking, if she's awake, you know?"

"Who. Cares." The same man replied coldly; "She's a sodding heretic, what do I care what she's thinking?"

"Shit, she's lying on part of it." The woman – maybe there was only one? – muttered; "Bren, she's lying on it."

"So?" the man apparently named 'Bren' replied with a scoff; "Even if she's awake, she's in a stasis. Just roll her off, or something."

Talia wasn't being asked, something which became painfully obvious when a pair of hands roughly shoved her aside, and ripped something out from underneath her. Whatever it was, it had apparently been a lot softer than she'd thought, because when she ended up back on the boards, they were so much more painful to lie on, she actually managed a grunt of pain, even while the heavy, smelling skins were tossed onto her.

"She made a sound."

"What?"

"The Warden, she made a sound…Think she's awake?" the woman asked.

"Don't care."

"I'm just gonna check right quick." The woman offered. Talia forced her eyes consciously shut, and forced her breathing into the most relaxed pattern possible. Before more than ten seconds had passed, the light on the other side of her eyelids, and the rain started pelting her in the face again. Each drop was cold. _Very _cold, and felt like hard flickers into her cheeks, lips and eyes; "Hey, hey, hey are you awake?"

Each 'hey' was punctuated by a poke to her face, and Talia couldn't turn her head away or even bite the finger. She forced herself to remain calm – this was a scenario Father had often worried she could face – and pressed her eyes shut. She wanted nothing more than to kill whomever this woman was, and drag it out in a long and inhumane way.

Then her eyelids were forced open. The fingers were hard and insensitive, and Talia felt tears filling her eyes at the intense pain of being poked in the eyeball. Then followed the rain, where each drop hitting her eye like a punch, and she couldn't maintain the façade any longer. Her eye tracked the woman's face, and directed as much hatred as possible at the plain face with bright blue eyes and blonde hair falling down around her face in a cascade of wet gold.

"_Theeeere_ you are." Somehow, the Pride Demon in Kinloch had nothing on this woman's grin in terms of just how horrifying it was. And there was _nothing_ Talia could do, but stare. She couldn't move a muscle aside from her eyes, and even the action of breathing was as troubled as ever. The inability to take action_, of any kind_, was one of Talia's most base fears.

Then came the fist, and the world went black again.

* * *

**I'm not really sure here...does this make the story a 'M' for the angst, or can it still be called a 't' story? I hope so, because I took unreasonable pleasure from Talia's parts.**

**I'm a sick individual...I think. **

**I decided to give the original plot a kick in the ass, basically because I'd planned on just taking it as the game went, then decided to just go with this instead, and honestly? I dig this version. I also realize that the chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but... I think this way works better, just for once. Look at it as a sort of introduction to the next part of the story, or...well, or just as another chapter. **

**I dunno, I'm kinda tired, so I'll just wish you guys a good night and good luck. No question tonight, really, other than my base desire to know what you thought of today's update?**


	30. Enter the Dragon Cult

_The Chantry itself seems as I remember it, for better or worse. In this case, I suppose it is for the better… maybe... Gods, _ten_ years, and I still can't figure out what to feel about this place. _

_On one hand, the people here were the very definition of mad._

_On the other, it became the start of something new. _

_And yet, I still cannot forget his voice. The deep sadness and resignation in his voice, devoid of any hope of ever being rescued. I never felt what they did to me, but I know he did. To this day, I am still not sure why I was treated differently._

_And the Dragon. There is _no_ way I am leaving out the fact that there was a Daedra-be-damned _Dragon _here. I do not care for the deeper reasons for the cultists reverence of that beast; I just know I never want to see another dragon again._

_And I thought Alduin was supposed to have been huge._

Piece of paper, found in the private chambers of Sister Nightingale. It is written in a language as of yet seemingly untranslated by the Chantry. It seems part of a collection of discarded pages.

* * *

**Enter the Dragon Cult**

* * *

Her head was throbbing, and every motion was painful beyond measure. Talia knew moving in this state was a bad idea. She'd suffered enough temporal migraines to know everything about how to counter them, and rid herself of them quickly.

Usually, she'd suffered migraines from bouts of heavy drinking, which had caused injury to both her head and her liver. This time, however, she knew it wasn't her fault. Not fully, anyway.

Her arms were being lifted above her head, against her will as it was, and yet she was too weak to act against it. Her eyes refused to open – or maybe she was blindfolded – and her head could only hand low, resting her chin on her upper chest.

Fuck… What had happened?

She remembered…the lake. The Kinloch lake – what was it called again? – and then…pain. Cold. Panic. Someone had looked her in the eyes, forced them open, and then knocked her out cold. Someone had hit her hard in the face, which could be why she couldn't currently breathe through her nose.

"Make sure they're tight."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Just make sure it's done before she wakes."

"Right, Heretic bitch won't get out of this one, that's for sure."

"Just. Make. Sure."

A loud _clank_,and her right hand felt cold, and cramped, like it was clenched inside someone's hard grip. This was not the grip of any human being though, as she slowly came to realize when the exact same sensation clamped shut around her left hand, and she was unceremoniously dumped on what felt like a floor of cold stone.

"Okay, take off the blindfold."

"Really? Why not just-"

"Do as I tell you, Weren."

"Right, right, right…" the sound of feet, boots, walking on stone was almost instantly followed by the feeling of someone grabbing her by the face, and Talia turned away, instincts taking over her mind, turning calm collectedness into basic self-preservation.

The hands were rough and didn't seem to care one bit whether or not they scratched her skin. Talia sucked in her breath and did her best not to whimper like a frightened child. When the fabric came off her eyes, she was unwilling at first to even open them to look.

A hand slapped across her face, hard, and grabbed her chin, forcing her face outwards. The hit stung her, and expecting another, she opened her eyes out of fright, wanting to at least be able to see it coming.

But the hand never left her chin, and she found herself locked in a stare with a man, looking like he was somewhere between bored and despising her. If the latter, she still had no idea why.

"There." He said, and stepped to the side while never releasing her face. Talia could now see her surroundings, and realized that she was in a dark, cold cell, positioned along the end of a corridor along with additional holdings, all of them sporting walls of metal bars; "Look around you, girl. This is going to be your new home until so deemed otherwise by the Father. The Chantry teaches us not to lie, so I will tell you the truth: You will die here. This cell will be your last place of rest before you meet the Maker you have so readily denounced and publically preached against."

"W-what?" she stammered, having recovered enough to actually speak.

But the man didn't see fit to answer or expand upon his explanation, and simply turned his back to her. Talia scowled, fear turning into anger, then rage – righteous, furious, stormy _rage_.

But the man didn't turn, and instead just walked away, leaving her to heave for air. She didn't know where she was, how long she had been unconscious, where the others were – had they ended up here as well? – or even just _why_ she was here. What had she done to find herself in this decrepit cell?

"STOP!" she screamed, tears of fury slowly welling up in her eyes. But the man did not stop, simply offering her a scoff of contempt before he left the cell. Talia's feet were as of yet unshackled by anything but iron chains, and she lifted a heavy foot into the air, kicking up a gout of flames that threatened to engulf the entirety of her cell. It wasn't all that large, but its size was of no matter, when the flames served to splash over the still-exposed back of the departing man; "_STOP YOU SON OF A WHORE_!"

At first, he panicked, and turned on the spot to put out the flames, then simply made a tearing sweep of his hands, and the flames died down as had he doused them with water. Talia was left panting, blinking with surprise followed by self-berating as she should have expected someone to be a mage, considering the stasis they had had her locked in throughout whatever journey they had made.

"I see that it is true: you do not require your hands to cast spells." There was no anger, instead something close to…admiration? In his words. Talia glared at him instead of replying, preparing to kick him with fire, ice or lightning again. The fact that she could only cast the first of those three with her feet was unimportant, as was the fact that he had seemingly parried her attack with ease; "That will need to be…rectified."

"I'm a Grey Warden, you ignorant _cock_!" she yelled at his face, wanting to claw out his eyeballs and feed them to him; "You have no right to hold me here!"

"Your title holds no importance here, Heretic." The mage replied, almost as if he was bored. Then, his hand shot forward, fingers extended to a clutch, and the world turned into pain and a lack of gravity. Talia wanted to scream – really _scream_ – but all she could manage was a hoarse whisper when her windpipe was pressed shut. Her legs slowly drifted from the floor, and her shackles lost their weight; "Do you know this spell? I imagine that you do, or…maybe not? The Crushing Prison, it is a spell not often used by the mages of the Circle…"

The world faded to black in a mist of pain and pressure, and when it returned, Talia found her feet clasped in solid 'boots' of the same metal holding her hands. The man was gone, and she was alone in her cell.

But she could breathe.

She was in pains, primarily from a very sore throat and aching limbs, not to mention a probable concussion from whatever had knocked her out in Kinloch. Her armor was gone, and she had been stripped to her smalls before someone had seen fit to throw a plain robe on her. She couldn't move her fingers, and her feet felt too heavy for even an adjustment of her position on the floor. Her rear was senseless and felt dead, and she could feel the cold from the stones underneath her, seeping into her bones.

But… she could breathe.

And because she could breathe, she was once more capable of thoughts more complex than anticipating pain. The first – not truly, but nonetheless first _deliberate_ – thought crossing her mind was that she was not alone in the dungeon – for it was clearly a dungeon – though she could not see a single guard, nor was the mage somewhere outside. She couldn't feel any traces of magical power nearby, and the man had definitely given off the same kind of power she had picked up from Wynne, though nowhere near as potent.

She swallowed, looked around and took first a breath, then a gamble; "…Hello?"

At first, there was no response, though she did believe she could hear someone moving around quite nearby. Someone then coughed – she could hear it was a man – and cleared his throat; "H-hello there…I…don't suppose you would happen to be from the Chantry too?"

"…Who are you?" she did not want to respond before she knew if the man was another of the abductors, a simple criminal, or an innocent, like herself; "Where are you?"

"In the cell to your…left, I think, unless the walls are throwing off the sound." The man replied weakly. Talia looked to her left, and as the man had predicted, she saw a figure slumped against the far wall. She could not make out a great many details in the sparse lighting, but she could see he was either bald, or at least short-haired, pale and wore the same dress as her; "My name is Genitivi, I…ah, I am a Chantry scholar, though I actually did publish a series of illustrated books for children, once…You wouldn't happen to have read them?"

Despite everything that had happened – despite the fighting, the travels trough rain and shit, the hellish rides to and from Denerim, and despite the fact that she had been struck down, kidnapped and was now sitting in some Aedra-forsaken cell in some shithole dungeon somewhere in this shithole of a country – Talia blinked at the man's words, and then she started laughing.

Or, maybe it was _because_ of all that had happened that she laughed. Honestly, she wasn't completely sure herself. She just knew that this was _insane_. It was insane, it was stupid, and it was utterly improbable that she had – by being abducted – found the one man supposed to be able to tell them where to find the ashes of Andraste.

"Did I…say something funny?" his voice sounded rather confused, coming from his part of the room, but Talia just shook her head and forced herself to calm down. Even if Genitivi was confused by her laughter, it had served to bring her spirts back up. At least, to a certain degree.

"Forgive me, Genitivi, I was just…" she pause, but not because she needed air. Well, she _did_, but the actual, base reason was that she was contemplating just how much to tell him. In the end, however, she decided to just go with what was relevant; "My name is Talia Aulus, a Grey Warden. My companions and I have been searching for you for more than two weeks, and your assistant said you would be at the Spoiled Princess in Kinloch, but when we got there, I was…I think I was struck down. I woke up just once, on the way here, and…earlier, when they chained me up…How long was I out?"

"Hours… At least, I think it was hours. Time becomes difficult to keep track of down here." The scholar admitted. Talia squinted, trying to get a more detailed look at the man in the low light. She discovered that what she had first thought to be merely pale skin, was actually decorated with more bruises than she could realistically count. Maybe this was the reason for his slumped state? "Yes, I did hear you mention your title earlier. The people here do not approve of guests not appreciating the Revered Father's…_hospitality_. Why, if I might ask, were you searching for _me_?"

"…You're going to believe us all idiots, I know, but… we wanted to ask you if you had found the location of Andraste's ashes, because apparently we need them to heal a comatose Arl." She explained, fearing the man would start laughing any moment now, so she continued with the first thought that entered her mind; "Where are we?"

Genitivi did not immediately reply, likely because he was unsure of what part to first address. Talia wanted to help him along; "You can start with the location, unless you ended up here the same way as me."

"…Have you ever heard of the village of Haven?" Genitivi asked after a long pause had passed in uncomfortable silence, where Talia feared he would reply that he _had_ indeed arrived the same way as her.

"I can't say that I have."

"I am not surprised. Neither had I, before I found a reference to this place in an old text dating back to the founding of the Chantry." The scholar started explaining, drawing Talia's eyes around the room. Extinguished torches hung on wooden supports in the center of the dungeon, and what little light reached them seemed to come from sources beyond what she could see.

Allthewhile her eyes examined the room, Genitivi seemed keen on detailing the story of Andraste, all the way up to the point where the woman had been burned alive by the Tevinter Imperium. Talia could not quite help but see the woman's actions as the work of magic, however, though that did not serve to diminish her somewhat growing resect for her. History had likely exaggerated on a great many parts, but still, the woman had assembled a multi-racial rebellion and almost brought down a continental empire of blood mages and 'Archons';

"Apparently, Andraste's disciples somehow managed to get her ashes back to Ferelden. When I traced them here, and subsequently arrived to investigate, I was…persuaded to stay."

"Haven…where is that?...in relation to Redcliffe, I mean?"

"The Frostback Mountains, quite near the border to Orlais."

"…Right." She could not get herself to mention that the name 'Frostback Mountains' meant absolutely notion to her; "…so, _why_ are we here?"

"I am not certain as to the reasons for your presence, I am afraid, but…I was withheld because I sought the Sacred Ashes."

"As are we…or, _I_, in this case, I guess…_Damn_, I need to get out of here." She dragged her feet in so that she could sit straighter against the wall, heavy as they were in the metallic shackles. It did not feel like iron.

"…How?"

"Same way I broke open a pair of cells in Redcliffe." She muttered, uncertain if he heard her, though this was more important; "Are mages usually capable of conjuring fire from their hands and feet here?"

"I…think so?" Genitivi replied slowly, sounding like he was mulling it over; "I have never _seen_ this, however, so…I must confess that I might not be _the_ expert on magic."

She focused the energy first in her hands. The magicka thrummed and hummed through her veins, giving her the familiar buzz, almost like she was in a thunderstorm, or mildly intoxicated. The skin in the palms of her hands heated and formed the magical film that protected them from the incredible temperatures of arcane fire. Then the air itself ignited, completing a process that had taken less than three seconds.

She pressed more heat and energy into her hands when the metal didn't immediately start melting, and frowned when the shackles simply remained as they were. This was unexpected, as most common metals would have started dripping at this point. As she pressed the temperatures, the heat started dissipating outwards, and the room itself became warmer and drier.

She was forced to stop, and cut off the flow of magic to her hands when the temperature became too high for the protective films to keep her skin from blistering. The heat vanished from her hands, but the shackles were already hot enough that when they touched her skin – they _were_ clamped fast – she had to bite down the whimper of pain, and hissed when her skin was broken and did indeed start blistering.

"Whore! _Shit_! Cock!"

"What happened? Warden, what happened?" Genitivi almost immediately started inquiring, causing her contorted expression of pain to be mixed with irritation. She hardly registered the way he seemed to fumble his way across the floor of his cell to get closer to her voice, her attention devoted to suppressing the pain in her hands.

"Fucking _shit_! Cock! Shitheads on pikes! Piss! Piss-Piss-Piss! _Cock-fuck_!" she slammed one of the shackles against the wall, giving off deep echoes throughout the room. Definitely _not_ iron, nor was it steel. It felt too heavy to be ebony, and lacked the warmer sensation – fire aside – she would usually get from Dwemer metal, regardless of the fact that this land did not seem familiar with Dwemers of any kind; "What the hell kind of shit-shackles _are_ these?!"

"I don't know, I'm afraid."

"Shit…" she groaned, pouring healing energies into her burned and scalded hands. The golden light did not penetrate the shackles, and instead poured from the gaps where her hands were inserted; "Okay…Okay…Okay…This, is bad, I think."

"I wish there was some way I could help…" Genitivi sighed, running a hand over his bald head.

"Don't worry, I'm taking care of it…" she muttered, though her words failed to contain the despair and anger she felt at being unable to break her bonds with magic. As the pain receded, she started wondering why she had even been kidnapped by these people, and not just killed. She decided that Genitivi might know at least this; "Why are they not just killing us?"

"A question I asked myself a great many times, before I understood their reasoning." the man replied, an undertone of defeat in his voice; "I believe they are planning to send an imposter in my place. I have been asked questions, _detailed_ questions about myself and my life almost every day since this began."

"An imposter?" Talia could not quite keep out the tone of disbelief from her voice; "Wouldn't people you know, like your assistant, realize the imposter was…well, an imposter?"

"Weylon…" Genitivi sighed deeply, something Talia did not see as a good sign; "…he was the first person they really started asking questions about. Then, one day, they told me I no longer needed to…to _inform_ _them_ on my assistant."

"You mean…" Talia hesitated, considering the facts; "The person in Denerim, the one who sent us to Kinloch…_Shit_…"

The assistant had been an imposter. The others had been meeting an imposter, who had sent them off to a place he had designated. Had he known all along that they would be ambushed? Was this the same reason why so many of Redcliffe's knights had not returned yet?

"You asked if I was from the Chantry, but my companions and I actually started out from Redcliffe…" she started again, when it became clear that Genitivi, in his state, would not initiate another conversation; "Do you know if there's been any knights from Redcliffe here?"

"Here? No, I don't." he shook his head; "I have overhead the occasional guards talk about the 'latest catch' at the inn, which I assumed meant people looking for the same as I. I knew that the Arl of Redcliffe had fallen ill, though not that it was bad enough that they would start sending out people to find the Sacred Ashes."

"You knew the Arl was ill?"

"Yes?" he sounded confused as to her tone; "Why?"

"I'm guessing that means you left _before_ the dead started rising…" she muttered, ignoring the man's surprised exclamation at her words; "It's a long story, and frankly, not one I feel like remembering right now…"

"Ah, I see." Genitivi replied, and the room was silent after that. Talia was honestly not certain how to react to the man sharing her imprisonment. On one hand, Genitivi seemed like he was a…pleasant man, and they had been searching for him to find the Sacred Ashes. On the other hand, he was a representative of the Chantry.

But then, so was Sister Giselle.

The whole thing brought a scowl to her face, one she hoped Genitivi would not see. And right now, what she really wanted to focus on was a way to escape this place. Genitivi had called this 'Haven', though frankly the name was somewhat misleading, considering their current predicaments.

After what seemed like hours had passed with nothing transpiring, Talia reluctantly resigned to the fact that she would not likely be saved or brought out of there any time soon. It was infuriating, but it also meant she found herself deliberately calming down in order not to go stir-crazy. She could hardly move her arms and legs, but her head was uncovered, and for reasons she could not imagine, the people here had allowed her necklace to remain on.

She would have felt much more comforted had she worn an amulet – any Divine would have done fine – but as it was, she had the vial of Darkspawn blood, and the empty soul gem. The latter was a more priced possession, as it gave her reminiscence of home. Not the home she had fled, but the home she had grown up in. It bore little monetary value as it was empty, but the value she put into it was simply there sentimental type. She knew it was silly, but the gem felt warm against the bare skin of her collarbone.

At first, this was a fact she had overlooked, as there had usually been clothes between her skin and the gem, but now…she could feel it.

It was strange, that the realization did not have her jumping in surprise. Maybe this was simply because she was too tired and worn out to really spend that kind of energy on anything but fleeing. She had to flee this place, that much was clear. The mage, 'Father Elrik' as he was named, had made it very clear that this was not a place she would leave alive, if he had anything to say about it.

"Why do they call you 'Heretic', if I may ask?" Genitivi suddenly asked. His voice was soft, but still managed to startled her from her contemplations. She turned and stared at him, though by the way he faced, it was clear his eyes were not on her. She briefly contemplated making something up, then decided that whether or not _she_ made it out of here, _he_ was probably going to die.

As such, nothing she said could come back to bite her. Not at this point.

"Because I am not Andrastian." She shrugged, both with body and voice. Genitivi shifted where he sat, accompanied by the sound of chains rattled and clinked across the floor; "Let me guess; now you are deeply appalled at sharing space with me?"

"I am surprised, not appalled." The man replied, almost sounding amused; "Tell me, if you are not Andrastian, what are you then? Qunari?"

"…No?" how could he ever take her for one of those giant men? Or, maybe their women looked so much like human women that it was an easy mistake to make; "I revere the Divines of the Bretoni pantheon, as it is custom in my homeland."

"…You are _not_ from Orlais, then?" despite it all, his surprised tone brought a smirk to her lips. They were cracked and hardened, likely from when she had been knocked out in the cart; "I was so sure – you accent is extremely similar to most Orlesians I have met."

"No, not quite." Still, her voice was not rude, nor was it snide when she replied to him. Genitivi was curious, and she had already decided that things could not get worse at this point; "Across the ocean west of Orlais, there is another continent called Tamriel. That is where I am from, and we do not know…"

Her words stopped when she heard boots marching down the corridor at a rapid pace. There was more than one person, as far as she could tell, and none spoke a word, meaning they were likely here now for something other than torture. Or maybe they were here to kill her already?

When the men entered, and there were seven of them, they did not even deign her with a glance, instead going straight for Genitivi's cell. Her eyes followed them as the leader opened the metal-barred door, and the old scholar inside scrambled to his feet. The way he stood, Talia realized that he had most likely suffered broken bones at the hands of these men, and that he had come to simply expect torture at this point.

"The Revered Father wants to see you." the leader spoke slowly, clearly and harshly, as if he was talking to a common criminal.

"Why?" it was Talia who demanded the answer, and Genitivi only glanced sadly in her direction. Did he know something she didn't? Obviously, this was not merely the kind of interrogation he had mentioned, as the guards would then not have bothered stating the cause for their presence; "What has he done to you, _assholes_?"

But she received no response, and the guards took Genitivi by his arms and dragged him off, leaving Talia alone in the relative darkness.

_Shit._

This meant she no longer had a conversational partner down here, which again meant she would have absolutely nothing to do, since her shackles had proven beyond her ability to destroy. She was halfway tempted to see if she could repeatedly warm them up before freezing them, in doing so hopefully shatter the metal, but she did not trust herself to such a degree with what had always been Onmund's element.

The gem felt like it was thrumming, and she groaned, leaning back against the wall with a heavy sigh. The stone felt warm against her skin, and she wanted to grab it; an action she could no longer undertake. So instead, she took a deep, sharp breath and sat straight. Ignoring the cold from the floor, she crossed her legs the best she could, and closed her eyes.

When there was nothing else to do, there was always meditation.

Despite appearances – and behavior – Talia actually enjoyed the peace meditation could bring her. She had not had a great many chances of settling down for it since arriving in Ferelden, and there was a certain amount of…was it humor, in this? It required her to be abducted by obvious assholes to get a moment's peace.

She remained in meditation, practicing controlled breathing, for the next many hours. It was only when someone came down with a tray of food – cheese and bread as well as watered ale – that she realized just how much time had passed, and that the guards had not yet returned with the older man.

"What happened to Genitivi?" she demanded before the guard could leave; "Why hasn't he come back yet?"

"You should worry more for yourself, Heretic." The guard replied harshly, sounding like he believed himself to have their Maker on his side; "Tomorrow your trials start; I would eat what was given, were I you."

Talia wasn't sure what to say to that. The guard simply left the room again, leaving her to stare at the tray of food, roughly a meter away from her. _Shit, they can't be serious._

She crawled across the stone floor the best she could, ignoring the way the flat tiles hurt her unprotected knees. She managed to reach the food, though she was actually unable to eat it. Both her hands were clasped in metal, and her feet likewise. _Tits, they _are_ serious. _

There was nothing she could do at this point. The hunger was gnawing at her insides, and the effects of being a Grey Warden did not help the matter. As such, she simply lowered herself down and bit into the bread on the plate. It was stale, but at least it tasted like it was free of mold, as was the cheese, though hard and dry.

The ale was the biggest challenge. As she could not use her hands to pick up the flagon, she was unable to do more than to bite down on its rim and attempt lapping up the liquids. To say the ale was poor would be an understatement, considering she would have assaulted any innkeeper who had dared to serve her the same. When she got to the point of having to tip the flagon for the rest of the ale – she was thirsty, regardless of its taste – she was prepared for the liquids to start spilling out.

It was still extremely annoying when they did, but she drank as carefully as possible, and decided to leave it at that. The only problem now was that her front was soaked in piss-poor alcohol, and the temperature in the cell was low enough that she quickly started freezing.

She was not fool enough to attempt firebreathing, not after Kinloch Hold and the bother it had been to endure being unable to speak, as well as the fact that she was without any capable healers here. But she _was_ cold.

A practice-step for learning firebreathing, something she had hid from Brelyna – she knew the girl would throw a tantrum if she'd known she was more than just considering firebreathing – was simply heating the air she exhaled. It was simple, with magic, to do so, though useless in most combat-related situations.

But here it served her well, and helped dry her clothes. The smell persisted, but at least she was dry. Right now, that sort of took priority.

The next two days passed as if in a trance. She was fairly sure there had been something in her food that first night, because she was hardly capable of offering more than protesting simply for the principle of things. She could scarcely differentiate between when she was beaten – the pain only started registering shortly before she was fed again, when the drugs likely started wearing off.

Whatever purpose they had for beating her – likely interrogations – she had little recollection of what she actually _told_ them. Judging from the way the beatings continued, however, she apparently had not told them enough.

It was only on the end of the second day, after the meal, that she realized something was _different_. Her aches and pains were sharper, more pronounced, and the world actually seemed to move with the same speed as her eyes. For once. Was that good?

She decided that it was, mainly because she could actually _feel_ the energy running though her veins again. It felt like it had been an eternity since she'd been able to do that. Still, her body hurt too much to even contemplate anything but simply leaning back, closing her eyes and simply focusing on healing herself.

She was somewhat horrified at the sheer amount of bruises and injuries she found when she did so, and in the end, the healing-procedure left her so exhausted that she simply fell asleep sitting when she was done.

The next morning – at least she was fairly sure it was morning, though it was impossible to tell down here – saw one of the guards approach her cell, accompanied by a pair of obvious mages, though she had seen neither before. Or maybe she had, and the haze that had been the past days had simply erased them from her memories.

She scrambled to sit, as she could not stand, and glared daggers at them all. She had little to no recollection of the last two days, and as such, they could have done anything to and with her – and she knew for a fact that she had obviously been viciously beaten – and simply walked away from it.

"The Revered Father wants to see you." the leader said, repeating the exact same words he had said to Genitivi the other day. Talia refused to move, and the man's scowl deepened; "You can walk on your own, or we can walk you up."

"Fuck off." She was not about to play nice, not after the not-so-pleasant stay she'd endured here. As if he was surprised by her reply, the man in command sneered at her. It was the sort of sneer you'd find on a person who believed to be in the right, and was insulted if anything else was implied;

"Are you truly so arrogant that you dare refuse-"

"If you think I'm going to just roll around and play nice for you cocks after everything you've-"

"Take her!" The leader didn't even wait for her to finish her threats, and instead indicated for the mages with him to do…something. Talia's scowl stilled on her face when the mage on her left cast out hand, and she could feel her body stiffen. A stasis, that much was obvious, but at least it was not a…what had the mage from before called the thing he'd done? The 'Crushing Prison'? it had definitely earned its name, and Talia wanted too much to avoid it.

Her hands and legs were unshackled, and she was carried – by magic, withheld in the stasis – from the cells and to where the apparent leader of the place, 'Father' Elrik, was waiting in what looked like the inside of a Chantry. Did every Chantry have dungeons? Considering the way they locked up mages by default, it would not have surprised her.

He was not dressed as a mage, but instead wore the garbs of one of the Chantry priests. Actually, this man was the first male priest she had yet seen in Ferelden, and he was _not_ setting a good example. Talia bit her lips, one of the few actions afforded her while in stasis, and glared at the man before her.

"You can release her." He said, his voice soft, yet demanding. If he hadn't given Talia the creeps from day one, this was definitely where she got bad vibes from him. The mages dumped her on the floor, and released the stasis. Talia's first instinct was to strike the 'Revered Father' down, to blow up the room in a storm of fire; "I would _seriously_ consider my next actions, if I were you, Warden. One wrong move, and you will _beg_ for death."

"You people said I was going to die here anyway." She scowled at the man, forcing her demeanor into a fierce expression of defiance. She would not let her fear show; "The only difference would be that I could burn you twisted cunts to a collective cinder first."

"You are going to die here, yes, but you will also experience rebirth, into a true follower of Andraste and the Maker." Father Elrik started, carrying himself like a preacher. Talia blinked at the change, and scowled, crossing her arms before her; "You will be purified, and in the eyes of our most Merciful Lady, you will renounce your false gods, and if you pass the trials, be free to go."

"…What."

"You will, of course, be given back your possessions upon entering the trials. Whether they help or hinder you will be for Our Lady to determine." When Elrik started walking for the door, Talia knew she was supposed to follow. When she didn't immediately start walking, one of the mages behind her shoved his hand towards her, and Talia's mind grew fuzzy… numbed.

Walk. She had to walk. It wasn't something she could consciously _question_ why she had to, she just did. It was a deep compulsion in her bones, deeper than her own blood, telling her to walk where she was directed.

So she walked down the stairs.

Down the stairs.

Past the houses.

Past the brown houses, with their gawking habitants, women, men and children staring. They were of no importance, not when she had to _walk_.

Through the gate.

Follow the trails.

Cross the bridges.

Up the hills.

Walk up the hills.

Follow Elrik.

Follow Elrik up the hills.

Follow Elrik to the door.

Follow Elrik through the dark, cavernous temple.

Follow Elrik to the final door.

When he stopped, waiting for her and the mages to catch up, Talia simply stopped next to him, waiting in turn for his commands. It wasn't as much a choice as it was what had to happen. It was to be, because her mind spoke with the singular purpose of her going where Elrik wanted her to go.

"This is where your trial begins." Father Elrik stated, pushing open the door. More or less at the same point of time, Talia felt her mind clearing, realizing that she was no longer standing inside the Chantry. She glanced around, trying to figure out what had happened. The confusion was so intense, she could not even gather the concentration to glare at the man now wanting to send her through a potentially deadly trial; "Beyond this door, you will pass under the gaze of Our Lady. If she finds you worthy, you will proceed unhindered through the door across the valley, and proceed into the Gauntlet."

"The Gauntlet?" she had enough mental capacity to recognize that word for what it was: physical trials. A 'Gauntlet' was_ always_ about passing physical tests; "What's in it? Is that where you took Genitivi?"

Father Elrik seemed to taste something unpleasant upon the mention of Genitivi's name. Talia didn't know _why_, but he seemed uncomfortable with the man's name. What was he not telling her? – aside from most likely _everything_ – Talia did not trust the man, not one inch. He could claim religious righteousness all he liked, he had still had her knocked unconscious and dragged through Ferelden to the ass-end of the Frostbacks. She was somewhat sure that was a mountain-range in Western Ferelden, near the border to Orlais.

And if she managed to escape this place with all of her possessions, she would come back with a vengeance. There was no hesitation, nor any shred of doubt in her mind that sooner or later, even if it had to take her a year, or more, this Father Elrik would die by her hands. Violently. _How_ violently would be determined by what happened now.

"The Gauntlet will reveal itself to you, in good time." The 'Revered' Father instead said, gesturing for her to tread across the boundary, and into the open, cold air. The sun was at its peak, and the thin mountain-air made her breath fog before her. It was cold, and stung her lungs, so she repeated the same exercise as earlier; "The last thing you will need for your trials is this."

When Talia turned to regard the man, he was holding out a vial of red liquid, most likely blood. Talia raised a brow and sent the man a cold stare, silently demanding an explanation, since she had her vial of Darkspawn blood hanging around her neck with the empty – but then why was it warm against her skin? – soul gem.

"This vial contains the blood of Our Lady, reborn in the shape of a glorious High Dragon." Elrik explained with clear pride in his voice, his eyes gleaming with delusional fanatism. Talia simply _stared_ at him.

Dragon.

A _High_ Dragon.

These people weren't Chantry fanatics - They were a _Dragon Cult_!

"…And…what do I…_do_ with it?" she fought to keep her expression from going from simply hateful to _utterly terrified._ Being abducted by fanatics was bad, but manageable. This…this was potentially as bad as the Dragon Cults back in centuries past.

"If you complete the gauntlet, if you make it to the end, there will be an urn. You will pour half of his vial into it, and drink the rest." The way he said it, Talia could have sworn the man might as well have offered her a mug of ale, not the blood of a _Dragon_! She did not know a whole lot about Dragons – they had never been her area of particular interest, unlike the Dwemer – but she knew they had some sort of divine connection to Akatosh. They were supposed to be the Bringers of the End Times, the sign that the world itself was about to end. She knew the stories, at least.

"What happens when I…_drink_ it?" she demanded, her voice close to shaking. She forced it steady, and kept up the cold stare. Elrik merely offered her a faint smile, as if he was sharing some internal joke.

"You will see." It was all he offered her, and with that, he quite simply shut the door in her face, and left her to her fate.

Talia pocketed the vial of Dragon-blood, swallowed and turned, pressing her back against the door as she surveyed her surroundings. These people were _insane_! She was of no mind to test herself against a dragon, and quite frankly, she would much rather be _far_ away from even the remotely small risk of coming close to one.

The 'World Eater' was a Dragon for a reason, as was Akatosh: Dragons were among the most powerful living beings ever to breathe the air of Nirn.

And now, she was stuck here, trapped by people worshipping the damn things. Had she been a Dunmer, she would have been maybe a bit more courageous, as she would have then at least have been able to survive the _first_ blast of flames from one of those horrid creatures. Instead, she now had to make her way down what seemed to have once been a bridge crossing the span of the deep, cavernous valley.

She could see the door she was supposed to reach, roughly three hundred meters ahead. It was small, compared to the one she had just exited, and seemed…open-ish? She couldn't tell, not from this distance. All around her were peaks and mountain-walls, all capable of concealing a prowling Dragon – or in this case, a _High_ Dragon. Talia didn't know what set that apart from the dragons currently plaguing Skyrim, but she doubted it was because it was _smaller_ – and as such she made damn sure to keep her eyes wide and alert at all times, as she made her cautious way down the ruined bridge.

When she had reached the bottom of the bridge, a deafening roar filled the skies, and she threw herself against the masonry and covered her ears, if only to make herself as unseen as at all possible. She was too afraid to close her eyes, and as such, she witnessed the _massive_ form of the High Dragon as it sailed overhead. _This is it, this is how I die!_

She wanted to say something, _anything_, just so she could tell her own brain to stop worrying. However, she was nearly paralyzed with fear, and every shift and gust of wind could as well have been the flapping of leathery wing, bearing down towards her hideout. If only she had asked Morrigan to teach her shapeshifting, she would have become a mouse, just to get away.

Then, without a reasonable cause or explanation, the gem around her neck grew warm, and seemed to give off a soothing aura that spread from her chest to the entirety of her body. Her skin tingled with warmth, and the adrenaline spread in her systems, making her hair and toes _itch_.

Fear still reigned in her mind, but now the instinct to hide was slowly becoming overruled by the urge to flee. The door behind her was closed – locked from what she had heard slide behind it, but there was an open door ahead, just ahead. All she had to do was to run like Dagon himself was on her heels.

So she ran.

Almost the very second she set off from her hide, the mountains seemed to echo with the sound of flapping wings. Her heart was in her throat, and she didn't even dare to look behind her for confirmation. The sound of her feet thundering across the gravely distance barely managed to overcome the furious roar from somewhere to her right, up and behind.

"Fuck _OOOOOOF!_" the tears were welling in her eyes as she ran, even as the light vanished around her, and a great shadow grew in its stead. The Dragon 'Andraste' was after her, and she could hear each flap of its mighty, leathery wings. Talia in the end knew she would not be able to simply outrun the beast, and resorted to one last, desperate measure.

She threw both hands back, disregarded the extreme danger, and blew up the ground inches behind her. The fireballs sent her soaring through the air, though they did not serve to completely cover the sound of snapping jaws behind her. The world seemed to traverse past in slowed time, and she could only flail her arms helplessly as the door came closer, and the creature behind her was stopped by the jutting cliffs only.

Talia hit the ground hard, and tumbled across the patches of grass and dirt until she hit the cliff-side upside down. The impact stunned her, and the world at first did not succeed at making sense to her. Something large and red was trying to claw its way through what seemed to be a narrow passage with high cliffs on each side.

When she no longer retained the momentum pressing her into the wall, Talia fell into a disoriented heap on the ground, unable to at first capable of processing the sensory overload that was her world. Said world suddenly came racing back in, however, when the red creature on the other side of the narrow passage turned out to be a massive dragon.

"…_Shit_-" her breath caught in her throat when the dragon reared back, craning its neck in an S-shape, which Talia – even though she had never _seen_ a dragon before – recognized as a _bad_ thing. With the door just before her, she cast aside all semblances of dignity, and threw herself against the iron surface.

The door swung open with a long, suffering whine, and she fell more than ran inside, reared onto her back, and _kicked_ it closed with a desperate grunt. The door stopped mere inches from closing, blocked by a simple pebble in its way. Outside, the dragon's neck straightened, and her massive head came down, jaws opened wide.

What happened then, Talia prayed was due to her concussion.

"_YOL TOOR SHUL!"_

So much for 'passing unhindered beneath her gaze'

The world beyond the gap in the door transformed into flames, and Talia simply resorted to pulverizing the offending pebble with a bolt of lightning. The iron in the door carried much of the electricity through to her foot, and she yelled with pain as the current shocked her feet. Nonetheless, the door was kicked closed, mere seconds before it, and the entire wall, shook and trembled under the heat and power of the dragon's fire.

It had shouted. It _shouted_! The Dragon _fucking_ shouted at her!

Talia was, despite seemingly being safe at last, on the verge of tears. She didn't know _where_ she was, and there was no way she could go back out there. Not now. Not when there was a massive, hungry, _shouting_ dragon waiting for her.

"Oh Gods! Oh _Gods_, I am fucked beyond measure this time…" she remained on her back, adrenaline pumping through her systems in too powerful a rush for her to eventually even care if the door would remain closed if the dragon tried again. She hugged her knees against her chest and rocked on her back, biting down the tears of fear; "Fuck. Shit. Tits. Piss. Shit. Whore. Fuck. Fuck, _Fuuuuck_…"

"The Cultists send me a newcomer." It was well that she had already soiled herself at this point, when a flanged voice suddenly spoke from right above her. Still, she screamed, and rolled to her feet, ready to kill. She was beyond caring at this point, too scared to give a shit about the consequences.

Before her, stood a ghost.

And Talia was still filled to the brim with adrenaline, the blood rushing in her ears. She was utterly _not_ ready to deal with ghosts. Wraiths and whisps were usually hostile towards mortals, and ghosts tended to be no different. She had read enough stories to know that – and it did not matter that the majority of those stories had been when Mother had read aloud to her and Alai, her younger sister – ghosts were to be _avoided_, not encountered.

"I wonder: are you an initiate, or merely yet another unwilling captive sent to face the Gauntlet?"

The man was transparent, as was wont with ghosts, and clad in armor as if he was ready to fight. Talia simply stared at first, unable to process this new turn of events. She had gone from fleeing from a High Dragon, to suddenly having to figure out conversing with a ghost.

She had pissed the collective Pantheon off somehow, she just _knew it_. She had just been chased by a dragon, had the clothes nearly _burned_ off her back, electrocuted herself just to close a bloody door, and now a ghost was challenging her.

She struggled to remain unfazed, on her feet and stable enough to defend herself. The vial of dragon blood was still held tightly in her hand, somehow still intact despite the tumble she'd been through. The ghost simply regarded her calmly. Still, she could feel ancient powers seeping from its presence.

"Second option." She replied, forcing her voice to calm. If she showed any weakness now, would the ghost attempt to steal he body? "Who are you?"

"Talia, you believe to have been granted a chance by the gods, but how much difference have you really made so far?" she was more than just taken aback when the ghostly man spoke her name, and seemed to know more about her than most. She was about to retort when he simply continued; "How many lives have you actually saved? _Why_ do you think yourself important enough for your gods to have taken notice of you?"

"…"

Even though she didn't know how to respond – his words had left her with her mouth gaping and eyes wide – he didn't say anything beyond that, and simply left her to grimace.

"…what do you mean?" when she finally spoke, her voice was far less powerful than she would normally have been, in the face of such accusations and arguments. Mainly, it was because this was clearly more than just a curious ghost. He, and the entire room _reeked_ of ancient magic, potentially as old as the Dragon Cult itself; "I'm just…I never wanted to be _special_, I just…I thought they were safe because it worked. I _just_ wanted them _safe_!"

"Your purpose was one of compassion, longing to protect those for whom you feared injustice and injury." The ghost replied, nodding with what seemed to be approval. Talia honestly couldn't tell; "I followed our Lady, a single woman who sought to protect those incapable of doing so themselves."

"…By 'Your Lady', do you mean Andraste?" she dared, glancing at the door; "The 'Andraste currently Shouting at the door there?"

"The cultists of Haven once followed Andraste like so many alongside and before them…But they lost their faith, and found comfort in the appearance of the dragon roaming these mountains." The ghost replied with a hint of regret in his voice, shaking his head; "You may enter, Talia Aulus."

With that, the ghost simply dissipated, and Talia found herself wondering if she even ought be surprised at this point, when her possessions, staff included, were neatly stacked where the man had stood. Seeing as no one else occupied the room, Talia simply shrugged off the scorched rags still covering her, and slipped her own, familiar robes over her naked skin.

Never had she felt such pleasure from simply donning her own clothes.

She adjusted her necklace to rest between her outer robes and her inner shirt, tucked the blood-filled vial into her satchel, and grabbed her staff, then exhaled a long, exhausted sigh.

"…I guess I'll just… start, then?" she asked the room, halfway expecting the ghost to reappear and confirm this. When he didn't, she simply set forth, entering what was apparently named 'the Gauntlet', though the reason for this was not readily apparent.

The corridors were dark, but held rows of unlit torches. Talia ignited them as she went, leaving a trail of light behind as she walked. Each step gave off soft echoes, accompanied by the harder _chunk_ whenever her staff touched the floor.

When the torches simply stopped, Talia cast her hand out and sent a magelight ahead of her, hovering slowly through the warm air. Contrary to what she had thought, the air inside this mountain-construction was not humid and cold, but dry and warm. It was unexpected, but helped soothe her nerves on top of the adrenaline-fueled rush she was still riding from escaping the dragon 'Andraste'.

Shit. Leliana was going to shoot someone full of arrows when she heard that one. No doubt about it.

When the magelight hit a wall at the end of the corridor, Talia slowed down, prepared to deal with whatever this 'Gauntlet' might present her with. When she came closer, she saw that the magelight had gotten itself stuck to a small pillar jutting from the floor, resting in the top, which was shaped into a pair of cupped hands. _…What the hell _is_ this place even?_

Suddenly, she felt a burning sensation against her chest, and nearly ripped her necklace free from her skin, just to get it clear. Her eyes widened in confusion when the soul gem – which had never _had_ a soul in it. Never! – vibrate and tremble as if a soul was trying to escape it.

Which, much to her further surprise, was suddenly _exactly_ what happened.

* * *

**I can't really put into words just how _much_ I have been waiting for this place! Gods, it's like I've been writing the story on the sole premise of what will happen here - not true, of course - and I cannot even reveal the entire thing yet. Rest assured though, I'm fairly sure it'll be glorious. And hilarious. And maybe slightly horrifying for a certain over-worried Dunmer.**

**Also, something I have noticed is that while Elder Scrolls have _very _limited use of runes and glyphs - aside from magical traps - Dragon Age seems much more teeming with them, which prompts me to decide that aside from the well-known Big Five schools, there actually is a sixth school of magic in Tamriel: Runes. It won't play in yet, probably, and won't be a massive game-changer, probably, so I don't _think_ I am spoiling anything here. Plus, we've already seen Brelyna demonstrate her knowledge of runes in Redcliffe.**

**Alright, this chapter's question is rather obvious, I think: What in Molag's Balls is going on with this Cult? And what just happened to Talia's gem?**


	31. Voices in the Dark

'_Out looking for dragonlings.'_

'_Will return later'_

'_Tell Cassandra I won't be needing an escort.'_

'_P.S. I mean it: I don't need an escort, Seeker.'_

_Note found nailed to Pyromancer Aulus' door._

* * *

**Voices in the Dark**

* * *

The end of the corridor, previously illuminated solely by the glowing bulb of the magelight, now saw a flash of arcane energy, and the emergence of a figure. The woman in question stopped dead in her tracks, wide eyes focused on the gem hovering in its string.

Talia yelped in surprise when her soul-gem shattered before her, releasing a purple, pulsating mist that seemed to flow through the air. It coalesced into the shape of a human being, dressed in robes similar to her own, old apprentice ones.

At first, the human was just that, an outline of a faceless man, dressed as she had once done, but slowly, a face with familiar features started appearing on the ghost – it had to be a ghost, didn't it? – and Talia's eyes threatened to leave their sockets.

"It's good to see you again, Talia." The ghost said.

Talia stumbled back, tripped and fell, simultaneously horrified and exhilarated at the sight before her. Yet, the ghost didn't show annoyance or surprise at her reaction, and simply watched her, allthewhile its outline changed from glowing and ethereal, to human and in-the-flesh.

When the transformation was complete, and Talia still sat awkwardly – dumbfounded – on the cold tiles, the man that had once been her friend reached down and offered her his hand.

She hesitated.

"I am sorry if my appearance scared you." he said.

Not knowing how to respond – she couldn't lie and say it hadn't – she took his hand, and was surprised to find it as warm and strong as she remembered.

When she finally stood once more, staring at the man before her, tears started welling in her eyes. She knew, _knew_, that this couldn't be him, that it had to be a cruel joke, a sick twist of magic visited on her by the Dragon Priests.

And yet, she couldn't stop crying; "…Onmund?"

"Sort of." he smiled, nodding slowly; "I don't know exactly what kind of magic resides in this place, but…it allows me this."

"W-what…_are_ you?" she couldn't bring herself to ask 'who are you'. It would be wrong, because she knew his voice, his tone, his expressions. She knew this was Onmund, as surely as she knew the amount of fingers on her hands; "Why did you come out of my gem?"

"I am dead, Talia, you must realize this." Onmund replied somberly, causing her blood to freeze, and fresh stings of tears to roll down her cheeks. Her lips were trembling, and she felt as if her entire body was shaking itself apart. She felt sure she would have fallen back down, had her friend – he _was_ here, he was _not_ dead! – not taken her shoulders in his hands, offering his support.

She launched herself at him, desperate to keep him from going away, and wrapped her arms around him. Onmund didn't try to stop her, and simply let her rest her head in his neck, a hand slowly going caressing the back of her head, running down her hair.

"_NO_! No, you're _not_ dead! – you're _not_ dead…" she wept, soaking his robes. Onmund didn't speak at first, simply giving her the chance to cry her eyes out on his shoulder, just as Brelyna had on hers when Talia had told her the news; "…you're not dead, not dead, _not_ dead, not dead, not dead, _not dead._ You _can't_ be dead, Onmund."

"I am, Talia." Onmund said again, tearing her soul apart. He was more her brother than the man born to her own mother, and now Mundus was tormenting her with his death again. With how she had failed him; "But I never left you, you know? Sovngarde could wait, quite frankly. I suppose I might have been scared of leaving you behind, of leaving behind the best friend I have ever had, so I used your soul gem, knowing you would not be without it."

"It's _not_ fair!" she cried, hugging him closer. she hadn't even realized she'd pulled them both to a kneel on the floor again. She didn't care, either; "It's _not_ _fair_! Those bastards killed you – they killed you and I couldn't do anything to stop it!"

"You couldn't have done anything to stop it, Talia." He said, almost as if he was just confirming her regrets. Talia wanted to hit him, wanted to scream at him that he was an asshole for just dying on her, but found she couldn't. there was no way she _ever_ would have been able to hit him or scream at him, especially not when it was_ her_ fault he was dead, not his; "It was never your fault. You believe it was your fault, because blaming yourself makes it feel like you could have done something, had you been given the chance."

"I _COULD_ have done something!" she yelled, jerking away from him.

"What, Talia?" he asked, not unkindly. His friendly, blue eyes looked into hers, filling her with a warmth she hadn't felt since his death. It was different from when Aedan looked into her eyes, different entirely. She just couldn't say how; "What could you have done?"

"Stopped it!"

"How?" he asked again, tilting his head ever so slightly, making the braid of brown hair – the same braid she had made for him – hang down, free. Talia was ready to answer, ready to say she would have blasted her way to him, when he stopped her, simply by gently shaking his head; "I didn't want to die, Talia, no one does. But for you to have saved me, you would have had to kill scores of innocents. I would not have wanted that, not for you, and not for me."

"You're calling them _innocents_?" she demanded, hissing through clenched teeth. Grief was mixing with anger, and she had only him to glare at here; "They _killed_ you! Imprisoned me! They wanted to kill our friends!"

"Things are different here, Talia."

"I _know_ things are different here!" she exclaimed, angrily blinking out the tears from her eyes; "Everything and everyone is fucked in the head, and people go around worshipping dragons and dead gods!"

"Magic is not the same everywhere you go." Onmund calmly stated; "Here, magic is a curse, not a gift. We were taken because no one knew we were different. The Templars only did what was their duty."

Talia couldn't reply to that. She knew about why magic was different – and _dangerous _ – here. She knew why the Templars were needed, and she knew what happened to a mage who failed resisting the demons roaming their Fade.

But she didn't want to agree with what Onmund said, because that would feel like she was justifying the actions of those who killed him.

"But they_ killed you_." her voice was growing hoarse, both with desperation and grief. She didn't want this, didn't want to face the friend she had lost, only to hear him more or less forgive the people who had taken him from her.

"What happened was a cruel act, yes, but not caused by the templars being evil." Onmund placed his hand on her cheek, brushing away wild strands of hair; "The cruelty lies with the core of magic in this land. In the eyes of these people, death is a mercy compared to the horrors you can become if demons possess you. And… they are right. Talia…"

"Am I just supposed to _forgive_ them!?" she demanded, shoving his hand away, despite how much she had longed to feel it on her cheek. For three years. Only now when it had rested there, she had pushed it away. Fate was cruel. Onmund's expression only softened further;

"I would never ask you to forgive before you were ready, but we both know you have duties now, a role beyond what either of us could ever have imagined possible." He said, and Talia felt…strangely comforted by his words, not merely calmed. She averted her eyes, and her gaze fell on the gleaming Griffon-symbol on her chest-plate.

She nodded, but felt more like an admonished child than anything else.

"Your task is more important than anything else... and if you fail…." Onmund sighed, letting weariness show for the first time.

"The Blight, yeah…I know what happens if we fail…" she nodded again; "Brelyna thinks there could be a connection between it and what happened with the Tribunal."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she was right. She usually is." He consented with a small nod; "Talia, I don't have much time. I don't want you to go on, hating yourself and this land for what happened to me; I don't hate them for it, and I don't blame you either. Never would, because there was nothing you could have done."

"What do you…" even as she asked, she could see his form begin to lose its solidity. When she reached for him, her hand went right through, feeling like she was touching ectoplasm. It was extremely uncomfortable, but she ignored it over focusing on his eyes; "Onmund, what's happening?"

"…my time is up." He said with a small, regretful voice. His eyes went from his hands, both of which were starting to become transparent, to her eyes; "Talia, _promise_ me you will live well. Beat the Blight, and _live well_. You have people who love you, people who need you."

"I will, I will! I swear!" she declared, desperation building in her voice and soul; "Onmund, what'll…what's _happening_ to you?!"

Her friend was now nearly gone, reduced to a faint outline, with only his eyes still clear, strong blue orbs focused on her. She didn't dare grasp for him now, fearing it would dissipate him utterly.

"Live well, Talia. One day, maybe we will meet again…" he exhaled softly, and closed his eyes.

Then, he was gone, and Talia was left alone in the room, no longer seeing the magelight silently pulsating in its glowing pedestal.

The chamber was silent as a tomb, and Talia stood for a moment, shaken to her very core, allowing the tears to simply flow down her cheeks, not interested in wiping them away.

Had this truly just happened? She heaved in air, and exhaled slowly, forcing her eyes to rest on the spot which had only just held her dearest friend. Now, he was gone, and nothing remained of him. Even the shards of her soul-gem were gone, and only the mall piece held in the string remained, now no longer warm to the touch, but cold, like any other stone.

Almost like a reflex, she whipped out a hand and snapped the air, letting her Familiar join her. It wasn't even a conscious act as much as it was a question of muscle-memory. Two-Sock whined pitifully when he sensed her distress, nuzzling the palm of her limply dangling hand.

At first, she didn't make a move beyond bending her fingers to scratch him under the jaw. Her mind remained numb, stunned from the reunion with Onmund.

Then, not really knowing what else to do, she started walking, further into the looming Gauntlet.

* * *

Revered Father Elrik and his entourage of guards left behind the mountain, and with it, the Temple of Sacred Ashes, as well as their most merciful Lady Andraste, reborn in the shape of a glorious High Dragon.

The Heretic was committed to the Gauntlet now, guarded by Andraste herself. He felt confident in the young woman's chances, far more so than he did about the chances of the deluded Chantry Scholar, Genitivi. They had what they needed from him now, and his 'replacement' was ready to leave for Denerim by morrow. Then, the circle would be complete, and the faithful at Kinloch could return home to their families.

His primary concern was if she decided not to pour the blood into Andraste's ashes. It was not a major concern, however, as she was a Heretic, and had spoken ill of both the Maker and his Bride reborn, there was little doubt that she would wet the ashes with Andraste's blood, and drink the other half. Then, she would be one of them, and he knew she would then wish to remain.

It was the way of the blood, he knew. Andraste's blood. It held the power to sway every mind, especially the kind so deeply connected to the Fade as that of a mage. And, if the Warden decided to drink the entire vial…Well, she would die, and a new initiate would have to be found.

The work of the Most Merciful Lady was often arduous, but the Revered Father knew he was needed to do it, regardless of how many sacrifices his Lady required. He still remembered how his doubts had vanished when She had spoken to him, that fateful first day.

He had been scared, at first, and hadn't understood her spoken words. And yet, he knew her meaning, and knew she was Andraste. He and his disciples were being rewarded with her presence, the first in centuries to bask in Andraste's presence.

"Revered Father Elrik, strangers ahead." One of the initiates, Falbren, noticed, gesturing at the valley before them. Father Elrik narrowed his eyes, and yes, there he saw them. A group of several people, most of them carrying swords. He also saw dark robes, meaning mages were likely with them.

Maker, he hoped these were not more inquisitive knights. Each death was regrettable, as these had all been faithful Andrastians. But they had been searching for their Lady's ashes, and he could not permit them to disturb their village, nor to intrude upon the sanctuary of the Temple. Kolgrim had given voice to his thoughts, that the men should be allowed to take a pinch of the ashes, but Elrik knew that was never to be. _Could_ never be.

If first one was allowed to leave the village, more would soon come.

* * *

Talia followed the light provided by Two-Sock, as he carried the glowing orb of magic upon his back. He seemed almost proud, to be her guide in this darkness, where torches only rarely allowed her to light a flame. She couldn't take them with her, she knew, and didn't want to.

She needed some way to mark her path, in case she needed to return the same way. She just had to figure out where to go to end this Gauntlet, even if that meant she had to complete it.

It wouldn't matter. She had been through worse trials than this, and if this really was a trial of faith, she did not believe any actual dangers would present themselves.

Still, she kept her staff ready, and a hand around the shattered fragment of Onmund's gem. His words still echoed in her mind, how he had asked her to just…_live well_, and forget her blame. But how could she forget her blame, when it had become so integral a part of her reasons for fighting?

If Onmund hadn't been murdered, she wouldn't have been so desperate to find her friends, and she would not have made the pact. Regardless of what the Guardian said, a pact was a pact, and withy her friends safe, she had needed to fulfill her part.

Which was why she was with the Grey Wardens.

But, was the pact still the only reason she was with the Grey Wardens? She knew, rationally, that duty to the Order, her own vows, bound her to service until the Blight was vanquished, smeared across the country in a bloody paste.

But when she asked herself, why she really fought this war that was not hers by right, she came up with an answer that was as simple as it was frustratingly sentimental. And for that very reason, she would personally beat the Archdemon to a bloody pulp, if that was what it took to end this nightmare.

When Two-Sock stopped and scratched the surface of a large, wooden door, she knew this had to be the next step of the so-called trials. However, when she tried opening the door, she found it wouldn't budge. The door was of heavy wood, and when she rapped her knuckles on it, found to be thick as well. _Bugger. _

_It's all Cult Property._

She stepped back, whipping her staff into stance, and beckoned Two-Sock to retreat from the door. When he did, she swung the staff around in an underway-swipe, and a fireball the size of her head was slung forth, powered by centrifugal forces before it exploded on the wooden obstacle, sending the entire thing into the next room in a shower of splinters and cinders.

She was far beyond caring if she ruined historical doors.

Her Familiar tilted his head and glanced at her, conveying that maybe she was being a bit too rough with the innocent door. She returned his glance with a scoff, letting him know just what she thought of that, resulting in the ghostly hound letting out a resigning whine.

Inside the room, Talia saw nothing but darkness. She did, however, _hear_ something. Movement, and lots of it.

She didn't like darkness, nor did she like not being able to see who was skulking around. Still, she knew better than to simply kill with fire before she knew if the things moving around were simple bats and rats, or…whatever else could be in there.

The growling gave it away.

Instead of a fireball, she threw both hands out, and a pair of perfect spheres of light flew out from them. They hovered into the room, and Talia scowled, more out of frustration than outright fear, though she wasn't dumb enough _not_ to fear the sight before her.

Half a dozen humanoids were walking around, glaring at her with ghastly cold eyes, long devoid of life. Instead, a blue light seemed to fill them, and the skin around their eyes was taught and grey. Mummified and dry.

"Oh for fuck's sake…" she hissed, dismissing Two-Sock simply so he wouldn't instantly leap at them. He was protective like that, and she did not need any Wrights corrupting her Familiar. She'd read about what happened when corrupted Familiar returned to the whole soul.

Draugr.

At least seven of them, and all armed with bladed and blunt weapons. Talia's focus was especially on seeking anyone of them wielding only one weapon, thus having a free hand for the purpose of magic. She found three of them to be just that, and gritted her teeth at the prospect of fighting not just regular Draugr, but also Wrights and The Restless Ones. Honestly, she wasn't sure which was worse.

But why weren't they attacking her?

Talia peeked around the corner, and saw the undead cultists still standing where she had 'left' them. They shuffled on their feet, rattling weapons and growled, though mostly at each other. But they didn't move. Didn't swarm towards her like the undead in Saarthall had done.

What was going on?

Taking a wild bet, she stepped into full view of the monsters, ready to swipe them back with fire when they attacked her. And yet, they didn't move. Was this a part of the Gauntlet? If so, was it something more complicated than simply wiping out a group of Draugr? It would be easy doing so, even if there were Wrights among them, but not without risks, meaning she wasn't keen on doing so just for the kick of it.

"What are you waiting for?..." she muttered, muscles tensed as she ran her eyes across the group. They seemed…content, with simply remaining where they were, though their eyes were all on her.

Unless…Draugr were the dead members of the Dragon Cults, meaning they held Dragons sacred. With all the magic seeping through their bones, could it be they could sense the blood in her vial? Was that why they were not attacking her?

Digging her left hand into the satchel, she retrieved the vial of dragon's blood and held it out for all to see. The attention of the undead clearly followed the vial, proving her suspicions – or were they theories? – right. The question then, was what she was going to do with that knowledge.

She would definitely _not_ be testing if she could make the Draugr run away if she threw the vial like a stick to a dog. Not only was it likely to make them attack her, but it would also be a waste of the first blood sample ever held by Breton hands, and she knew she somehow needed it for the end of the Gauntlet.

There was the possibility that they would withdraw if she held out the vial like a torch to wolves, but the way they stared at it, all in a neat line, it was far more likely they were only held back by some sort of magical barrier, meaning she _could_ blow them all away from this distance. That, however, seemed unlikely t be the goal of this trial, and she was of no mind to discover the consequences of 'cheating'.

Finally, there was the option she liked the least. 'Revered Father' Elrik had said she was supposed to drink the blood – or was it half of it? With everything that had happened, she couldn't remember clearly – meaning it at least wasn't poisonous. However, if the blood was_ inside_ her, the Draugr wouldn't dare attack its new container, would they?

"I assume there is a reason you have not assaulted me yet?" she asked the group, not really expecting a response. If there was a way to get through this _without_ ingesting potentially deadly liquids, she would prefer that.

"A sword in the Warrior's hand, a bow in the archer's." she perked up and stared when a familiar voice came from behind the assembled undead, and stared even harder when the Draugr started to part, giving way for a man; "…A hammer in the hand of the smith, a spear in the hunter's. I am loathed, I am loved, but all who follow me serve the land."

Talia stared, unable to process that Alistair stood before her, untouched by the rotting, snarling Draugr around him. She knew, of course, that it wasn't him. His eyes were devoid of life in the same way as the undead, instead holding spheres of pale light.

"What am I?" he asked, his voice as calmer than she had ever heard it, but his nonetheless.

Talia frowned, shifting her feet. It was obvious this was a riddle of some sort, meaning the answer would not be 'Alistair', but instead something else. Mulling over the riddle, she realized the answer was easier than first assumed.

"Duty." She replied. Alistair simply nodded, smiled, and vanished in a flash of light. When the light dissipated, Leliana stood in its place, wearing the same calm expression as her companion. Talia's expression became a confused frown; "…This is…odd."

"Heart beating, skin tingling, I saw her first an autumn day." She started, her voice melodic as ever; "Never did I know this feeling before, warm against cold. A pain that felt good, a sickness that made me well."

When it was clear that Leliana had said what she wanted, Talia cocked her head, realizing that she had known the answer before the girl – or whatever it was – had even finished; "…Love?"

As before, the person before her simply nodded, and became a white flash. When the flash disappeared again, however, she was unprepared for the sight before her.

"For each I lost, my anger grew. For each I killed, my anger failed to wither." She was staring at herself, clad in the very same robes she was currently wearing; "I claimed to be righteous. I claimed that lives were me owed. While true, this was not the cause for which I countless slew. What am I?"

It took long moments for Talia to process that her mirage had spoken, and even longer to process the words. It hit her harder than she'd thought possible, when it was her own voice speaking of the most base reasons for her acts. And it was humiliating, knowing it was true.

And the worst part was, she knew then answer here, even more certainly than she had known to answers to Alistair and Leliana's riddles.

"I am Vengeance." She replied, swallowing as she did. Her mirage nodded, but instead of vanishing in a flash of white light like the others before her, swung her hand around in a tearing motion, and the Draugr turned to ashes before her. And the mirage remained, watching Talia with a solemn gaze.

She decided to dare it, and stepped past the barrier the Draugr could not.

"You have come far, Talia Omluards-Daughter." It was _beyond_ disturbing that her own voice was used like this, from a being that was clearly_ not_ her, and yet seemed to be. Magic, it had to be magic; "Now, the final test lies before you."

When the mirage started walking, Talia was compelled to follow; "What…_is_ the final test? What are you?"

"As you said, I am Vengeance." The woman replied sagely; "From the day I was born, this virtue was in my soul. It has always been with me, shaping my actions and words, even my view of the world."

"…you, right?" Talia asked; "You, not me."

"Have your acts not always been shaped by this virtue?" the mirage inquired, gently, yet with heat. It was beyond merely disturbing; "Your wrath towards the Circle of Magi, as well as the Chantry and the Cult of _Kulaas_, all those who have wronged you. Unreasonable hatred towards any and all representatives of these groups, justified as it might be."

"But…what does that mean?" she demanded, voice thick with uncertainty, then added when she realized the question could be misunderstood; "I mean, I'm not a virtue, I'm just…me. And there _are_ people from those places, at least the first two whom I do not hate."

"Ser Ava and Sister Giselle." The mirage nodded, a faint smile on its lips despite the unrelentingly solemn tone; "You see goodness where it lies, but where it lies beneath a surface, you do not wish to unveil it."

Talia's reply died in her throat when she saw the room she had now entered.

A vast abyss lay between her and the door, offering no passage across the seemingly unending pit. A simple pedestal stood before the edge, and on it, rested a cup of carved bone.

"Here, you must face the final test: the test of faith." The mirage offered, causing Talia's already worried frown to deepen, as she turned to the ghostly version of herself. For once, her own expression was mirrored on the other woman's, which did nothing to calm her down; "The expanse can only be crossed by those who carry Kulaas within them."

"Kulaas…you said that word before as well…" Talia took a step back from the gap, unwilling to be near it; "What does it mean?"

"Kulaas, is the creature who has taken residence within these mountains, and ensnared the Cult of Andraste to believe her their rebirthed Prophet." The mirage explained, lifting the cup from its place; "Her magic has penetrated all but the most central of places in the Gauntlet, and only those of her blood can pass."

"The…the Dragon, out there, is named _Kulaas_?" she gestured weakly at where she assumed the mountain-valley was located; "Shit, I knew it was bad…But…does that mean…I have to _drink_ this?" she asked, holding up the vial.

"The Cultists believe they take no risk, asking you to only drink half." The mirage started, offering Talia the cup; "They do not know your origins, nor do they, like you, truly understand the limits of your magic. When the blood of Darkspawn mixed with the blood of a Breton, a mage unbound by the Fade, no mortal could know the true extend of the consequences."

Talia took the cup, at first simply too confused to ask questions. When she had managed to process 'her own' words, she felt…sick. Just a little, and it wasn't more than enough to make her slightly dizzy. But still, she did not like the way the mirage spoke of 'unforeseen' consequences. The very reason Talia never wanted Brelyna or J'zargo to become Grey Wardens was the issue of unforeseen consequences…

Shit, what had she done to herself?

"What does the Fade have to do with this?" she remembered having heard Alistair talk about something similar, that because she wasn't connected to the Fade, she didn't have the same nightmares as the others, and Brelyna had theorized that the blood was somehow connected to the Fade. But…that had all been theories and a lack of nightmares.

Nothing serious…

She poured half the vial into the cup…then the rest as well.

"Drink, Talia, and you will understand."

Forcing down her fears, Talia put the cup of blood to her lips, and drank. The liquids were hot, slick and thick in her mouth, and tasted like the blood she had drunk at her Joining, only…worse, somehow. Darkspawn blood was simply disgusting, not to mention poisonous without preparation by magic, but this…

This burned. It burned, but at first it was only a mild itching at the back of her throat, and as such, Talia ignored it in favor of down the liquids fast enough that the taste wouldn't linger. As such, when the burning sensation finally became outright _painful_, she had already swallowed the final drops of blood, and could do nothing but throw away the cup, grasping at her throat.

The world was a rictus of pain, nausea and fire, and her eyes filled with waters she could not remove, robing her of her vision as much as the burning robbed her of air. Her body was convulsing with pain, and spasms racked her body. She was only idly aware of her mirage dissipating beside her, as she fell to the floor, gasping and screaming with what little air she had left.

She wanted to die. Desperately, she wanted death over this kind of pain.

Then, the fire started spreading from her throat, to the rest of her body, and she felt it vividly as her skin started burning, blistering and breaking with boiling blood. The hot, red droplets hit the ground and sizzled away like so much acid, and the pain started robbing Talia of her senses.

She wanted to die.

Yet death never seemed to be her granted, and in its stead, the pain simply intensified. A hot, infernal wave of revulsion rolled through her body from the pits of her stomach, and she rolled over, retching out boiling fluids.

She was unable to move, unable to scream.

She could hardy even breathe, and each intake of air felt like she was merely fueling a furnace, burning her insides with the intensity of a Dragon's fires. The pain that had robbed her of speech in Kinloch was _nothing_ compared to this, as the pain was not simply in her mouth, but in every cell of her body, burning her to the core of her being. _KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!_

Her mind was ripping itself apart, her eyes pressing themselves from their sockets. Her skin was shredding itself across her body, her nails splitting apart at their roots. Her brain felt like it was being compressed and torn apart simultaneously, and her teeth wanted to dig themselves into the bones of her skull. Each breath she could take was more shallow and desperate than the previous, and the air was never enough. Never enough to give her mind a reprieve from the agonizing torture.

This was why she had not been meant to drink the vial to its end. This was why she was only supposed to drink its half.

This was agony in its rawest form. Talia could not move, locked into place by the shredding and splintering of muscle and bone.

Then it ended, along with her senses and her pain.

And she welcomed the darkness.

* * *

**This chapter...Damn, it had some places where figuring out how to go about a certain issue was...hard. **

**Anyone ever tried drinking boiling-point coffee? I did that last week, which was one reason nothing came out there. Suffice to say, it was painful, and I felt like some of it could easily be carried over to the last part of this chapter, except that I didn't lose consciousness.**

**I think the question this time is fairly straightforward, unless you could find something better than: 'What the Hel is happening?'**


	32. Human

_Shapeshifting, while inherently an ability usually affiliated with apostates, is an ill-researched school of magic._

_There currently seem to be but two different methods with which one can learn this school. One, as an old friend of mine, who for the sake of her privacy shall remain unnamed, was proficient in, is the studious method. _

_The basis for this method of learning is as simple as repeated observation and study of the animal you wish to become. A lesson that should be known to all who wish to study this school, however, is that you do _not_ become the individual animal you study, just as you could not change into a different human with the same way of magic. _

_The other way of shapeshifting, while somewhat "easier", is also monumentally more dangerous, and more often than not results in the attempting mage becoming forever lost in his or hers animal shape, unable to ever return to humanity. Should this warning _not_ deter the mage in question, the method is actually incredibly simple: Consume the blood of your chosen creature, during a magical ritual. _

_It is, however, also incredibly painful._

Words on the School of Shapeshifting, by Talia Aulus. 9:40 Dragon, Haven.

* * *

**Human**

* * *

Talia didn't feel like moving, not really.

Everything still hurt, every muscle felt like it had been ripped apart at the cellular level, every bone like it had been broken and reset more times than even the most sadistic of interrogators would do to their prisoners. She couldn't open her eyes, and her head was pounding with an intensity that made every hangover in the history of mortal kind look petty in comparison.

Her throat felt hot and dry as cotton, and everything _itched_. Her teeth felt like they wanted to escape her jaws, and yet, no longer with the same, painful intensity. Now, it felt more like they disagreed with where they were.

"_Gods…what the _fuck_ was in that…Oh, right…"_

When she had listened to the words of her own mirage – and how stupid hadn't that just been? – she had disobeyed Father Elrik and emptied the entire vial into the bone-cup.

She really, _really_ wished she hadn't disobeyed Father Elrik. If she had just done as he had instructed her, maybe she wouldn't have been dragged through such a rictus of agony. The man obviously knew what he was talking about, and was this what happened when you did not listen to the words of those who actually _knew_ what was going on?

In the choice between listening to a man who wanted her as a willing member of his cult, or a mirage of herself that had controlled Draugr, she had been unable to see her own idiocy for what it was, and now…Shit, what was she going to do now?

Her eyelids, while they still felt heavy, finally seemed ready to slide away. The first of the side-effects from drinking the blood was a bit of a frustration, more than it was an immediate shock. The world was…different, now.

Colors were changed, and outlines were simultaneously sharper as well as blurred. She could see where she was, and what was around her, which remained the same as when she had…lost consciousness. Divines, how long had she been out? Her head was pounding, and her skin was itching all across her body. Especially her hips felt horrible, like she had been stung by a giant wasp while asleep. It felt swollen and sore and she did not like it.

She tried to sit, only to find that her body didn't seem ready to obey her again. Her legs felt awkward, and something seemed to hinder her attempt at planting herself upright on the floor. Talia groaned, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand.

She stopped after just a few seconds, realizing something was wrong. Her eyes, closed to stem the headache, slowly opened, to focus on the hand currently resting on her forehead._ What…in the name…of Akatosh._

A strong, red hand met her eyes, possessing three fingers and a thumb, all clawed and covered in skin and scales. Heart beating faster than it was supposed to, Talia's eyes trailed down the hand, following an equally red, strong forearm before meeting an elbow-joint, then up the upper arm of a decidedly _not_-human body.

What. The fuck. Had happened?

That, was when she realized something else. Something that was, in a way, so much worse that it wasn't even funny. Most human being lived their lives, ignoring their noses as they were always in the way of their vision.

Talia no longer had a nose.

She had a long upper jaw, with a neat pair of nostrils wafting thin trails of smoke. She blinked, unable to process what she was looking at. Slowly, she brought another hand up. It was not human, not elven, not even Orcish. It was equally red, equally scaly, and equally clawed, and she touched it down on the long part of her face that was not her face.

And she could feel it.

Finally, enough processed in her mind to lead her to the single-worst conclusion she could have thought of.

And filled with an unnatural, irrational terror, she screamed.

* * *

A long, high-pitched scream filled the cavernous corridors. It was inhuman, animalistic and feral. It sounded bigger than a human being _could_ sound, and echoed down the dark chambers like a hammer striking the stone.

Daveth was the first to jump at the sound, notching a new arrow before he'd even hit the ground again;

"Okay. What, the fuck, was that?" he demanded, his voice shaken and afraid.

"Hopefully _not_ another small dragon." J'zargo hissed, wincing when he moved parts of his body burn furless by the younglings' fire; "J'zargo was not meant to hunt these scaly shits."

"Better not be; I'm running low on arrows…" Daveth muttered, sounding calmer than before.

In most situations, Aedan would have either found his comrades' reactions amusing, or applauded Daveth for his ability to prepare his arrows with such speed. Now, however, he was in no mood to even consider noticing Daveth's dexterity, as his mind was set squarely on getting ahead as fast as possible.

Talia was somewhere in here, and no madmen, no cultists and not even a sodding High Dragon 'Andraste' was going to keep him from finding her. His mind skipped over the part that the Dragon hadn't actually attacked them, instead focusing on glaring at Cullen for not being able to run faster than he was in his templar armor.

The Knight-Templar had volunteered to track Talia down with her phylactery, for reasons that were his own. They might be a sense of duty, gratitude or something entirely else. Cíada was jogging next to the larger man, huffing and out of breath, nevertheless keeping pace.

But Aedan was on point, refusing to waste time because some could not keep up the speed. He barreled through a room where mummified monstrosities attempted to stop him, responding in kind by pulverizing skulls left and right, plunging his sword into chests, cutting off limbs, but never stopping.

"Aedan, _slow_ _down_." Alistair urged him, struggling to keep his pace in the heavy plates. Whether it was condition or desperation that drove him, Aedan himself didn't know, just that he didn't feel his legs burning, nor did he sense his arms aching; "Aedan!"

But Aedan wasn't about to slow down. Before he'd died, 'Revered Father' Elrik had declared – from his position on the ground – that Andraste would soon have a new servant, when the 'Heretic girl' completed the Gauntlet. Then, Aedan had broken his neck with a boot to the throat.

He had to stop Talia before she completed whatever this Gauntlet held, before she became…whatever Elrik had determined she would become. Aedan didn't want to find out, and from the sounds ahead, whatever was at the end of the Gauntlet was _not_ human.

He never doubted Talia's skills when it came to holding her own – he'd seen her wipe the floor with both Darkspawn and mercenaries before – but he'd also seen the size of the Dragon 'Andraste' nestling in these mountains. He had seen dragonlings the size of bears, and now even stumbling undead that Brelyna had called out as 'Draugr', a term he only vaguely recognized.

When he rounded a corner, being the first of the group to do so, he came to a stop, and nearly fell. The rest, as they came around, reacted much the same way.

Before them was an abyss, an expanse between them and the opposing door, offering no real way across. But he hardly registered the hole at all, much less the door.

Aedan's eyes were locked on to the scatter of ripped and torn clothes before him, soaked in blood. Dark, green robes and a steel chest-piece carrying a Warden Griffon. The robes looked like someone had torn them apart with the strength of…he didn't even dare guess, for the claw-marks betrayed it all. Claw marks and blood, along with torn bundles of bloodied, red hair.

There was no body, but…Talia couldn't have survived whatever had attacked her here.

Next to him, Brelyna sank to the floor, and Aedan knew he would likely join her the moment his mind caught up with his eyes.

"N-no…No, nonono…J'zargo does not…I do not believe this…." The cat whispered from somewhere behind Aedan, not that he cared. He simply didn't have the mental capability to care. If he allowed himself to realize what was going on around him, he knew he would break.

His mind fled the scene, fled the sight before him. Even as his hands clenched themselves white, tears streaming down his face, his mind refused to accept the scene before him. It wasn't true, _couldn't_ be true. Talia was the strongest, fiercest woman he had ever known, there was no way anything but the Archdemon itself could have…

His eyes had stopped at the strands of red hair on the ground, and his brain stopped working. Her red hair, it was the first thing he'd noticed about her when she had entered the main hall, back in Highever. She had hidden beneath a hood, and yet, hadn't been able to conceal the way it tried to outshine the sun. When she had been in his room that same night, when he had seen her dozing on his bed.

Her hair had been spread like the corona of the sun itself, and he remembered feeling unsure if she really _was_ a mere human. Now, he had all the evidence that the woman he had come to love really had only been human.

And then he broke down. Even as he dropped his sword and shield, allowing the tears to flow, someone placed a hand on his shoulder, one he instinctively jerked from, yet the hand remained, fingers digging into his shoulders with enough force that the pain brought clarity to his mind.

When he looked up, it was Morrigan causing him pain.

"I do not believe Talia to be lost to us." She declared, sounding both certain and not. Aedan stared, processing her words before he dared to even consider if she was right. Morrigan, for once, seemed to sense that she was one unfinished sentence from a punch; "I cannot yet be certain, but…allow me a few minutes."

* * *

Huddled in a corner of this new room, Talia was trying her best to lose consciousness again, hoping against hope that whatever had happened to her would be nothing but a dream, a nightmare sent by Vaermina herself.

She had attempted ramming her head against the wall, holding her breath and even hitting her own face, yet nothing had seemed to work. Now, she was relegated to huddle in a corner, trying to shut out a world of sounds and sensation she neither knew nor wanted to know.

What was she, at this point?

Was she still Talia? Talia was the arrogant, beautiful girl from High Rock, a powerful mage and a Grey Warden. She had flowing, red hair and green eyes. Now? She didn't know who she was now. She was a monster, simple as it could be said.

Her body was no longer her own. She was caught in…in this _thing_, this foreign skin that was not hers. She had claws, a tail and a head that was longer than that or a horse's. her arms were stronger than they had ever been, covered in scaled hide. Her cute toes were now thick talons, more likely to shred open a cow than succumb to a pedicure.

Gods, what had she done to deserve this?

When a black crow landed on the tiles before her, croaking in clear annoyance, Talia tried swiping at it. if there was a single _good_ thing about her new…body, it would be that she was faster, and stronger than before.

The bird jumped backwards, out of the way, and leveled a hot glare on her. Talia at first didn't care further about the bird, resigned to simply fall back down to the floor, when she noticed something. The glare was directed at her by a pair of angry, yellow eyes. …_Morrigan?_

As if having read her mind, the bird bopped its head and shifted its feat, then spread its wings wide and transformed. It was the first time Talia had seen Morrigan transform either in or out of her bird-form, and she had to admit, even in her current state, that it was somewhat…awesome.

When Morrigan once more stood in human form, one hand on her hip while the other cupped her chin, the witch seemed almost…confounded, at what she saw. Talia, reverted to a state that lacked a means of communication, could only glare, trying to convey that no, she had no fucking idea what had happened either.

"Look at you." surprisingly, the first words from the older girl were not scoffing, but rather…sympathetic. It was unexpected enough that the glare died in Talia's eyes, becoming a more pitiful, begging stare. She prayed Morrigan would know how to reverse…_this_, and if not, then at least have the mercy to put her out of her misery. Talia didn't want this, had never wanted this kind of state. it was wrong, and she felt trapped in a tight-fitting cell, a prisoner in her own body, except that it wasn't hers; "Whatever _did_ you do to end up like this, I wonder?"

Talia rose from her position on the floor, and did not fail to notice Morrigan's eyes as they tracked her movements. It was strange, that she was in effect naked, yet did not feel as such at all. Everything was covered in skin and scales, and even her hair was gone. A muscular tail, moving like that of a cat's, followed her when she cautiously approached the witch, who did not make to retreat, but instead examined Talia's every move.

When she stopped before the witch, Talia did her best to convey 'help!' to the other girl.

"Allow me to touch your mind, if you please." Morrigan's words did not register at first, and Talia realized she was not understanding them as she normally would, but more like they were coded words in a system she knew. Still, she didn't know how Morrigan would _do_ that, and simply nodded, unsure of what to do. Morrigan returned the nod, an almost invisible smile on her lips, yet Talia saw it; "I will be gentle."

When she had said that, Talia simply watched as Morrigan placed a hand on the skin covered the short distance between her nostrils and her eyes. She was unsure of what to expect, and fought down the flinch when she felt a foreign presence in her mind. It was wild and uncut, much like the personality of the witch before her now, but also possessing of a…she did not know exactly what term to use, but knew it was good, and she stopped resisting the presence.

Almost immediately, she could feel, smell and sense things she had not been able to before. The senses were weaker than what she currently possessed, yes, but at the same time they picked up things she had not. Appreciation for colors, opinion on the importance of this place, concern for a friend.

Did Morrigan consider her as such?

"I do, t'is true that I might not be very good at letting it show, however." The witch replied, causing the girl's reptilian eyes to flare open wide, surprised that Morrigan had heard her thoughts; "I will leave you, now, for but a moment."

"_Why? I need you!"_

"The others mostly believe you to be dead." Morrigan replied, her tone caught somewhere between her opinion of their pessimism, and her own relief; "I would be gone for just a short time, to tell them that you yet live."

Talia would have reddened with shame, had she not already been red as blood. Of course, she was not wearing her robes now, and she distinctly remembered bleeding all over the place when…when her skin had…Shit, there probably was a _lot_ of blood and torn clothes back there, wasn't there?

"Yes, I fear your robes might not be salvageable." Morrigan confirmed, then retracted her hand before offering Talia a look. It was short, not much more than a second at most, but it promised help, and so Talia remained where she was. She didn't dare show herself to the others, not like this.

She didn't want Aedan to see her like this. Nor Brelyna or J'zargo, but for different reasons – the Dunmer had once turned her into a horse, of all things, so it would not be the first time she had seen Talia in bodies not her own. Still, she would like her own body back now, if the Divines would grant it.

"She lives, Aedan." She heard Morrigan's voice somewhere out of sight, which likely meant the girl had gone around the corner; "Yes, she is here."

"Is she safe – hurt, injured, what _happened_?!" it was surprising just how well she could hear Aedan's voice. And just how many emotions she could detect in his voice. This was all so confusing, even _if_ Morrigan could make it better somehow, this was all still on a whole new level of uncomfortable; "Talia, can you hear me?!"

What could she do? Reply? She wasn't even in possession of a human body as it was, much less a tongue like before. Shit, this made the Kinloch incident look like water in comparison. Back then, she'd at least retained her human body. Here, she was…she wasn't certain, really.

The skin and scales, the claws, tail and the way smoke had risen from her nostrils when she had woke up at first, it all indicated 'dragon', somehow – Talia had _no _interest in becoming a Dragon. None what-so-fucking-ever.

"She is…uninjured, yes." Morrigan replied to Aedan's questions – they were more like pleas, actually, and Talia could not help a warm fluttering sensation in her chest, even despite everything else that had happened – since she herself could not answer them; "However, I do not believe he wishes to be seen in her current state. Find some clothes, if you lots actually desire to be of use."

With that said, Morrigan returned to view, and Talia released a relieved sigh at no longer being alone in the room. It was empty, aside from a short set of stairs leading to some sort of podium. She hadn't bothered examining it before, and again now her attention was focused on something other than ancient architecture.

The witch returned, and placed her hand back on Talia's forehead. When the witch did not immediately speak, Talia took that as a sign that she could ask a question that had been on her mind since the moment she had no longer been gripped by blind panic.

"…_What have I become?"_

"_I must confess, I do not know." _Morrigan replied, with not a small hint of regret in her voice. Talia was surprised that the witch spoke with her mind this time, though she realized Morrigan likely wanted to keep their conversation private; _"Whatever transpired when you consumed the blood of the High Dragon, it was not what the Cultists expected. Your body seems to have desired the form of a dragon, yet there are no wings."_

"…_I noticed that…" _Talia replied, almost as if it was something to be ashamed of. She wasn't yet quite sure if there was something in her family that had caused this, since they were so steeped in magic, or if it really was as simple as her being unbound by the Fade. She directed green, pleading eyes to her friend; _"What do I do?"_

"_When you…became this…" _Morrigan started. Her eyes averted, as if she was uncertain of how to continue that line of thought, in a manner of speaking. Talia – odd as it should have felt – nudged her hand, just to make her snap back into contact.

She was not nearly as frightened now, with Morrigan here to help. Wynne and Brelyna might be the two single-best healers she knew, but Morrigan was the one to ask about…this kind of issues. At least, Talia hoped that was how it worked. Otherwise, she was royally fucked; _"When you became this…did it cause you great agony, as if your body was tearing itself apart?"_

"_Yes…" _Talia both thought and nodded; "_Is…is that good or bad?"_

"_It means, much as these circumstances are _not_ normal, that what you have experienced is not a permanent, life-changing new body being forced onto you." _Morrigan's words, despite the cautious with which she said them, made Talia nearly jump on the spot. That such an action would require her to jump with both legs _and_ arms, was never even near her mind.

Thank the Gods, she did not have to remain a…whatever she now was, for the rest of her life.

"_How do I get rid of this, then?"_

"_Let me explain to you first, just what exactly I believe has transpired." _Morrigan interrupted her. Talia halted herself, forcing her heart to slow down – literally, she could control how fast her heart was beating, which was unsettling, sort of – and listened with her mind; "_When I first began learning how to take the shapes of different animals, I learned of two distinctly different methods with which to acquire a bestial form, say, like that of a wolf. The methods I made use of was to simply observe, observe and observe the animal I desired to become. I could spend days in the wilds, following packs of wolves, or flocks of crows."_

Talia, despite the situation, could not help a snigger at the image of a child-like Morrigan, leaping through the woods with juvenile wonder, intent on some innocent animal's behavior. Somehow, Morrigan sensed her amusement, and bristled, if only slightly; "_Do not laugh; at least _my_ method did not cause me great agony."_

Talia promptly shut up, and Morrigan nodded, apparently satisfied that the message had come across. Now, however, the girl-turned-reptile was staring at her again, mind racking through what the second method to learn shapeshifting could be, and how it was connected with her current…predicament. Honestly, at this point it was more an annoyance than a cause for panic, mainly because of the witch before her._ My life depends on Morrigan. If that isn't just sad, I don't know what is._

"_You do realize our minds are joined, do you not?" _Morrigan asked, with no small amount of amusement in her mental tone. Talia bit back a growl, which she could actually feel made her lower jaw tremble. Scary shit.

"_Sod…"_

"_As I would have said, had you not found something else so amusing, the other method for learning shapeshifting, relies on the blood of the creature you wish to become." _

"_So…I just…shapeshifted?" _was this true, it would mean the most intense panic-attack in Talia's life had been caused by something Morrigan did on a daily basis. Hircine's balls, this was going to stay with her, wasn't it? Morrigan, however, merely nodded, apparently oblivious to this at least; "_So, how do I, you know, change back?"_

"_The reason so few would ever dare the method you chose-" _Morrigan lifted a brow when Talia growled; _"Fine, 'accidentally embarked on,' if that pleases you? is that while it _does_ guarantee a complete shapeshift, it also bypasses any kind of knowledge on this art of magic, and often mages who attempted this have been trapped in their animalistic forms for the remainder of their lives."_

"_Can I please not do that? I want to be a human again, and have hair. And five fingers on each hand."_ She held up a clawed appendix for emphasis, showing off the strong, but nonetheless currently useless, clawed fingers.

"_I cannot teach you the reversal, not in your current form." _Morrigan sighed, causing Talia's optimism to take a dive. The witch shook her head, forestalling any desperate acts the changed girl might have considered. And she had quite a few considered, one of which involved a free-dive and the black abyss beyond the door; _"I will force your body into a reversal through a…Are you familiar with the term 'hex'?"_

Talia shook her head, not recognizing the word. Morrigan simply groaned.

"_It is a very basic, magical ritual, remotely cast onto whatever person it might aid or hinder. For example, I could cast a hex that would make Alistair's pants itch, or a hex that could stop a headache. Simple things." _As the witch explained this, Talia nodded, her long snout bopping awkwardly. She winced when she nearly hit Morrigan in the face with it; _"More complicated hexes can stop a man's heart, melt armor or, in this case, reverse a magical transformation such as shapeshifting."_

"_And…you can do this? Now?" _now wouldn't be soon enough, really. Talia itched to return to her own – not old, _own_ – body, and Morrigan likely felt this, as a small smile seemed to creep onto the girls lips; _"Morrigan…I don't think I will ever be able to repay you for this."_

"I do not have any pressing needs for the time being, Talia, but I will make sure to remember your debt to me, should that satisfy your need for repayment." Morrigan actually mused aloud, a very satisfied expression on her face. The expression changed then, to one of more intense seriousness; "I will need for you to remain still. This _should_ not hurt, but I offer no guarantees."

"'_Should' not hurt?" _Talia asked with a slightly creeping sense of apprehension. But at that point, Morrigan had already withdrawn from her mind, and Talia was forced to obey as best she could, using her hands to drag the red, muscly tail close to her body. She hated the way it was a part of her, yet seemingly insisted on having a mind of its own._ This is not feeling good. _

Morrigan now stood a good two meters from her, staff held firmly in one hand while the other seemed to fondle the air, waving around while her mouth uttered soundless incantations. Talia could only stare, forced to remain still as she was. Anxiety made her tongue press against the row of razor-sharp teeth, and she tracked each and every of the witch's movements like they were slowed down. …_Is this how a dragon sees things? _

She had to admit, it was…revealing, just how superior dragons then were to humans, if their senses were just _this_ heightened, and that was to add to flight and firebreathing. Was this why the ancient humans had needed the Voice, because the dragons had them trumped in everything but sheer numbers?

A blue glow started illuminating the stones she stood on, as if there was a source of light underneath the tiles. It wasn't blinding to look at, but at the same time, was brighter than natural light had any right to be. So, this was a 'Hex' then? It was a type of magic Talia had never even comprehended could exist, though someone with sufficient insight in runes might have guessed it. From what she could understand of Morrigan's explanation, hexes were like throwing runes of different sorts at people from afar.

The only rune Talia knew how to 'throw' was a fire-rune trap, and she doubted this was anything like- She couldn't move. Talia struggled to move even a muscle, and found that just as before in a stasis, this hex seemed to hold her prisoner in her own body, trapped in some form of film or barrier. She glared at Morrigan, silently demanding to know what purpose it served to trap her like this.

"As I said, this Hex is…not often used for friendly purposes." Morrigan said, somehow reading the exact demand in Talia's eyes alone. Talia couldn't do that with people, much less animals or Morrigan when she was in animal form; "The pain is the only factor I can circumvent, so please, do not fight this."

Once, not even a month ago, Talia would have had issues putting her trust in Morrigan like this. The witch had only recently started becoming sociable enough to actually be likeable, and that in itself was an agonizingly slow process. Now, however, she trusted Morrigan. Not _explicitly_, but enough that she could do this without panicking.

So, she did not fight it. she could feel how tendrils of foreign magic started snaking themselves up her arms and legs, wrapping around her body like magical coils, which in essence _was_ what they were.

This time, the transformation only stung as she felt the scaled hide soften, turning a more human pink before growing goosebumps. The long snout and nostrils shortened, softened and became a simple, perky human nose. The rows of razor teeth flattened and broadened, finally becoming covered by two soft, full lips. As the transformation neared its complete reversal, Talia felt something itching terribly at the back of her skull, and felt panic starting to rise in her mind. Then something soft started creeping down the back of her neck, and she realized it was her hair. Red, full locks of wild hair cascaded down, stopping only when it overlapped her naked shoulders.

Everywhere the scales and claws reversed into human skin and hands, fingers and toes, Talia felt less and less wrong, and finally, Morrigan stood back with a smile that could almost be called 'immensely relieved'. Talia blinked, realizing two things. First, that she could once again move, and she was human when doing so, and second…This place was freezing.

"It is done." The witch declared. Talia, both grateful beyond words for what Morrigan had done, and freezing her naked ass off, wrapped the her friend in a tight embrace. Morrigan, for reasons her own, seemed to blush an even deeper scarlet than her robes; "W-what is- You do not h-have to _touch_ me, you know!"

"Thank you! Thank you-Thank you! Thank you Morrigan!" if Talia was crying again, she didn't care if Morrigan saw it. She scarcely dared believe that her nightmare was over. She was herself again, she was safe, and her friends had found her. Considering her life overall, it almost seemed too good to be true.

"Y-yes, well now that it is over, you can maybe refrain from this emotional outburst…" Morrigan replied awkwardly, half-heartedly shoving Talia off. As Talia did not know how to proceed from there, and Morrigan seemed uncertain as well, the Breton decided to keep the cold at bay, at least somewhat, by repeating the same exercise as she had in the dungeons.

She was more than a little horrified when actual fire came out, though without the bone-shattering pain she remembered from Kinloch. Talia fell flat on her ass, eyes as wide as her mouth, though she now held her breath, terrified of what had just happened. Judging from the way Morrigan was staring, she had not anticipated this either;

"Was that on purpose?" she asked, head inclined with yellow eyes narrowing in thought. Talia directed an angry, shocked glare at the witch, though now she could follow it up with words;

"Of course not!" her voice was frightened and clipped, a result of her heart being solidly lodged in place somewhere between her collarbone and her chin. She stared, horrified, at her own hands, as if they somehow held the answers to what she had just done; "Morrigan! What the fuck just happened to me?!"

"I wonder, then…Brelyna mentioned to me that your family has a talent for firebreathing, though it never seemed to manifest in you, am I correct?" Morrigan now was starting to sound more intrigued than worried, and Talia was torn between still being undyingly grateful to her, and wanting to smack the witch for being so un-afraid of this.

"Because it takes _years_ of practice, that's why I never could do it!" she bit back, regaining figurative fire in her voice; "Firebreathing is as easy as shooting flames, but it tends to scar you beyond fucking- _Why_ did I just breath fire!?"

"I have a notion, though t'is entirely possible that I may be mistaken." When Talia's glare did not dissipate, Morrigan continued; "One of the attractions, far as I have heard it told, of blood-consuming shapechanging, is a tendency to…gain, or inherit, which ever way you would prefer to say it, certain traits from the chosen creature. The same can, of course, be attained by the more riskless method, though it does take more time."

"What, am I going to grow _scales_?"

"While that would no-doubt increase your chances of surviving a fight, I do not believe merely physical traits are inherited." Morrigan mused, shaking her head with an undeterred smirk; "I, for one, have a much keener sense of smell than most humans, from my wolf-shape, and a much sharper sight, due to my being able to 'become a creepy bird', as Daveth would put it."

"So…" Talia forced herself to _not_ snap at Morrigan. She knew, rationally, that the witch was only trying to help, though her social inabilities were once more starting to shine through. She clenched and relaxed her hands a few times over, not trusting her own breath at the moment; "What, does that mean, for me?"

"Clearly, it means firebreathing comes easier to you, for one." The raven-haired girl pointed out, a fine brow lifted in bemusement; "I wonder if it comes with other traits though, or even disadvantages, though I have never heard of the latter. Then again, I have had the chance of seeing someone transform into a dragon, or whatever your form truly was, up close like this before."

"Great, just…" she groaned, when a sudden fit of angst hit her, and she turned her back to Morrigan; "I don't still have a tail, do I?"

"No, you do not." Talia thanked whatever Divine had sent Morrigan with them; "However, you might find it amusing to know that all humans, for reasons I do not know, possess a short stump, as if we once all did indeed possess tails."

Talia turned on Morrigan, offering her a flat stare as a means to let her know just what she thought of the witch's sense of humor. It was true, though, that pure-blood humans, like Nords, Redguards and Imperials, had those stumps. That the same was not true for Bretons, Dunmer or anyone with elven ancestry, she did not find worth mentioning.

The witch simply scoffed, obviously thinking she was funnier than she was, and offered Talia a smirk in return. She heard the footsteps beyond the door before the voices reached them.

"Talia? Morrigan?" it was Aedan, his voice as filled with apprehension as had he seen her dead body…Come to think of it, seeing as her clothes were likely back there, along with the no-doubt puddles of blood, he might as well have. Bugger, this was going to be something they discussed later on, wasn't it?

As long as no-one tried using it as an argument not to let her talk herself into drinking strange – and potentially lethal – liquids.

"I'm up, I'm okay!" she called, though very pointedly refrained from entering into the view of the group. Instead, she just waved a hand before the doorway. She didn't feel like risking Daveth getting a peek, just to stick out her head. _Head comes neck, neck comes chest, chest comes boobs, boobs comes Daveth getting his own bow crammed up his ass if he stares._

"Andraste's Mercy!" she could hear Aedan exclaim. She didn't bother pointing out the poor choice of words, considering the name of the Dragon outside. Was it still outside? Morrigan didn't seem covered in blood, soot or scratches, so she doubted they'd killed it. Her mirage – or whatever the fuck it had been – had called the creature 'Kulaas', which Talia knew was something in Draconic, though she had shit notion of what exactly it meant; "Talia, what happened?! I thought I'd- I thought-"

"Drank some bad stuff." It _was_ true, sort of, so she couldn't be called out on it. Still, the room was cold, and she was freezing to the point where she could poke out eyeballs if she didn't get a shirt on soon; "Did you bring some clothes?"

The response was a brown robe being tossed across the expanse, packed up in a bundle. Morrigan, being the only one who could actually stand being seeing in the doorway, caught it in one hand and tossed it on t Talia. _Great, someone shot an arrow through this thing._

"Sorry 'bout the hole!" Daveth called, his voice betraying the grin she couldn't even see; "Mage didn't really feel like letting's through."

Talia didn't bother with a comment, mostly because the hole was in the middle of the stomach, so at least the most it would reveal was her navel, which wasn't all that different from what some imperial mages she had seen tended to wear. _Julianos' balls, women, get some more clothes on, would you? It's open season for anyone with a sword!_

Still, she figured the whole 'scantly clad mage' was really more about either distracting the bad guys. Men thought with their dicks, no matter the situation. It was an odd twist of biology, but she wouldn't complain if it made them easier to blow away. Especially if she got a good grip on their staffs.

Her face cracked up when she realized what she had just imagined. _That…just went somewhere horrible!_

Dressed for the occasion, minus shoes, Talia stepped into full view of the doorway. The others were on the other side of the expanse, and her eyes found Aedan almost as if had he been illuminated. A visible tension left him almost as soon as she looked him in the eyes. Talia hardly even realized that she shouldn't have been able to _see_ his eyes this clearly from this distance. She just accepted that he was safe, and that he knew she was safe as well.

Good thing Mara was a sucker for happy endings, it seemed.

Next to him, Brelyna was one big smile, while J'zargo merely nodded, though the way his tail was going crazy, she knew how he felt. Khajiit, for all they liked to be sneaky, never could hide their feelings. Tails always betrayed that. Things were funny when your friends had tails, but not when you did. Talia distinctly preferred J'zargo as the only tailed individual in the group.

"Okay, so can we all get back to 'not' drinking blood and just…Wait, how's the rest of you going to get across?" Talia paused herself as she realized two things. One, there was no way the others could get across, because there was no bridge. And two, she had absolutely Piss-all idea how _she_ had gotten across. As both she and Morrigan had confirmed, her 'shapeshifting' did not seem to include wings.

"This is all part of the Trials of Andraste." Leliana explained, raising her voice ever so slightly, just to make sure Talia could hear her. The Breton didn't have any trouble hear her, even had she whispered. Whether that was from the whole…blood-thing, or just being a Grey Warden, she needed to find out on a later point in time; "Each of these tiles hold a relief of Andraste's life and trials. We simply need to press them down in the correct order."

"…really?" Talia hadn't seen any 'tiles' before, but now that she looked, she could see eight distinct pieces of stone that seemed raised a few inches above the rest, hugging the edges of the abyss. Each, as Leliana had said, bore a picture of something, but she had no idea what. As such, she sent the redhead a skeptical look; "What happens then?"

She only inwardly cursed and swore at the fact that the mirage had neglected to inform her of that. Unless poisoned darts were going to come shooting out from the walls, she would have preferred endless tries with stepping-stones before drinking Kulaas' blood again.

"I assume we will be offered passage across." Leliana replied with a shrug. Before anyone could then stop her, the girl stepped on a seemingly inconspicuous tile, bearing some sort of triangle, more Talia couldn't gleam from it. The stone sank down, rewarding the former Sister with a _click_; "See? This tile represents Andraste among the Alamarri tribes, and this…" she skipped to the next tile, jumping over the two in-between; "shows Andraste and her worldly husband Maferath, spreading the word of the Maker, uniting the tribes."

Each tile she stepped on resulted in a _click_, and Talia started remembering each point in the story, or at least somewhat, from what Genitivi had told her. What had happened to the old man? Most likely, since she hadn't found him yet, he had been killed by the Dragon Kulaas. Shit, that poor sod.

"Leliana?" she called for the other girl's attention, and got it; "I think I found Brother Genitivi, the one we needed to find the Ashes…also, the guy you met in Denerim wasn't…"

"…his real assistant, yes, we know." Alistair finished when Talia wasn't sure how to word it. She blinked several times, initially confused, which their leader seemed to sense, or see; "Morrigan made a trip to the city while the rest of us started tracking you."

Talia turned to glance at the witch, who simply shrugged; "I found the real assistant in a room behind the front. T'is was not hard to figure out that a larger plan had been in place to prevent anyone from finding this place."

Talia knew the real assistant was long-dead, so she didn't bother asking. Instead, she turned back to Leliana, who had resumed her tile-skipping. It was sometimes a little disconcerting how easily Leliana went between killing and then using words like 'willy-nilly'. Like right now, where she looked more like an innocent girl – aside from the leather and mail she was wearing – skipping cobblestones on the streets. Talia herself had never done it, but had seen commoners do it from her windows.

"So…I guess the Ashes would be at the end of the trial, right?"

"That is what the Guardian told us, yes." Leliana nodded, allthewhile standing on one foot, pondering where to jump next. Talia just hoped she would be so distracted as to attempt jumping across the expanse. She very much preferred the girl as she was now, and not as a smear at the bottom of however deep this hole was; "He spoke of four tests, whereof we have now been through three, meaning this will likely be the last."

Talia stood for a moment, uncertain of what to say. If Leliana was right, and the expanse was the final test, didn't that mean, technically, that she was now past the trials, and that the Ashes should be…She slowly, shamefully slowly, turned, once more looking at the room she stood in.

It was devoid of anything resembling traps or enemies, and only held the single set of stairs leading to the podium…which held a large urn. _Oh go fuck yourself, will you?_

"Okay….I think I've found the ashes." She admitted, clearing her throat. She immediately wished she had _not_, as the impact of those words seemed to shock Leliana sufficiently that she lost her balance. Talia's mouth opened in a silent scream when she watched the redhead fall from her stand, and over the edge._ SHIIIIIT!_

Even as she fell, a hand grabbed hold of Leliana, arresting her fall with a snap. The hand grabbing her wrist was Alistair's, who in turn was lying flat on his chest by the edge, his face a study of panicked strain. No one spoke, not even Leliana, who was now just dangling from his hand, holding on for dear life. Talia held her breath, knowing there was nothing she could do.

"…Okay, could, ah, could someone maybe help?" Alistair groaned, accompanied by the sound of metal bending and fabric tearing. Talia couldn't tell if it was Leliana's or his. Next to her, Morrigan's expression was furrowed in frustration, as if she felt as powerless as the rest of them; "Like, now?"

Then a fresh hand reached down, grabbed Leliana's wrist with one hand, and hauled her back up. Sten hardly seemed to notice the weight, his expression as stoic as ever. Alistair' momentarily stunned by the Qunari's intervention, didn't immediately let go, which resulted in him and Leliana crashing together when Sten let go of her.

The plate-clad giant of a man then simply stepped back, watching them both as they awkwardly attempted to stand back up. Both were probably too pumped with adrenaline for their limbs to properly function, and ended up using the Qunari as a support-stand.

"…You know…J'zargo _could_ just lift us all across the hole, if Leliana does not want to fall again?" the Khajiit suggested, sounding like he wasn't sure whether he was supposed to be sheepish or amused. The redhead in mention grew a shade of red very fitting for her hair, and simply gave a small nod.

Right, Talia realized with a pang, J'zargo almost never felt sheepish. Instead of saying anything, the cat then simply flexed his claws and assumed a solid stance, whereafter his hands were enveloped by an emerald glow, and one by one, he hovered the group across the distance.

Even Morrigan, who had been unable to help when Leliana fell down, actually looked impressed by J'zargo's abilities. Talia had never denied it, and she wasn't about to start now: The cat was a powerful mage in his own right, even if he could be an arrogant ass about it.

In the end, J'zargo was the only person yet to cross the gap. Talia, knowing her friend better than all but one other of the group, simply stood back, eyes fixated on their expressions. She wanted to see this.

"Can you lift yourself?" Alistair was the first to ask. When Brelyna opened her mouth to answer for him, Talia put a finger on her grey lips, silencing her. Brelyna briefly seemed confused, then her eyes widened just a little, and she nodded in understanding, a curious little smile playing on her lips.

"J'zargo does not need to use his magic for this." The cat smirked, rolling his shoulders. He then, to the surprise of all but two of the onlookers, started walking away from the edge. When he was a good twenty feet away, and just barely visible in the dark of the tunnel, Talia slowly started backing away from the entrance, poking Aedan on the shoulder as she went. He seemed confused at her intent, at first, but the obvious relief in his eyes – at finding her alive. She was still getting used to that – made him simply follow her directions, while Brelyna did the same to Sten.

Surprisingly, the Qunari was even quicker to step back, and slowly everyone in the party seemed to catch on, though no one spoke a word. Talia suspected it was because they didn't want to sound stupid when they suggested or asked if the Khajiit was about to jump.

Which was exactly what J'zargo had the full intention of doing. When he came into full view, there were some surprised expressions at seeing him all but naked, everything but his smalls strapped to his back. Talia wasn't surprised in the least, and neither was Brelyna. Khajiit, for all they were humanoids, still behaved like big cats much of the time.

When J'zargo reached the edge, he was running at speeds humans simply couldn't match, a courtesy of his feline build, and leapt. Usually, when someone jumped distances, time would seem to slow. Here, however, he crossed it so fast that few but the Grey Wardens likely even saw him in the air.

When he landed, the group had wisely left open a path through, meaning he had plenty of space to roll on, before stopping in a low crouch. He then simply stood, stretched and rolled the robes back on.

"Showoff…" Talia muttered, but with a smile on her lips. It was worth J'zargo showing off, when it meant seeing the dumbfounded looks on most onlookers faces.

"And that, is why people are jealous of J'zargo's glorious body." The cat grinned, twirling one of his dangling whiskers around his finger.

"Maker's ass, I didn't know you could do _that_." Daveth exclaimed, eyes as wide as the hole he'd shot in Talia's – some mage's – robes. Which was quite sizeable; "Can you teach me?"

"Khajiit can do many things." J'zargo flashed his sharp teeth in a smirk; "Teaching humans, however, is not one of them."

"Oh well, had to ask." Daveth didn't seem particularly downed by the reply, and instead perked right back up as they entered the final chamber. He skipped past the group, stopping at the stairs; "So…anyone else feeling like we should be really much in awe, like right now?"

"We might actually have found it…" Wynne whispered, taking a hesitant step forward. She was stopped, when a wall of fire sprang up between the group and the Urn's podium; "….This I did not foresee."

"There's an inscription on the floor." Alistair noted, kneeling on the ground. Where he was pointing, a set of texts in a language Talia couldn't read – so it could easily be Fereldan, for all she knew – spelled something out. It seemed to make sense to their senior Warden, so she simply decided to wait for a translation; "Well, that's…oddly odd."

"…oddly odd?" Brelyna asked, raising a brow as she looked at the former templar; "What does 'oddly odd' mean?"

"Well… it basically means…I…" Alistair was starting to grow red-faced, which was in turn making Talia grow slightly concerned. Their illustrious leader turned to glance around, coughing uncomfortably; "I…ahm…maybe we can put out the flames?"

"Alistair!" Wynne exclaimed, her expression as shocked as her tone, even as he winced at her tone, but nevertheless pointed at the words; "We are in the Gauntlet of Andraste, we cannot just-…Oh…oh my, I…I…Oh my…yes, maybe we should attempt to put out the fire."

"For the love of Mara, _what_ does it say?" Talia demanded, her patience worn thin by the wait and reactions. Alistair and Wynne looked at her, then each other, then back at her. Talia's stare became a glare when Alistair simply pointed at the inscriptions; "I _can't read_ Fereldan, Alistair."

"Oh, right, it's…Maker's balls-"

"Alistair. _Language_." Wynne exclaimed again, her cheeks becoming rosier by the second. Talia was growing increasingly impatient at this point, and resorted to simply bypassing asking, and grabbed Alistair by the arm before hauling him down to the inscriptions.

"There. Read aloud, if you please." She honestly had been through enough shit for one day, and suffering Alistair and – surprisingly enough – Wynne's obvious embarrassment wasn't what she wanted to do right now. Alistair squirmed in her grip, but Talia found she could actually hold him. Or maybe he just wasn't trying all _that_ hard to get free.

"T-to approach Our Lady's Ashes, it is needed that one be cleansed by her fires. Ca-cast off thy worldl-worly…wordy…_worldly_ g-garm…garments, and tread forth as the day the Maker created you." he sounded like he was going to faint at the end, which was evidently a very much shared reaction among the group upon hearing the words – save for Sten, who didn't outwardly react at all.

"What."

"That's what it says." Alistair insisted, wrestling himself free; "Sod, Talia, when'd you get so strong?"

"When a sociopathic priest tricked me into drinking Dragon blood." She replied off-handedly, unwilling to mention her mirage, nor the words it had spoken about vengeance. It had obviously wanted her dead, meaning there was nothing proving that its words about vengeance and righteousness hadn't also just been hot air; "Alistair, is this floor saying we need to strip naked to go through a wall of fire?"

"…yes." He muttered, his face as red as the dried blood on his armor.

"And you're going to obey the floor." It was voiced as a question, because she was_ not_ going to order him to strip naked. It was a sight she did not need, and she did not feel like throwing off the robes in the presence of Alistair, Wynne, Jowan, Sten or Daveth. It was not something she believed herself capable of outliving.

"…well, it's a wall of fire…"

"This is seriously the dumbest thing I've ever heard…" Talia groaned, stepping forward. She reached for her staff, half-expecting it to be on her back. When it wasn't, she cursed, realizing it was probably still somewhere on the other side of the expanse. Brelyna then handed it to her, not speaking a word. Talia simply nodded her thanks, stepping forward; "See, this is why you bring a mage."

"…I really don't think-" Alistair started. Talia, instead of listening to him possibly arguing _for_ stripping down and get crisped, swung the staff over her head, sending energy into the tips – this was the whole reason she even bother spinning it – and then promptly slammed it down, stock first, into the tiles before the flames. A blast of directed cold washed over the flaming wall, dousing the flames.

"See?" she gestured; "It's _that_ easy."

As if to taunt her – and it was _definitely _to taunt her – the flames sprung back up almost as soon as she had said the words, burning bright as ever. Talia's eyebrow twitched, and she turned to face the flames. She glared at them, for they were doing her a personal wrong.

"Why-"

She repeated the same attack, this time with more intensity. The flames doused for all but a second, then sprung back up.

"Won't-"

The same again, then followed up with a horizontal sweep that blasted even more frost across the room, enough that it toppled over a brazier several meters ahead, yet the flames before her remained.

"You just-"

She resorted to slash at the wall with the bladed end of the staff, producing little to no effects. Each time the wards on her staff impacted with the fire, they flared alive like magelight, and as soon as the ward no longer touched the wall, the flames resumed.

"Go out!"

In the end she resorted to the most basic thing there was. Hoping the others were far enough away to be out of danger, she simply started blowing up the ground where the wall of fire stood, directing half-sized fireballs at the wall. It was an accepted rule that all fire, even magical fire, obeyed the laws of physics. Wanna snuff out a campfire? Blow it up. Sucks away the oxygen, snuffs the flame.

So why didn't it work?

In the end, she stood, resting against the wall while she panted out her exhaustion. She'd directed enough power to break down the gates of Solitude, but the wall of flames still remained, as if spitting her in the face.

"I don't…don't get it…" shit, she was still way too exhausted on top of everything else. Three days of imprisonment, then having to flee a dragon, pass through the gauntlet, suffer through an unwilling transformation, a reversal of said transformation, and finally this, all just served to drain her down to exhaustion; "It's just fire, why the fuck…can't I just…snuff it out?"

"Nothing is 'just fire' in this place." Wynne explained as she came to stand next to Talia, placing a blue-glowing hand on her shoulder. Slowly, Talia felt all her energy returning, which was a relief. She could feel her muscles slowly ease up, and her burning limbs sooth. The acidity wad dying down, which was something she _could_ have done herself, but Wynne doing it was still a nice gesture.

Still, it didn't change that Talia loathed what they would now have to do. Still, she'd be fucked if she let others – maybe with the exception of Aedan – see her butt-naked.

"Okay, so…the men go through first." She declared more than suggested, causing many a pair of eyes to turn to her. She huffed, and put a fist on her hip; "Well? What the fuck did you expect, a multi-gender pride parade?"

While funny to watch, when he had seen the group in Wayrest, Talia had no intention nor desire to partake in it. Talia did not feel like sticking around for when Sten dropped his pants, and quickly exited the room, dragging Brelyna – who seemed somewhat reluctant to leave – with her around the corner. Wynne, Cíada and Leliana.

"How are we going to get our things with us?" she heard Jowan ask, in the midst of the sound of armor dropping to the ground, and boots being stomped off. Talia was just glad her own had not been ruined by the transformation, somehow, just as her gauntlets. Her robes, as it were, could _not_ be worn without a solid wash, and _days_ with a seamstress.

"Hey, does this mean we get a peak when the ladies- Ow!" Daveth was easy to recognize, even had his words been written instead of spoken. The accompanying sound of someone smacking him over the back of his head luckily shut him up; "Man, my masculinity is just getting stomped on here."

"J'zargo was not aware humans grew tails at the front."

"He's a Qunari, J'zargo, _not_ a human." She heard Aedan grumble, and had to force down a very girly snicker; "Don't put him in our category, it's not fair."

"…J'zargo, where's…don't Khajiit have…" Alistair asked, obviously extremely uncomfortable about the subject; "…_Damn_."

"Humans often brag of their beards." The cat chuckled; "J'zargo thinks it's because they feel jealous of Khajiit's glorious pubes."

"You did _not_ just-" Daveth exclaimed.

"This reminds me of the first training days…" Cullen muttered. Talia had half-forgotten he was there, on top of everything that had happened. It just made this even better, though, because she could imagine him looking at a naked J'zargo now, something she wouldn't wish on even Ancano.

"Parasharra, this is a waste of time."

"Maker's cock, Sten, them Qunari girls's gotta be the single-luckiest bitches in Thedas."

"Daveth has clearly never met an Orc."

"What is an 'Orc'?" the templar with them asked, resulting in the single-creepiest chuckle Talia had ever heard J'zargo capable of.

"Hey, Cullen, didn't I hear somethin' about you having a crush on a certain elven lady?" Daveth mused, loud enough that every woman in the mountain could hear him. Talia simply smirked, cocking a brow as she glanced at Cíada. The elf was reddening to the point where _she_ could have been the group's latest shapeshifter, for all the world knew of blood-shifting.

The girl just stared at her feet; "…shut up."

"…Shut up…" Cullen said from around the corner, causing Talia's grin to become shit-eating. _Score one for team building, right there._

"This is so humiliating…" Jowan muttered; "I think the girls are laughing."

Outside, around the corner, Talia, Leliana and Brelyna were on the floor, holding their sides while they laughed themselves hoarse. Wynne was slumped against the wall, and Morrigan was crying herself teary with laughter. Cíada was just hunched in a corner, covering her face. She was trembling, but whether that was from tears or laughter, Talia wasn't coherent enough to guess at.

Poor sods, all of them, really. Talia wasn't alone in the desire never to have seen Sten naked, it would appear. There was eye-candy, and there was a line one did just _not_ cross.

Not many minutes later, the call came that the men had passed through the fire, all of them unscathed. When the woman entered the room, Talia saw that somehow, the sods had managed to get their armor and clothes past the fire with them. She just couldn't figure out how, and refused to be the one to ask.

"Anyone peek through…somehow, I'll cram his sword up his ass." She warned, seeing as she couldn't actually see through the flames. Bloody mechanism, it hadn't been there before everyone had come across the hole.

Still, seeing how the others already started removing their clothes, Talia resigned herself to same. It wasn't all bad, though. She couldn't quite help but let her eyes wander at Leliana's forms.

She had seen Brelyna's before, true, but now her Dunmer friend was…less a girl, than last time. _It's _not _fair. Bugger take that Gilmore for securing her heterosexuality._

Still, as said, it wasn't all bad. The thing that was somewhere between amusing and slightly disturbing was how Cíada had the build of a child, but the proportions of a grown woman. It was like someone had been drinking heavily when she had been made, which Talia realized was probably racist towards the entire elven race in Thedas.

She just made sure not to look at Wynne, as she held no desire to see any naked, old women but her mother, and that was sufficiently long ago that she no longer held that vision on her brain.

"Alright, now what?" the petite elven girl asked, looking around with her robes bundled up in her arms; "Because I really don't feel like burning my stuff when I walk through that thing."

"…I dunno." Talia admitted, looking _to_ Wynne, not at her. Gods, this was getting old, fast. No, no, she didn't want to go down that line of throat- _thought_! This was just horrib-old in so many ways…_Oh shut up._

"We walk, quite simply." Wynne replied, seemingly oblivious to Talia's situation. The old enchanter was first, striding confidently into the flaming curtains, vanishing through. Startled exclamations followed almost as soon as the old woman was through.

"Maker's ass!"

"_Tell us_ you're coming through before actually-!"

Talia simply glanced at Wynne's apprentice. Cíada glanced back, shrugged as if to say 'Hey, don't look at me' and followed her mentor through the fire; "Elf with bad habit of magical mass entropy, coming through."

"That'd mean 'shield your eyes', lads."

"Good thing J'zargo is not into human women."

"I am _not_ human!" Cíada insisted somewhere behind the flames. Talia glanced at Leliana and Morrigan, both of whom were equally butt-naked, though the latter made it look like she wasn't, somehow. Maybe she knew no one – maybe with the exception of Sten – lacked enough sense of self-preservation to sneak a peek at her.

"Meh, no fur is no fur." The Khajiit offered with a shrug in his voice; "Besides, only Khajiit and Argonians have tails."

"What's an Argonian?" Cullen asked.

"Like Khajiit, but lizard."

"Your homeland is weird, Cat." Cíada declared; "Your magic is awesome though, so you've got that going for you."

"Which is nice, yes." The cat agreed.

"E_xactly_."

Talia looked at the three women remaining with her, but Morrigan was already on her way through, carrying herself with a confident stride. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering just how messed up Morrigan's childhood had been, to produce a woman so hard and, well, honestly at times horrifying. There had been mentions of Morrigan once becoming a giant spider, which Talia deeply, innerly hoped was just something Alistair had made up.

"I swear, I'm starting to think my life has become some sort of drug-induced dream." She muttered, just loud enough that Brelyna could hear her. The Dunmer let out a low, soft giggle, to which Talia simply replied with a flat look.

"I suppose." Brelyna mused; "I haven't seen J'zargo as torn up as when they came back and told us you were gone."

"Yeah well, I didn't exactly have the time to leave a note describing my exact location…" Talia huffed. It took her a moment to realize just what was wrong with what she had just said; "Wait…I _didn't_ leave a note, so…how _did_ you find me?"

"Cullen used your phylactery." Brelyna explained, to which Talia could only blink. She had no clue what that was, which Brelyna seemed to sense;" It's…basically a vial of your blood. Somehow, he could track you with it. Apparently it's how they find mages who run away from the Circle."

"When the sod did they…Right, I probably don't even want to know…Dammit." Brelyna tilted her head in confusion, while Leliana seemed to figure she was up for the passing, and left the two mages behind; "I honestly should think nothing horrible could surprise me about the Circle at this point. Gotta give it to them, they _really_ don't pull any punches to make me despise them."

"I would say it can't possibly be that bad, but…" the Dunmer girl started, ending up in a shrug; "I mean, it's because of the…the blood thing that we even found you, right?"

"I really wouldn't know." The Breton huffed, adjusting the bundle of clothes and steel in her arms. The chest-piece was probably heavier than the rest combined, but at the same time, heavy just meant sturdy. Here, at least, it did.

"Well…isn't there _anything_ good about the Circle?"

Talia was about to say no, no there wasn't, when her mind started wandering. There was Ser Ava, whom Talia had to admit wasn't a bigoted, self-righteous bitch, and there Cullen, who had apparently traveled across the nation just to find her. There was…well, she supposed there was Wynne and Cíada too, and Jowan, sort of. But those were people, not the Circle itself.

"…probably, somehow." She replied instead, unwilling to offer more than that. Brelyna, being who she was, took that for what it was, and set out, walking into the flames with not even a moment of hesitation.

Then again, _Dunmer_. She could feel the heat, but it wouldn't bother her, and neither would the fire.

That was probably the reason why Dunmers were buried, not cremated. Not exactly the cheeriest thoughts, Talia realized, considering Brelyna had started her down them. Such as it was, she decided to sod the wait, and started forward, making sure to hold the bundle so that it at least covered her core and nipples. Anything more, she could probably convince someone was fashion somewhere.

Probably _was_, if people in Thedas had an equivalent to the Summer Isles. _Hah, I just made a Thalmor joke …and no one cares._

When she was on the other side of the fire – really, it didn't even _feel_ hot. What sorcery was this even? – she made sure every male individual was standing with his front to the Urn, before slipping back into the blood-stained, arrow-holed robe, slapped on her chest-piece and strapped on her boots and vambraces. Finally, she slipped her necklace back on, including the piece of Onmund's soul gem.

Shit, she hadn't told Brelyna or J'zargo yet.

"So, this is it, then?" Alistair asked of the room when he ascended the stair, followed by Aedan and Leliana. The rest more or less just gathered at the foot of the stairs, seeing as the podium hardly supported _one,_ let alone _three_ people; "The Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"Maker's breath…" Leliana whispered, though the room made sure everyone heard her; "Can you feel it?"

"You mean the goosebumps?" Alistair muttered; "Because I'm pretty sure I've got goosebumps. Do you have goosebumps?"

"I don't believe I'm actually here…" Cullen muttered to himself. It surprised Talia that the Templar had somehow ended up next to her, and she hadn't subconsciously smacked him. Maybe it was because he was a confirmed 'good guy' for the whole 'cross-country trek'?

"I feel it too." Aedan said, holding a hand before him. He looked like he was trying to see how thick the air was, which Talia didn't fully understand. Maybe it was because she wasn't up there? "It's like…like there's something in the air."

"Dust?" J'zargo suggested, and was subjected to a glare from Cíada. Right, the girl was even stricter Andrastian than Leliana. Hard to remember, since Talia wasn't used to elves being the…well, she actually didn't know how to finish that line, so she just let it lie.

"These are the Ashes of Lady Andraste herself…" Alistair muttered, sounding like he was about to faint;" If I collapse, would someone mind catching me before I hit the floor? Like, down there?"

Yep. Andrastians were weird.

"What exactly _is it_ you feel, up there on the podium?" Talia dared to ask. More than one pair of eyes turned to stare at her, though Sten seemed completely indifferent. At least there was _one_ non-Andrastian native who wouldn't judge her. Talia had no idea what Morrigan was, in this case; "I'm just saying, you'd think you'd just met your God…please tell me I didn't get something wrong, and your god _is_ in that urn."

"Close enough, really." Daveth shrugged; "Considerin' who's ashes they are. Don't you have prophets in Tamriel?"

"I heard there was a really annoying priest in Whiterun, but other than that…No, not that I remember…" Talia mused, tapping a finger to her upper lip; "We have saints, if that's all the same for you?"

"Dunno if saints'n prophets are the same thing…" the archer scratched his chin. A regular _beard_ was growing there now, or at least, starting to; "What'd your saint do?"

"Threw himself over the city-wall to keep an army of blood-sucking monsters from killing everyone inside." She replied. Saint Pelin's sacrifice was a story even the lowest, most drunken idiot on the street or in the whorehouse knew by heart.

"So…did it work?"

"It wouldn't, not without divine aid. He was filled with blood time and time again by Stendarr, the Divine of Justice. Pelin held back the Gray Host long enough that reinforcements arrived to help, and Bankorai was saved." Talia replied, and with pride. Pelin's sacrifice was the reason she had even been born, along with hundreds of thousands of others through history since the First Era; "When the people saw his sacrifice and understood just what had happened, he was made saint."

"Well, shit."

"Most of it was, yes." She agreed; "the First Era wasn't a very fun time to be alive, and it was harder to stay that way…What do they mean, saying there's something in the air?"

Daveth shrugged; "Not sure. Could be magic, could be the Maker himself watching over Her Ashes."

"…Be that as it may, could we just get what we came for and leave?" Talia asked, then almost immediately regretted it when she realized how arrogant it sounded. She did not want to let the ghosts of this place be right. If Onmund's presence in her gem was to have any meaning, she had to make sure he was at least somewhat wrong too; "I mean…I know this place is about as holy as it gets, but each second we spend here is a second Arl Eamon deteriorates."

"The Circle sent a healer to Redcliffe, in case we were delayed…" Alistair said, but in the end nodded. He approached the Urn, took out a small, empty pouch from his…somewhere, and filled it with a pinch of the dead, cremated woman. _Ashes, Talia. Ashes. Sacred, very holy ashes that can somehow heal injuries, though without offering an explanation for how they do it…unless it's a sort of reverse necromancy, in which case I hope Eamon's not going to _ingest_ this stuff._

"Right." Talia said, watching as he stepped down again; "Wanna see if we can find an exit that doesn't require us to reunite with Kulaas?"

Everyone, bar Morrigan, looked at her as if she had said something weird. Talia scoffed, adjusting the ill-fitting robe; "Never mind. Let's just find a way other than past a High Dragon."

Alistair chuckled, though what he found so funny, he didn't seem inclined to share; "Now that, I can agree to."

Bugger, but she was really just glad to have found them again. Even Sten, who didn't let show whether or not he gave two shits.

Meh, he was probably dancing inside.

* * *

**So...I wrote this. In seven hours. Skipping lunch. And now I can't feel my finger-tips. Yay. *throws imaginary confetti* Reminds me of a joke: What's the difference between confetti, and nuclear warheads?**

**Americans are more likely to drop the former, but deter with the latter, while Russians are more likely to deter with the former, and drop the latter.**

**It's 01:00 here, give me some slack.**

**Aaaaanyway, so yeah, happy reunion, everyone's smiling. Does that sound too good to be true to you guys? What? Why would you nod your heads at that, can't our group have just _one_ good thing happen without someone dying horribly? You people are evil. Yes, especially _you *_points* you know who you are, hoping someone dies next chapter.**

**Gods, I am tired. Is that appropriate to mention on this site? Bugger, but I am. Okay, so I have a question, which is really more of me needing help. I have been trying for almost a week straight to get a new title on this story - it's a good one, I swear - but when I try making use of the image manager, nothing happens. I edit the front cover, save it, and nothing happens. **

**I have _zero_ sodding clue what I'm doing wrong, or if something's wrong with the site.**

**Oh, and how did you like the chapter? *grumbles* I swear I'm way too tired for this. Don't take me too seriously when I'm publishing at One in the night. I get like semi-high and don't know what I am writing, which is also t blame for the 'men's locker-room scene'.**


	33. Admissions and Argumentations

_I spoke with Leliana today. _

_I found her in the Chantry, deep in conversation with some of the Sisters. In a way, she seemed like she missed the days where she was but a simple Sister herself. She didn't take any vows though, something I seem to remember Sten having trouble comprehending._

_We walked around Haven, and ended up in the tavern. She seemed far happier than I've seen her for some time, but when I asked her what was up, she simply gave me the most mischievous smile – what is she now, thirty-nine years? – and told me that I 'would see' soon enough._

_We then proceeded to drink with some of the locals, most of whom had simply repopulated a town that had been abandoned when a certain group of Grey Wardens came through, what, ten years ago now, and everyone tried killing them._

_I never asked the others what happened with the children of the village, though I do hope they were at least taken in by the Chantry._

_Even if they got their religion somewhat wrong, at least that is one commendable role this organization plays. _

_Middas 19__th__, Evening Star, 9:40 Dragon_

* * *

**Admissions and Argumentations**

* * *

When the group finally left behind the hallowed chamber of Andraste's Ashes, they did not do so by backtracking. Doing so would have meant a risk due to the dragon still roaming the mountains.

Talia was fairly sure Kulaas knew she hadn't joined the Cult of Andraste. Dragons were semi-divine creatures, and if she had to judge by both the fact that this one had a clearly Draconic name, as well as the fact that it had Shouted three clear, if completely foreign words before breathing fire, she was more than just certain it was of the same kind as the Dragons harassing Skyrim now.

Shit, this was all way beyond what she had imagined when she'd joined the Wardens. Back then, it had just been 'find Darkspawn, kill them, repeat as necessary', whereas now, it was all Dragons, magic, Civil wars and demons. She hadn't actually _seen_ a Darkspawn in at least two full months.

As it turned out, one of the doors in the chamber led to an old, worn-down staircase, going deep into the mountain. Alistair, being both leader, Senior Grey Warden and heavily armored warrior, took the lead. Talia's place was once again with the rest of the mages, in the middle, between archers and warriors. Sten, as the only Warrior, was on rear-duty all the way through the dark tunnels, while Alistair led them, aided by a floating magelight of Brelyna's making.

Leaving the mountains – and Haven – behind, felt better than she had expected, and as they descended from the Frostbacks, Talia started feeling less and less of the oppressive atmosphere that had seemed to hang over her head all the time she had spent as an unwilling guest of 'Father Elrik'. Already on the first night of their journey back to Redcliffe, Talia felt better than she had in days. The next morning, tenseness she had not even realized she was under, left her body.

"You said you found Genitivi?" Aedan asked as they rode side by side. Niko had been brought from all the way from Kinloch, thought no one had ridden him. He'd been used as a packhorse, of all things. Poor little baby, and Talia was the first to admit she was surprised at the way she cuddled the horse when she saw him again.

"I think I spent maybe…an hour, talking with him." She sighed, looking ahead. She hadn't wanted to get too far away from him now, but whether that was from separation-related anxiety, or simply because she wanted to spend time with him, she honestly couldn't say; "They took him the same day I arrived, and I don't know what happened to him after that. You didn't find him, I take it…"

Aedan didn't reply at first. Talia didn't look at him either, instead focusing her eyes on the backs on those ahead. She wasn't sure what to say now, to him, which was as uncomfortable as it was new. She wasn't sure what to say, or do, and it annoyed her. Something had happened, in the mountain, and she felt…different now. Not as easygoing, if she'd ever even _been_ that.

Most likely it had been the transformation. The kind of pain that brought her…you didn't just forget that. According to Morrigan, dragon-shifting was as rare as Dragons were thought to have been: extinct. The witch talked about it like it was an amazing gift, as if Talia had been given something Morrigan had wanted her entire life. And the oddest part of it...she understood what the witch meant.

If she put aside the tremendous agony the transformation had caused her, the transformation had opened up opportunities she had never thought possible. Firebreathing, something she had thought was years ahead of her, was now well within her grasp. Her senses, even without changing, now seemed sharpened, and the change itself…Damn, if it wasn't actually the most groundbreaking art of magic she had ever witnessed.

She hadn't changed again since Morrigan had helped back into her human shape, mainly because she was frightened that she would be forced through a new round of agony. Nothing, not even the potential to become a dragon-like creature, was worth that in her eyes.

She had done just fine before, and she could continue to do just fine. There was no rush, no matter how fascinated Morrigan was at the chance to study this kind of transformation.

"How are you feeling?" Aedan asked, having been silent as she thought. Talia turned to look at him, unsure of what to say. How was she feeling? Better than before, definitely, but she had a feeling that wasn't a response he was going to accept.

"Well as I can be, I guess…" she replied. Aedan nodded, his eyes telling her that he wasn't entirely satisfied with a reply that could just as easily mean she was feeling horrible. He genuinely worried about her, and she wanted to believe she deserved it. When the dust had settled, and her mind had caught up with events back at the Gauntlet, she had realized that seeing Aedan here, knowing he had crossed a nation, likely traveling to the point of dropping unconscious, just to find her, had made her realize something.

She didn't care deeply for him.

She loved him.

She loved him, and the realization was as hard-hitting as the man who had knocked her out in Kinloch. More, actually, because it left her in a new sea of uncertainty, one where she had no experience, no ground to stand on, and no way of knowing what was supposed to be done about it.

She knew what happened in romantic, sappy stories and poems, of course, but those had all been just that: Stories. This was real, and somehow it was far more terrifying than running from a High Dragon. Suddenly, she didn't know what she was supposed to say, what went for friendly banter, what went for romantic banter, what went for anything whatsoever. She felt silly, and uncertain, and it was frustrating as fuck.

"Right, so I guess I better just get this done with." She sighed. Aedan, riding with his helmet open to better see, lifted a brow as she kicked Niko closer to his own horse. He only seemed to realize her intent when she grabbed him by the top of his chest-plate. Still, it was clear he was surprised at the intensity with which she pressed her lips against his, even as their horses seemed to share neighs and head-tossings at the way their riders acted.

When she took her mouth from his again, Aedan was several shades more colorful, as if she had turned something on inside him. She likely had, too, but more in a spiritual kind of way. "You meant you just wanted to get that kiss done with? Is there something I should know?"

"I love you."

She said it, without hesitation, and with more certainty than she realized her voice was actually capable of. Aedan's eyes were still for all of a second, then grew as wide as they could, when the words seemed to sink in. Talia, despite how shitty she somewhat felt about not knowing where to go from here, couldn't help but laugh when he grew all shades of red, and blinked furiously as if to get something out of his eyes; "Just… so you know what to expect when we get back to Redcliffe."

Aedan didn't say anything for several minutes, evidently because most of his blood had left his brain to go to his face, if the tomato-like color was anything to go by.

Talia, despite herself, ended up spending the time he was silent, wondering if she had been too direct. Aedan didn't have the same kind of experience – or any at all – that she did, so it was likely that her previous behavior, now coupled with her declaration, had his mind sent on all kinds of weird, terrifying or just plain line-crossing paths.

Especially the 'when we get back to Redcliffe' part. She knew that one would have most men sit awkwardly in their saddles. Letting her glance wander, she noticed Aedan _was_ uncomfortably adjusting his own seat as well, which meant she had been right. How she was going to _go about_ _it_, though, was another matter entirely.

Still, Talia honestly felt like she had waited long enough. In retrospect, she realized she might actually have been infatuated with him ever since that night in Highever. It had been the following nightmare, however, that had made her suppress it entirely. Personal affections had sort of been mashed into the mud by the overwhelming guilt over the death of Aedan's entire family. It was just a notion, a theory, but it was the best she had, and the only one she could actually make into something that made sense. At least to her. Probably wouldn't to anyone else.

But when had the 'love' part come along? She consciously didn't actually know, which was what truly irritated her. It was a part of her that was about as intimate and personal as it got, yet she didn't know _when_ it had started growing. Well, 'growing' had started the moment she saw him, she supposed, but when it had become definite love, she didn't know.

"I…didn't see that coming." Aedan finally admitted, prompting a frown on her expression. She had expected something along the lines of 'I love you too', mainly because she knew he did. Was that why he hadn't said it? Because he knew she knew how he felt?

"Honestly, I didn't either." She shrugged, swallowing a mounting sense of…anxiety? Why was she suddenly anxious? It was not a feeling she wanted around when she declared him her love, so why was it showing up now of all times? "So…I kinda have the feeling you feel much the same way, so…what do you want to do about it?"

Aedan started regaining the tan of a tomato, and she quickly punched him in his armored shoulder, even though she knew he could hardly feel it; "I don't mean _now_, with everyone around!...I meant, later, you know?"

"I don't know." His response did something to calm her down, mainly because of two things. One, he didn't deny his feelings, which was good, because she wasn't sure what to do if he'd turned her down. Not that she'd ever imagined he actually _would_, considering what had happened between them in Redcliffe. The touching, the teasing, the kisses; it was fairly obvious what he felt; "I mean, I can't bring you flowers if I tell you about it beforehand, can I? I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way…"

"…Flowers?" she tilted her head and looked at him. Wasn't flowers something kids gave each other, or noble suitors gave other nobles they had never even met? No one had ever given _her_ flowers, other than the messengers from around the other regions of High Rock, and assorted minor nobles who hoped to up their stance through marriage. She had found that throwing assorted roses in the fireplace gave off a very nice scent.

"You know, ehm…don't people give each other flowers if they love one another?" Ah. Apparently, that part was different in Ferelden. It was nice, she had to admit, if flowers could come to be associated with actually sincere love, and not nobility courting each other, or shy boys handing a plucked wildflower to some girl he thought was pretty.

She was briefly distracted by the way his armored fingers were fidgeting, something she hadn't thought possible in steel-scaled gauntlets. And she realized this was one reason she loved him. He never seemed afraid of being earnest with her, or to let her see him in his uncertainty. Most men she'd known hated displaying themselves as anything but stoic, heroic, decisive, sex-engines. It was something an adolescent Talia had found appealing, but not the one she was now.

The one she was now appreciated small things, like soft touches, smiles, gentle kisses and even just the squeeze of her hand in his. She wasn't even sure when the change had happened, but she honestly preferred this version. Put to rest all the people who'd called her immature and indifferent. Now, she had just one person she truly wanted, and…it felt good.

"The only people who've ever given me flowers were the ones who wanted to marry me, and half of them I'd never even heard of before." She explained, not failing to notice how his expression flashed with something different when she mentioned the word 'marriage', yet didn't comment on it; "And considering just how much I resented the lot of them, flowers never really gave me the best vibes…But, if it's a Fereldan thing and means something else, I certainly wouldn't mind some professional courting from your side."

"The two of you _do_ realize we can hear you, right?" Cíada chuckled from up ahead.

The group in its entirety rounded with chuckles, except for Sten, who merely directed an annoyed stare from where he walked. Talia scowled, pointing just one finger at the rump of the elven girl's horse, then let loose as mild an electric zap as she could. The horse reacted as had it been smacked, and sped ahead with a yelping Cíada clinging to its saddle.

"So, anyone else think they heard something?" Talia asked, adjusting her seat while keeping a sweeping glare on the group.

"Nope, didn't hear a thing." Alistair quickly replied, followed by the rest of the men. Mostly, though, it was Alistair, Daveth and Cullen who had been laughing, and the latter was now galloping ahead to stop Cíada's horse. Contrary to the Templar, it was obvious that Cíada didn't actually know how to stop a zapped horse.

"I don't feel like getting' zapped, so nope."

"Good." Feeling like a sense of normalcy had been secured, Talia allowed herself a smirk. She knew it wasn't very nice to the elf, but at the same time, it _did_ give Cullen an excuse to race after her. Who knew, maybe the distance would mean privacy for more than one blooming couple.

Wait.

What, exactly, was going on with her now? She'd gone from merely tolerating Cullen's presence, to taking joy in helping his and Cíada's obvious infatuations along. Shit, was this all because confessing to Aedan made her all lovey-dovey? If so, she wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, but it was definitely weird.

Camp that night was, surprisingly, already within sight of Redcliffe, meaning they had been travelling faster than when she had been taken. Redcliffe castle was a faint silhouette against the horizon, illuminated only by Secunda sinking halfway out of sight, while Masser hang in the skies, red and looming.

Talia found herself sitting by the fire, when all but the sentry had retired for the night. Wynne had done what she could to repair her robes, but ultimately, Alistair had asked if he could try. Somehow, Talia wasn't even surprised to discover the former templar to be proficient with needle and thread. _A king who sews his own clothes…wouldn't that be the day?_

And yet, no one had actually brought up the possibility of Alistair taking the throne, not when she had been within earshot, at least.

Now, she was just happy that she could discard – into the campfire – the holed robes she'd been wearing, and slip back into her own, familiar styles. Even if it smelled a bit like blood, vomit and scorched velvet, she was happy to have it back.

Aedan had gone to sleep. It wasn't as much his own choice – seeing as she was losing sleep – but more Talia ordering him to bed. She'd felt much like a nan, at that point, and the confused, yet determined smile he'd put on had only made her feel all the more like she was dealing with a disobedient kid.

Still, kissing him goodnight had _definitely_ not been the same way she'd have done with a child. She had lingered in his embrace, and had more than anything just wanted to knock him on his back, drag him into his tent and do…things, to him. Things she couldn't say out loud, because she feared he would simply collapse by himself if she did.

She supposed this was what people called 'being a thing' or a couple, though she didn't see what they were doing now that was so different from before. Aside from admitting she loved him as well, nothing had really changed. He was grateful for that, because really, she didn't know how fast Aedan _could_ handle things going. She was the first woman he'd ever loved, the first relationship he'd really ever had, and she knew it.

The question just was, how soon she could cement things. Eleanor had basically given Talia her blessing, and announced that there wasn't even a need to worry about inheritance or titles, because Grey Wardens could _do_ that stuff. In its own way, that was a bigger relief than Eleanor could possible know. It took away a lot of the guilt she had been feeling about dragging Aedan into a paramour, a dalliance like in the good books.

She and Alistair currently held the watch, with Alistair currently being off in the bushes somewhere. She didn't know _where_, and she didn't _want to_. Much as she had actually come to like him – really, who could not? – there were details she just did_ not_ want to hear, see or know about.

Talia picked up one of the used spits they'd roasted pheasants on – a curious bird that had a more beautiful color scheme than any she had seen before. Morrigan had taken the large feathers from the birds' tails, while Daveth and Leliana had laid claim to the smaller – and started poking the embers. The flames were small and dying now, so she placed a fresh piece of wood on them, and watched as the small fires tried eating the damp firewood. It obviously was not going well, and without assistance, the campfire would eventually die out from lack of dry fuel.

As a simple reflex, she gathered up magicka in the palm of her hand, ready to lob the small fireball into the embers. It would cause a cloud a sparks, but it was what she usually did, and usually it wasn't something she even consciously thought about.

Now, she stopped herself even as she was about to make that simple, muscle-memorized swiped that would send up new flames. She stared at the log, sitting there in the graying embers, complacent in the knowledge that it was too humid and damp, too cold, for the licking flames to really get a hold on it. Could she do it?

She'd done it before, when Morrigan had brought her out of the dragon-like body. She could…do it again? Talia pinched the bridge of her nose, annoyed with her own indecisiveness. It was magic, and it was her own body, so why did she feel anxious about doing it?

She took a deep breath, offered a short prayer to Magnus, pouted her lips to just a small hole, and blew. At first, only hot air came out, laced with her own magic. Then, slowly, as she let loose more and more air, a new sensation spread in her body, and the hot air caught fire as it left her mouth, _not before_. As a result, she received none of the horrific scars she had in Kinloch, but instead saw the log bathed in flames.

An appreciative whistle from behind alerted her to Alistair's presence. Really, she should have heard him the moment he came within ten meters, what with the heavy armor he was wearing. Yet she hadn't, but she refused to let her surprise show, and did not turn her head. If he wanted to chat, he could sit his butt down.

Which he did, meaning apparently he did want to chat. Talia glanced to her side, noticing that the Warden helmet was off, held in the nook of his arm. His hair had grown a bit longer, she realized, but somehow it still retained that same, standing cut. It was probably magic, or a Templar-trick, so she refused to comment on it.

"All calm on your side?" she asked, simply to make banter. She might as well, seeing as he was otherwise probably just going to remark on her firebreathing, which was not a subject she really longed to discuss.

"Mmm…" he nodded, poking the now live embers with a spit of his own. Or maybe it was just a stick. She didn't care enough to examine it; "So…I've noticed you seem a bit more…fiery, than usual."

She gave him a flat stare; "Was that supposed to be about my firebreathing or me threatening to zap your horse?"

Alistair had the indecency to chuckle at that. Talia glared, but couldn't really hold it against him. If one looked away from the armor, Alistair really looked like just another big kid, sitting at a campfire. He was goofy as all hell, though, but if that was how Leliana seemed to like him, far be it from Talia to change it.

"Both, I guess. Did you know Maric used to fall off horses all the time?" she had to wrack her memory to remember that name as belonging to the King before King Cailan, meaning it was Alistair's dad. Odd, that he didn't just say 'dad' instead. Then again, neither did she; "It's true, I swear. He even had this line he would always use when someone commented on it."

"…really?" she couldn't quite keep a small smile from spreading on her lips. Alistair obviously saw it, and visibly reveled in his victory; "Shut up."

"I fall off horses." Alistair said, changing his voice to a deeper tone, obviously quoting someone; "It's this thing that I do."

"So, he wasn't a great rider?"

"Actually he was just about the worst Fereldan cavalryman since we invented the horse." Alistair shrugged, offering her an easy grin; "We patented the bloody thing, but then the Orlesians came along and slapped masks on everything, decided they liked our horses and stole the whole lot, patented ones too."

"No shit?"

"Not even a little bit."

"I suppose that means you, as Maric's son, don't much like Orlesians?" she asked, keeping her voice casual. It was an obvious bait, and she knew even Alistair couldn't fall for that one.

"What, me? What's not to like about Orlesians, I dare ask you?"

"Hey, _I_ asked _you_, Cheese-muncher." She poked him in the chest, for all the good that did. Alistair mock-winced;

"Ah, Ow!" he even touched the back of his hand to his forehead, behaving like some swooning maiden; "Maker, what must I do to escape these interrogative interrogations? Oh, I know, I can ask right back."

"What." Talia's pointed finger practically withered and went limp at his smug grin; "Oh, you wanna go _there_?"

"We all heard you, you know."

"So I _should_ have zapped your horse." She crossed her arms before her; "Remind me to do that when we ride over the bridge to the castle, will you?"

"What, there's nothing wrong with being in love, you know?" Alistair defended himself, though something in his voice had changed. A subtle change, but it was there; "I know some people would probably disagree with me, Wynne, most likely, but I think it's important to hold onto that kind of emotions, especially when the world's ending all around us."

Talia pretended to examine the clearing, then the skies; "It doesn't _look_ like it's ending."

"You know what I mean."

"Probably not."

"Talia?"

"Alistair, I'm _not_ having this discussion with you." she poked him again, this time in the forehead, for actual effect; "I'm not interrogating _you_ about Leliana."

"Actually you kinda were, like just a minute ago."

"Well, I'm not now." She huffed, frustrated that she was actually losing a verbal spar with him. In the end, she simply decided it wasn't worth the effort to debate with him all night, or at least however long their shift lasted; "Fine, I love him. There, three simple words. Satisfied now?"

"Kinda?" he didn't sound sure, which…Talia wasn't actually sure herself if that was annoying or endearing. Probably both, she decided; "I mean, it's good. For you, I mean. And it does help with the whole 'kill it with fire' thing you've got going on."

"I'm a mage, Alistair. Killing stuff with fire is kind of how _I _avoid dying." She huffed, dead-panning him. It wasn't even terribly hard to do so, considering how easy he made it; "Besides, I just became an unwitting shapeshifter. Firebreathing sort of just came along with that."

"…Yes, about that…" he sighed, and she sensed something actually serious was coming her way now. Alistair sighing to mull things over was usually a sign that he was having one of his rare 'Senor Warden' moments. She sat straighter, directing her eyes at the fire; "How did it, you know…_happen_?"

"Come again?" she turned her face to regard him, lips pursed in a thin line. Alistair, to his credit, didn't seem the least bit like he was joking. Honest curiosity and a bit of concern was all he displayed;

"You haven't really seemed keen on telling anyone, and I doubt Morrigan would feel like telling me." he added, frowned and forestalled her response; "I mean, you said you…_drank _its blood, but…I don't really understand more than that."

"…That makes two of us." She replied, not without regret. Of the two of them, Morrigan was by far the one more suited for this kind of…_gift_, and yet Talia had been the one to get shoehorned into the role as, what exactly, magical aberrant? Alistair frowned, looking like he wasn't totally buying her dismissal; "Look, I've only been, whatever that makes me, for three days. Morrigan couldn't tell me anything beyond it being shapeshifting, and I haven't felt the desire to attempt changing again. All in all, I know less than little about this, and no one around seems to know more."

"Right…sorry, it's probably not your favorite subject right now." He apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. It wasn't actually possible with the piece of steel poking up to protect him from rear-bound slashes, but he didn't the motion anyway; "So…You and Aedan?"

"Molag's _Balls_, are those the _only two_ subjects you can think of?" she growled, feeling heat build in the center of her abdomen. This was new, and she had to suppress the wince of surprise when she realized it. If this was something from the transformation, it meant more than just her senses and ability to breathe fire had changed. Shit, just how extensive was this?

"Who's _Molak_?"

"_Molag_." She corrected him, blowing a weary puff of air. It was hot enough that the air before her simmered briefly; "Daedric Prince, really evil guy and generally not an individual you'd want to meet in a dark alley."

"…Right, that's not foreboding at all."

"Few Daedric Princes aren't." she replied tersely, prodding the fire with her spit; "There are a few people _do_ like though."

"Really? They aren't all super bad baddies?" the joking tone was back in his voice, and honestly, Talia didn't mind. Alistair was a child at times, whereas Aedan usually was a bit more serious, but the former templar also held attributes that made him worthy of command, if only of commanding _their _little group. She shook her head, brushing back some wild strands.

"Princes like Meridia, the Lady of Infinite Energies." She listed off the first that came into mind. She'd never really understood why most official organizations shunned even that one. Sheer principle of things, she assumed, not that it made sense to her anyway; "She's…anti-undead, I think would be the best description, and sometimes selects a champion to carry out her work in Mundus."

"Really?" now he seemed interested, if he hadn't already been; "How do you know she's selected a champion? Is it, you know, announced in the stars or something?"

She gave him a dry, flat look, trying to see if he was joking around with her. When she saw no signs of a joke being his intention, she just shook her head.

"I've never seen it, mind you, but it's a known fact that her champions are given a magical sword by the name of 'Dawnbreaker'." She looked from him to the skies, where Masser was now finally at its zenith, meaning their watch was about over; "It's a glowing blade that burns undead creatures to a crisp with a single touch."

"So, it's a magical weapon?" he surmised, to which she hummed and shook her head again, though just slightly; "So, it's _not_ a magical weapon?"

"Sort of, then again it's not." when that didn't seem to register or explain much, she picked up a new piece of firewood, discarded it on the fire, and sat down again. Her rump was going numb with the constant sitting, but there wasn't a whole lot else to do; "On this world, there exists a number of artefacts attributed to different divine beings, most of them Daedric. The Dawnbreaker is one such, and is commonly referred to as a Daedric blade, or a Daedric weapon."

"So the good Daedric Princes give people they approve of weapons?"

"Bad ones too, though I don't know where or how to find them, or how to earn them." She shuddered at the thought of what beings like Namira would demand from its followers; "Some Princes aren't considered neither good nor evil, and generally seem a bit more…unpredictable than the extremes. Sheogorath is one of those, if you see what I mean."

"So they can either turn you into cheese or _give_ you cheese?" Alistair mused, a quirk of his lips telling her he wasn't wholly serious. She resisted the urge to thumb him, and instead continued;

"If you want to put it like that, sure, but it's more complicated, really." She replied, using the steel-capped end of her boot to push the new piece of firewood deeper into the flames; "Princes like Malakath and Azura once punished their respective subjects with impressive fury, but now they are worshipped because the punishment made their subjects stronger for it."

"You're pulling my leg now, right?" Alistair asked, brows furrowed in consideration; "I mean, if a king or a Daedric prince punishes their subjects like that, wouldn't they abandon him, or it or her or…you know?"

"The Orcs are said to once have been like elves, before Malakath punished them with their current form. Yet now they're renowned as some of the most powerful fighters in Tamriel. Brelyna's ancestors looked much like elves here in Thedas do, until Azura punished them for…let's just say they played with fire and got burned, and now they're grey-skinned, dark or red eyed, and fireproof."

"What, really?" he seemed surprised. Talia briefly considered if this would be a bad idea, but then decided she might as well give voice to a sound theory, especially to someone who knew the Chantry's history, and wasn't inclined to have her stoned for heresy; "What could someone do to go from looking like Cíada to, well, Brelyna isn't bad-looking at all, but, you know?"

"Alistair, I want to answer that, but first I need to ask you something." Her tone, if anything, seemed to register with him that the subject just became more serious. The grin died in his eyes, replaced with open curiosity and acceptance. Damn, Leliana might actually be lucky with this guy. He nodded, eyes displaying some of the intelligence he often kept hidden behind that goofy grin of his; "Okay, but remember that I haven't actually discussed this with anyone but Brelyna, since she sort of was the one to confirm my thoughts on it."

"Not even Aedan?"

"I was sort of abducted by crazy Dragon Cultists before I had the chance, and the last few days haven't been spent talking religion." Whether he understood what she meant by that or not, he didn't let show. Talia, personally, wasn't about to tell him that she planned to stay in Aedan's room, tent or otherwise from now on, even if it purely involved being close to him. It probably wouldn't interest him anyway, she decided.

"Huh…so, it's something important, I take it?"

"Kind of." She nodded, taking a deep breath. When she blew the air through her nostrils, she could definitely feel it was hotter than exhaled air was supposed to be; "Tell me first, in short if you please, what happened to the Golden City?"

"That's an odd question." He said, but still seemed to ponder it before continuing; "Tevinter Magisters used blood magic to physically enter the Fade, breached the Golden City, turned it black with their sins and became the first Darkspawn."

"And that resulted in the first Blight, right?"

"Yep…" he tilted his head; "Why, did something come up?"

"Brelyna and I talked about how similar that particular story is to events of the Tribunal." This wasn't exactly a story that extensively _popular_, even with people unaffiliated with the Dunmer, for the simple reason that it had allegedly destroyed the very heart of the Creator Divine, Lorkhan. Talia could imagine that would be similar to someone being unpopular for the very thing the Chantry said had happened to the Golden City.

"Oka-a-ay?" he drawled, adjusting his sitting so one leg was on each side of the log. Then he reversed, apparently not liking the new position, but maintained a curious look at her allthewhile; "Similar how?"

"Do you know what the Tribunal was?" she asked, but continued before he could say no; "It was a council, of sorts, back before the days of the Dunmer. The whole thing funnily also corresponds with why we don't have any Dwarves anymore."

"I thought this was about the Chimer-people?" Right, too much detail at once probably wasn't the best way to do this. Everything she said was more or less news to Alistair, meaning she couldn't just pour the history of the collective Eras over him and hope he'd get just a few bits down. She took a fresh inhale, reconsidering how to broach this.

In the possible outcome of Alistair taking the throne – he sort of _was_ the only blood-related candidate – she felt he needed to know enough about not just Thedas to establish peaceful relations, and avoid the senseless mass-suicide it would be to launch a Thedasian army at Tamriel. Considering that the most likely destination for such a force to land was Black Marsh, and that the Argonians had basically made a laughing stock out of the Forces of Oblivion itself, there wasn't many outcomes not involving a mass-slaughter of Andrastians.

She felt it was better to avoid that.

"Yeah, let's stick to the Chimer." She refrained from saying 'Chimer-people' because it sounded like something a child would say. Which she pointedly did not mention to Alistair, who'd just said it; "The people of Tamriel believe the world was created by the Divines, but ultimately orchestrated by the Entity known as Lorkhan. When Mundus, the world, heavens and everything you see in the night skies, was nearly complete, the other Divines realized the cost it would demand from them, and attempted to abandon the project. Lorkhan prevented this up unto the point where the Aedra finally tore holes in Mundus, escaping to Atherius, thus creating the Sun and all the stars. Tell me if I'm going to fast?"

"What? No, no, I'm good. Gods, holes in the skies and Creation, I'm following so far."

"Good." She smiled, glad that he was able to follow her. It would have been annoying having to further simplify the story, because then it would sound like she was explaining a fairytale to a child, not hard facts to a grown man. Man-boy. Whatever; "Lorkhan, realizing that he couldn't hold the other Aedra in Mundus, in the end sacrificed the entirety of his own energies to form Nirn, our world. As such, we say that his corpus became the very ground we tread. Some go further, claiming that the seas and rivers are his blood, the heavens, some claim, his skull. Mind you, _very_ few put any weight in the last one."

"Okay, sacrifice, blood to seas, one God creating the world." He counted off, then frowned; "That sounds a lot like what the Chantry preaches."

"Yes, well, the differences are coming up now." She pointed out, to which his frown remained unchanged; "You see, seeing as _our _gods are consistently evident, even going to the point of transforming our last Septim Emperor – who happened to be a bastard like you, actually" Alistair's eyes widened at this, and he opened his mouth to speak, though she didn't give him the chance; "- into the Avatar of Akatosh, you don't just _fake_ a man becoming a giant, golden Dragon, whereas the Maker hasn't made a sound since creation, we…sort of came to a conclusion."

"You think the Maker is false?" Alistair muttered, his eyes skeptical; "I bet that one'd go over well with the Chantry, not to mention the Divine, or millions of Andrastians for that matter."

"Wrong, sort of." She pointed out with a raised finger; "Not false, but _dead_…Lorkhan, we believe, _was_ the Maker. There are simply too many things adding up for him _not_ to have been the Maker. Even the Golden City explains it."

"…Okay, you'll have to run that one by me again." He huffed, rubbing his forehead with his bare fingers, gauntlets removed for the comfort of getting some air on his skin; "How does the Golden City support the Maker being dead?"

"The Magisters breached and effectively _broke_ the Golden City, right?"

"…yeah?"

"In Morrowind, one of the provinces in northern Tamriel, Chimer mages did something very similar with a certain artefact discovered by the Dwemer, our dwarves. The _Heart of Lorkhan_, was effectively the very heart of the Creator God Lorkhan. The Tribunal abused it, and in the end, destroyed it. The result was the creation of the Dunmer by Azura, and a plague known as the Blight being spread by Nerevar, one of the members of the Tribunal."

"So, you think that's why the Maker turned his back on the world?" Alistair asked, his words evidently well chosen; "Because…he died creating it?"

"That's basically it, yes." She nodded, noticing his frown; "It's just a theory, for now, you know. No need to spread it around, okay? Especially not to Leliana or Cíada."

"I'm not saying it's impossible, mind you…" Alistair mused; "But…until one of your Divines personally pop down to reveal him or herself, maybe this should not be spread to someone tied to the Chantry?"

"That was kind of why we didn't tell anyone, yeah…" Talia sighed, getting up. It was well beyond the time when Leliana and Daveth's turn to take the watch was due; "Just…in case the weirdest stuff happens, and someone drags your butt onto the throne, I'd like you to have some context of understanding concerning Tamriel."

"You're worried about the Chantry getting pissed off?" it wasn't as much a question as he voiced it, and they both knew it; "Right now, no one even _knows_ of the Tamriel, let alone how to get there. I think your homeland is safe for now, don't you?"

"Oh, you misunderstood me, Alistair." She stopped herself before the tent she had decided to kick aforementioned leader out of; "The Septim Empire has dealt with things that would make anything Thedas could throw at us look like a senseless suicide. I'm saying it for the sake of Thedas, not Tamriel."

"…Right, should have seen that one coming." He shrugged, then raised a brow when he realized where she stood; "I thought your tent was over there?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" she asked, changing her expression into a sweet smile; "This is my tent too from now on. Have fun sharing with J'zargo."

She vanished beyond the entrance-flap before he could offer a protest. Inside, Aedan was fast asleep, with Alistair's empty bedroll next to him. Talia paused briefly, letting her eyes linger on his sleeping form. Aedan slept out of his armor, as everyone _sane_ would – sleeping in full armor could do horrible things to a human spine –, and was dressed in just trousers and his red shirt.

Talia grabbed Alistair's sleeping roll, bundled it up in her arms and dragged it outside. Its owner was still sitting by the fire, eyes filled with confusion at her actions. She didn't bother offering him an explanation, because honestly she wasn't sure she could actually vocalize one. She was acting on an impulse here, and if she stopped to think about it, she'd probably freeze up.

Having discarded Alistair's bedroll in his arms, she then proceeded to enter the tent she _was_ supposed to be sharing with Leliana, and dragged her own roll out of it.

"Wait, you're taking my place in my tent?" Alistair finally seemed to comprehend what was going on, though Talia didn't at first reply to this. She knew this probably wasn't a very nice thing to do to him, but with the recent abduction on her bill, she thought herself deserving of at least a little cheek; "Talia, what am _I_ supposed to do then?"

"Well, there's a free spot in _that_ tent now…" she let the suggestion hang in the air, just long enough to see Alistair's ears redden visibly, as if she had _insinuated_ anything. She then stepped halfway through the flap to Aedan's tent, before half-turning, and offered the former templar a completely innocent smile; "Otherwise, there's no clouds in the skies, so you could just sleep outside."

"You are mean. Did anyone ever tell you you're mean?" he grumbled, though he _did_ started edging his way towards the now half-full tent currently holding nothing but an Orlesian bard. Talia pretended she didn't see that; "Because you are."

"One in every two people I've ever met, yeah." She shrugged, smiling curiously. Something she had learned from sharing a tent with the redhead last night, was that Leliana slept in but her smallclothes. She knew this was _evil_, but felt like it was her duty towards comedy regardless; "But hey, just wake her up and tell her to get dressed."

Alistair nearly dropped his bedroll out of raw shock, and Talia had to fight the urge to laugh. Really, she knew he would probably despise her in the morning, but right now she had other priorities.

Inside, the tent felt just as cold as outside, though devoid of the chilling winds of the Fereldan autumn. She appreciated that, because it meant she could strip down to smalls as soon as she'd closed the flap behind her. Aedan was still fast asleep, something she had a vested interest in keeping up. She'd been quite serious, and honest with herself, before. She was going to let this go with a pace he could handle, and not just assault him in his sleep.

Besides, doing so meant no chance of foreplay, which was probably something she would have to teach him from scratch too.

With her boots at the foot of her roll, her necklace hung on the same piece of string holding the tent, she wriggled deep down into her bedroll. Aedan's breathing was silent, soft and basically the direct opposite of sharing a tent with J'zargo. She'd tried that once, and hadn't felt like repeating it, mainly because she could actually hear his snoring through two layers of tent.

Poor Daveth.

Poor Alistair.

_Lucky_ her.

Talia fell asleep feeling pretty good about herself.

* * *

**So...I have no idea what's going on. Three chapters in almost as many days, almost 30k+ words just like that? I have zilch clue how I'm suddenly writing so much, but I don't really feel like stopping. Then again, I'm back at the Bullocks Farm - some of you might remember that to be the place I was working as my second place in New Zealand, and that means 3 meals a day, bed and Wifi, not to mention horses.**

**Also, I still have no idea what the Hel is wrong with the Image Manager. Any of you guys know what's going on?**

**Oh, and just to give you guys a tiny bit of cardiac arrest before I go to bed? I'm planning of killing of a new character soon. There. Fall asleep on that, and know it was because I sensed you all wanting some more death.**

**And one last thing. No matter _what_ Dragon-stuff Talia ingests, experiments with or even kills, she is _not _the Dragonborn, neither will he ever show up in Thedas. I sent him off to Avatar, and there he will remain, trapped in the only story I ever gave up on. It's up for adoption, by the way.**


	34. Homecomings

_The apostates from Orlais are supposed to arrive tomorrow, as are a contingent of Orlesian Templars. Considering the mage-templar war, I don't find it a very sound idea to have two warring parties pressed together in a place as small as Haven._

_Especially since the Templars are Orlesians. Those people make the bloody Thalmor look religiously tolerant. Bloody Orlesians and their masks. I thought I left that behind in High Rock._

_I miss visiting Redcliffe, if only because the Arl used to throw the best parties when we esteemed Wardens came knocking. Considering we saved his life, and that of Connor's, during the Blight, he'd damn well better too. _

_The Auxiliaries are arriving sometime tomorrow morning, early enough that I suspect even Alistair would have taken offense to getting up. I remember how he would always be the first person to rise when we camped on the road, blabbering on about how the Chantry had taught him the value of rising early._

_If only they had taken the time to teach him how to cook…_

_Fredas 21__st__, Evening Star, 9:40 Dragon _

* * *

**Homecomings**

* * *

The next morning was – surprisingly – not as awkward or hard to explain as Talia had feared.

Upon waking up, she realized that the tent was empty, meaning Aedan had woken up, seen her next to him, and left the tent. At first, she was somewhat concerned this was because he couldn't figure out how to respond to the situation, and that maybe she had put him in a spot by sleeping next to him. Concern – and a fair amount of hunger – gnawed at her stomach while she pulled the robes and armor back on. Her vambraces were still coming on when she pushed aside the tent-flap.

She nearly crashed into the incoming young noble, managing to back off in the last possible moment before head-butting Aedan. He, as well, jumped back, but seemed less surprised. Talia's eyes, at first, went to his. Both were bright and warm, though understandably somewhat anxious at the situation. When he then slowly glanced down at his hands, she did as well. He was holding a waterskin, as well as two loafs of bread. Both seemed to be cut trough, and stuffed with cheese. She cocked a brow, surprised.

"I, uh…thought you maybe would be…thirsty or…I've got some bread and cheese too, if you'd like?" he stuttered at first, though she couldn't help but smile at what was happening, as was clearly also the case with the on-looking Leliana, who didn't take any efforts in concealing her smile. Aedan, though, didn't seem to realize any of that, and instead just dangled the skin and one of the breads before her; "Leliana said they're called '_sand-witches'_. It's a…thing, in Orlais."

"My, my Aedan, are you bringing me breakfast on the bed?" she took one of them – the biggest – and shot him something between a smirk and a simple, warm smile. A grateful smile seemed to spread on his expression at her words, though he actually seemed to find something funny.

"That…was the idea, yeah." He admitted, looking at the tent; "Probably doesn't make much sense now, with you being up and all."

Talia kissed him on the cheek, then thought better of it and simply kissed him on the mouth. He was too stunned – or maybe just still tired – to readily respond at first, and she felt like just not stopping. She knew she had to, however, because otherwise neither would get anything to eat.

"It's still a really sweet thing, you know." She couldn't help a grin, feeling something of a giddy sensation spreading in her chest. Maybe it was just anticipation from what she was planning in Redcliffe; "Thank you."

"Right…um…" it was sort of adorable how he would still get overly flustered and red-eared when she kissed him. Talia knew he would probably get past it at some point, but for now it was just nice to realize she had that effect on him. Aedan paused, seemingly torn between preparations to tear down camp, and talk to her. In the end, he chose the latter, and handed her the waterskin; "So…you ehm…slept in my tent?"

"I thought it would be nice." She explained honestly, blinking at his confused expression. She wasn't sure what to make of it, only that it wasn't something _negative_; "Was…Was I going too fast for you?"

"I meant, did anything…" he made some obscure gestures that she could not read; "I didn't…_do_ anything to you, right?"

Talia briefly considered full-on smooching him again, just to get the message across, but in the end realized that maybe actually explaining herself would be better. Still, she wasn't of a mind to have this conversation where the others could hear it, and she couldn't excuse herself or him from clearing camp. She felt irritated that she couldn't just tell him here and now, but honestly she didn't feel like giving everyone – regardless of how many of them were starting to feel like sort of an extended family – free insight into their relationship.

Aedan seemed to think her irritation – she realized only just now that she had been somewhat scowling at the issue of privacy – was directed at him, and visibly deflated. Bugger, this wasn't how things were supposed to go, was it?

She honestly wasn't sure how to do this. Relationships, _actual _relationships, were still uncharted territory to her. Still, she knew how emotions worked, sort of, and knew at least how to temporarily solve this, sort of.

She put a hand on his armored chest, and kept the fingers spread out to better feel him. Even though he was wearing what she considered a regular cascade of steel, she liked to think she could still sense him through the armor.

"If you're asking whether or not you snore, then no, you didn't. Actually, I found it kind of relaxing, listening to you sleep." She paused at his slow nod of understanding, slight as it was. She looked him in the eyes, waiting until he stopped furiously blinking, and took a breath; "Aedan, I think we should talk, if you're uncomfortable with the pace we're going. But, I don't want to do it _here_. When we ride, the two of us will take rear-guard, and…we'll talk, right?"

Aedan, to his credit, seemed like he wanted to protest being uncomfortable with the pace, but in the end simply gave his consent to that, and joined the others in helping to pack up camp. Talia, on her part, worked slower than the others, mainly because she was mulling over too much in her mind to properly handle the business of packing up tents. Sten, who for some reason had declared disinterest in tents, seemed to grow annoyed with her rate of work, and simply took it over with a grunt.

Talia had neither the mental capacity nor the interest in protesting this to actually stop him, and allowed the hulking piece of armor – she supposed it was better for Brelyna's sanity that he wasn't bare-chested anymore – to do her job for her. Instead, she went to her horse.

Niko, for all she had intended on neglecting him when the very idea of a horse had been raised after they had finished business with the Tower of Magi, always seemed ecstatic when she came close, and neighed his greetings while lowering his nose down to her. Talia wasn't sure if she enjoyed it or simply bore with it when he snuffled around her head for concealed bits and pieces. Horse-breath _smelled_, but at the same time, it was a smell in the same way as being buried in a haystack, or sitting among furs. And it was warm, something that was always appreciated when the nightly temperature nearly hit zero degrees.

That reminded her….She hadn't actually seen a single thermometer in Ferelden yet. Maybe they just didn't have them, though she would be more than just surprised if that was the case. They were easy enough to make, and the materials themselves were cheap. Glass, iron, quicksilver, all materials even commoners in Evermor could get their hands on or afford, if they didn't just purchase the finished product.

But if Ferelden, or Thedas for that matter hadn't ever heard of that contraption…someone with a sense for business could probably make a killing.

"Hey boy…You'll never guess what happened to me." she knew he couldn't respond, even if he would be able to understand her. Still, she ran her hand across his neck, feeling the powerful muscles concealed beneath the soft hairs. Horses didn't have fur, something she wasn't quite sure why there was a difference between that and hairs. Niko just blew out hot air and nibbled her shoulder with his fat, white lips, something she would have once panicked at. Now she just bopped him on the nose with a finger, to make him stop; "Yeah, no. I didn't get you anything, but when we get back to Redcliffe, I'll bet there's some stable boy with a sack of apples for you guys."

More hot air, and he pushed her cheek with his nose, nearly knocking her away. Talia blew hot air right back at him, which seemed to confuse the horse immensely. He probably wasn't used to humans being able to do that. Ceasing the moment, she grabbed him lightly by the lump of his chin, and placed his head so that she could see into both of his eyes.

"Now you listen here, big butt." She tapped him on the chin, something that seemed to tickle; "You and I will be taking rear with Aedan, and you'd better behave, because we'll be discussing important relationship-stuff, and I don't want you to start running off like a dog spotting a squirrel."

"Yes, _mistress_." Talia wasn't a jumpy individual, but there were some things that could make her leap six foot high and away. Her horse, talking to her with Morrigan's voice, was _definitely _one of those 'some things'.

Niko himself seemed just as confused, and shook his head in befuddlement, flaring his nostrils wide. It took until her heartbeat came below a thundering _bumpBUMP-bumpBUMP-bumpBUMP! _before Talia realized the witch stood behind her, a highly entertained expression on her face. One hand was held before her mouth, covering it with some sort of aura.

"That _wasn't_ funny." Talia grumbled, sending the other girl a _very_ flat stare. Morrigan removed her hand, and flashed one of the first, full-out grins Talia had ever actually seen from her. It was only the rarity of it that made Talia stop, though it didn't make her any less annoyed.

"That certainly depends on who you happen to be asking." The witch smirked, crossing both arms over her chest before sauntering around the Breton; "T'was highly amusing for me."

"Whatever." Talia scoffed; "Still won't beat what Brelyna pulled on me my first week at the College."

"Oh, what might that have been then, to surpass this?" Morrigan inquired – the witch never seemed to just _ask_ something – with a brow raised in slight curiosity. Talia simply stuck out her tongue, grinning at the raven-haired apostate;

"See, that's what I'm _not_ going to tell you now." She replied smartly, turning around to re-saddle Niko before Morrigan could find a counter. Morrigan simply replied with a dignified huff, which could be understood in all kinds of ways, and turned to finish packing down her own tent, primitive as it was.

The witch still did not seem willing to share tent with anyone, but she had progressively been closer to the main camp each morning they'd been packing up for the past month, so Talia took it for what it was and left her alone.

Niko no longer functioned as main packhorse, meaning the satchels were once again distributed on everyone's horses. His rider appreciated this, as she had no intention of riding around looking like a traveling merchant.

Redcliffe was in their sight already as they cleared the first hill, and Talia steadily made her way down the back with Niko, where Aedan was riding his own mare. She didn't know what its name was, but it was probably something _extremely_ Fereldan. It would suit his character, really.

Aedan was riding in full armor, something Alistair had mentioned was to help them get used to _fighting_ while riding. Talia didn't like the idea, mainly because she had been to enough tournaments to know how slowly an armored knight got back up from a fall. Plenty of time for a Darkspawn to…Well, she just had to make sure she was around to _prevent_ that, then, didn't she? Still, he popped open his visor when she found herself a steady gait next to him.

"Hi." She wished he would have said something else. A 'Hi' was incredibly awkward to reply to, and difficult to build a conversation on. Still, she knew he was unused to this kind of situation, so it was also very much expected that he would be awkward.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, pulling down her own hood in order to better see him _and_ the road simultaneously. Aedan nodded, hands playing with the reins while he seemed uncertain of where to look; "Hey, don't worry. We're just talking now, nothing else."

"I'm not…It's not that I_ dislike_ the idea, I mean. At all." He started, already going somewhat red in the cheeks. Talia held her tongue, waiting for him to continue, which he – thank Dibella – did; "I'm just…_not_ _used_ to this kind of…situation."

"You're worried what could come of this, and if you're going to screw up." She knew that was most likely the case. Most first-timers had that kind of mentality, but in most cases it was also unwarranted, the first part, at least. The latter _was_ warranted, for almost everyone. Aedan's eyes widened in surprise when he looked at her, and she had to give him a comforting smile, as well as a point for not trying to play tough.

"I…yes, but how did you…?"

"Aedan. I'll only tell you that whatever you think it's like, that's most likely either fantasy or stories from people coming back from the whorehouse." She said, taking a hand from her reins in order to place it over his. She knew he couldn't feel it, what with the plate of solid steel protecting the back of his hand, but it was the gesture that counted; "We'll take this thing at whatever pace you're comfortable with, okay? No one's going to make you do _stuff_ you're not ready for."

"It's just…everything's happening so fast, and I don't know _how_ to respond to it." he sighed, letting some frustration out with the exhale; "I don't know if I ever…told you, but…this…you would be…"

"Your first." She replied without blinking, though in as low a voice as she could keep conversational. Aedan definitely reddened at her words, and she knew she was right. She'd know for a long time that he was unspoiled, which was why she was trying to tread softly; "I know, and believe me, I know more or less exactly what's going through your mind right now."

He actually chuckled at that; "Huh, that's kind of a _terrifying_ thought."

"Hey, everyone's going through the same thing, you know." She said, trying to make him understand that she wasn't out to make herself seem all-knowing. She just had the experience. Aedan's chuckles stilled, and he looked at her in a kind of curious way. From the way she had worded it, and the way he looked at her, she knew fairly well what he was thinking. Huh, maybe she _was_ all-knowing? "And yes, I _have_ been there before."

"Right, I…didn't mean to imply that…Sod, I mean, I didn't mean that…" he simply stopped and looked down; "I'm…not really making much sense right now, am I?"

Again, she felt that she knew what he was thinking. The stigma around sexually active women seemed to be something Tamriel and Thedas had in common. Annoying, but she wasn't going to let that bog her down, and neither would she let it be a hurdle for them. Talia sighed, glancing at the changing landscape as she considered what to say.

Trees and boulders were slowly giving way for open fields, first simple meadows, then harvest-ready barley and wheat. From what she remembered, the Hinterlands around Redcliffe, and the surrounding bannorns were some of the main sources of Ferelden's agricultural supplies, and if the Blight reached here, it would mean a famine even after the Darkspawn were gone.

Only a few peasants were in the field, likely the survivors from the undead onslaughts, who had dared Mundus by going out into their fields. Everyone knew with just a glance that those few would never get the entire harvest in, even if they worked without stop. These people depended on the harvest to survive, and because of the Blight, and Loghain's unwillingness to send troops away from the mounting civil war, this was a scene no doubt common throughout Ferelden.

Innocent subjects of the crown were being subjected to this, and having more than just a modicum of responsibility, it frustrated Talia that the man supposed to keep his subjects safe was doing such a piss-poor job of it. She swallowed her irritation, and turned back to Aedan.

He was still looking at the peasants.

"Aedan." She called his attention back. When he turned, he seemed to blink something from his eyes, but she couldn't tell what it had been; "I have been 'active' since I first started noticing boys, it's an advantage you'd have when growing up the daughter of a minor king. So you don't have to be afraid of saying something that could offend me, because frankly, there'd probably be some truth to it…Also, maybe don't tell your mother I said that. Ever."

"I…right, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She said, smiling at him. She knew this had to be handled gently, because while she knew he _wanted_ this – he _was_ male – she also knew that his conscience was making him doubt and question himself at every turn; "Listen, I know this is a new and strange situation for you. I was in the same situation, once, and nothing can really _prepare_ you for it. That's not to say we can't at least try, you know?"

"…I'm not sure I do, actually."

"Right, that one I should have seen coming…" she sighed, feeling like she could see fish swimming underneath the thin ice she was treading. She refrained from palming herself, because considering what Gilmore had mentioned to her back in Redcliffe – he probably hadn't even meant to say it – she knew that despite how likeable Aedan was, his somewhat sheltered life had meant a distinct lack of pastime female friends; "Okay, so maybe we should just wait with this until we're not sitting on horsebacks in the vicinity of possible eavesdroppers?"

"It's just…" he started, and for a moment she worried he would launch into another apology; "You're the first girl I've ever known who wasn't some servant or Sister at our Chantry, and…I love you, I just don't know what to do about it."

"You mentioned flowers yesterday." She pointed out with a small smile, though it was slowly spreading across her face. Flowers, as such, were becoming hard to find now, as they were nearing the now manned gates to Redcliffe. Guards on the walls were looking down at them, likely more freshly armored peasants or recruits from the Bannorns. Redcliffe, being an Arling, _did_ have the potential to call in quite a substantial amount of men. This was probably Teagan acting on behalf of his brother; "You could start with those, you know?"

"Do you have a favorite?" his question, while hesitantly asked, was nonetheless thought-provoking. Did she have a favorite flower? Talia had become so loathe to courting flowers that she had ended up preferring flowers for their alchemic traits, not their appearance. And here she hardly even knew any.

Well, then, that made this easy.

"I hardly know any flowers in Ferelden, so anything you'd give me would be a new and exciting gift, really." She replied, offering him an easy smile; "See, you've got an unfair advantage there already."

"What else is, like, acceptable to bring Breton nobility?" he asked, his expression finally becoming more relaxed than before. Dibella's _carpet_, he wasn't prepared for this at all, was he? Still, his proposition _did_ bring her a broader smile, when she realized what he was doing.

"Aedan, are you actually _courting_ me?" she pretended to be shocked, then smirked and winked, which served to make him smile, even if he also flushed like a ripe apple.

"I just might, you know, if you wouldn't terribly mind it?" he offered, keeping his voice light and calm. His mind was probably a roaring storm of emotions at this point, and she suspected also not a small amount of trepidation, that somehow she would want to say no. Which she didn't, just so that was clear for all who could read her mind; "I just hope this doesn't mean your father will come down here just to smear me over the cobblestones."

Talia couldn't help a small laugh at the image, as well as the sheer fact that Aedan actually seemed concerned about it; "You know, that sounds _just_ like what he might do." _Yeah, that'd about do it. We're each afraid of being brutally ended by the other's parents._

It was only then that she realized something. Father had said he would always be watching over her, hadn't he? Well then, where the _fuck_ had he – even just the ethereal version – been when she had been dragged across Ferelden in a stasis before being dumped in a cell, forced through a gauntlet of trials before being tricked into transformation by her own mirage?

Bastard.

That. Horker-Fucking. _Bastard_!

"Where did all these soldiers come from?"

Aedan's question brought her mind back to the present, and forced her to suppress the anger that would otherwise have demanded a fireball hitting something flammable.

When she looked around, she realized he was right: Redcliffe village seemed like it had been transformed into a regular garrison, with dozens of soldiers patrolling, sparing or simply running around in orderly groups. She could see archers and regular guards sitting around braziers on the road, wherever traffic allowed for it.

All seemed uniformly armed and armored, and all bore the same sigil on their shields: A red hill, crowned by a single, plain tower on a white background. She had seen this one often enough in the castle hallways to know it was the sigil of Redcliffe.

"Must be the Bannorns sending in soldiers." Alistair replied from up ahead where he had stopped his own horse. A group of soldiers were hurrying to move a loaded cart out of the way, and as a result, the Senior Warden had the time to turn in his saddle. His helmet was closed, and he actually looked quite the part serious Grey Warden; "I can imagine Teagan's been riding Isolde to get word to the Banns about what's happened here, and what's going to happen."

Talia wasn't sure if Alistair himself realized the horrible choice of words he'd made use of, but if he did, he didn't seem keen on trying to make sure no one heard them. Instead, he simply turned front on his own horse again – was it on purpose that his was a stark white gelding? – and kicked it back into a walk.

Soldiers who had not been around to see them save the town still seemed to nod their heads or bow respectfully when they passed, making her suspect Teagan had been spreading the word. Not that she'd mind, but ultimately this would also give Loghain a more clear target to strike at – unless he actually got his act together and started combating the Blight instead of the Wardens.

She also noticed Daveth being the most enthusiastic at returning greetings, especially those that came from female admirers. Talia just shook her head at this, realizing that while Daveth had turned out much more complicated an individual than she had initially taken him for, he was still and likely always would be, a suave bugger.

His hair was getting longer, too. She wondered why that was, but ultimately decided she didn't much care. No doubt he'd be explaining all about his hair- and beard style to some woman later, when the rest of them were trying to come up with the next step in their plans.

Speaking of plans, Talia realized that they were now returning to Redcliffe with the supposed omnipotent cure for whatever Jowan had accidentally made Arl Eamon sick with. The mage in question was likely _not_ going to be entrusted with making the finished cure but at least this would mean closure for him, knowing the man he had poisoned _wasn't_ going to die.

Poor sod, really. Still, at least he was finally completely recovered from his torments in the dungeons. Healing was one thing she knew Brelyna was good at, but even she could only do so much when the trauma was more than just physical. Constant company, friendly banter and people around him willing to help, seemed to have done more than expected for the young recruit.

Now, they needed to find out how next to use the Grey Warden treaties.

The Circe had more or less been a waste of time, with just how few mages had survived the demon uprising. Talia knew it was not a constructive line of thought, but all the same she felt as if Kinloch tower had been a sort of universal karma, merely visited on the wrong people. The Circle was supposed to be the 'safe' option, and yet, one could now look at the result of locking up hundreds of mages for the simple crime of being born magical. Still, they had lent them enough mages to free Connor from the control of his demon, and now Wynne and Cíada were accompanying them, both capable fighters.

The Dwarves were an option Talia was eager to seek out, simply for the fact that she was dying to see how they as a civilization stacked up against the Dwemer. She knew Dela had said they did not have steam-power, but at the same time there could easily be methods of powering constructs and machinery that she had simply not considered. Orzammar was also the closer destination, and its soldiers apparently had centuries of experience fighting Darkspawn, meaning there would be no shortage of veteran soldiers. Hopefully, because the other destination would take them further south than she'd like.

The Dalish clans were currently holding out in the Brecilian Forests, their exact destination currently unknown to them. Where the Dwarves were legendary warriors and famed for their war against the Darkspawn, the Dalish elves seemed almost the complete opposite. They were elusive and reclusive, preferring to hide away in forests rather than facing down their foes. Apparently, they had once been a mighty empire, but humans had brought them down.

Of those two options, Talia felt there was little argument as to which would be the most beneficial. Stocky, stout veterans of war, or elusive elves hiding in the trees. Talia realized that this was like choosing Nord warriors against Bosmeri archers. Both brilliant in their own right, but ultimately a combination could bring down any foe.

It was what made the Legion the powerhouse that it was. It was just a shame that Tamriel's legions were busy dealing with uprisings in Hammerfell and a civil war in Skyrim, or they could have been asked for help. No, she knew there would likely be no aid to get from Tamriel, regardless of the ultimate consequences if the Blight wasn't stopped.

When they crossed the bridge into Redcliffe Castle proper, Talia simply gave up on that kind of thinking. There was nothing she – or even her Father – could do to bring Imperial Legions to Thedas. They simply had to make do with what they had on hand, even if that seemed laughably little.

Instead, she set her mind to simple priorities. Food, a hot soak – even if she had to _order_ a proper tub constructed from scratch – and figuring out how best to bring Aedan out of his shell. The latter was probably going to be the hardest of the three, no internal puns intended. It didn't even have to be tonight, but she'd be damned if they didn't sleep together from now on.

Bodahn, surprisingly, was the first to greet them, as he came running out into the courtyard on his short legs. Talia didn't see Sandal with him, so she guessed he was playing with the bear-sized war hounds, also known as 'good doggies' by aforementioned young dwarf.

His father, however, seemed very much relieved when his eyes found Talia, and she had to wonder just how public her abduction had been. He didn't say anything _about_ it, however, but borderline insisted on getting her anything she needed.

She asked if he could somehow scrounge up a hot soak.

The dwarf nodded, bowed and took off, setting a better speed than some humans could lay claim to. Well damn, if that man and his son weren't becoming some of her best investments at this point. She wasn't usually one to congratulate herself, but here, she had to smile at a job well done. Sort of, since at the time she'd just been helping out saving a pair of civilians from the Darkspawn.

"Wynne, Jowan, could you come with me?" Alistair said, already off his horse before Talia had actually stopped hers; "We need to get the cure for Eamon done."

Neither had any complaints, though likely for different reasons. Talia briefly glanced at the departing trio, but then realized that Aedan was actually standing by to help her down. Really, it was quite unnecessary, but…then again, the best way to get him out of that shell of his was bodily contact, bodily contact, bodily contact.

She slipped from her saddle, legs gathered, and let him catch her. When he did so, she made an effort to press herself against him, just to make sure he got the message, even in armor. This time, he didn't redden, though his eyelids did get some exercise.

"See? This is courting done right." She mused, kissing his cheek, then his lips. It seemed to be something she could actually make a habit, to start out with the cheek just so he was ready when the turn came for the lips. Really, she was amazed none of her books had the protagonists do it; "Keep it up."

"Will do, ma'am." He grinned, bending his head down to kiss her back, a gesture she was more than happy to reciprocate. At this point, especially when he was the one taking the initiative, she was more than happy to do more than just kiss him. Signaling to him for his lips to part, she slipped her own tongue inside to engage with his.

Talia hummed with pleasure as his hands started finding her hip, and she raised a knee to better grab around him, relishing in the sensations he brought her and the warmth spreading in the pit of her stomach. She could feel a deep groan of desire coming up her-

"Miss Warden?"

\- body. She managed to ignore the interrupting presence, keeping her focus on Aedan's breathing, his tongue pressing hers to the top of his-

"…Ma'am?"

\- mouth. The annoying presence was still there, now hesitantly prodding her shoulder, and she realized this couldn't go on.

_FUCK. What now? _Talia groaned, forcing herself away from Aedan. It was harder than she thought, and when she did so, she ended up looking down at one of the stable boys.

"What." She replied, voice clipped with a mix of irritation and interrupted desire.

"Can I…take your horse, Ma'am?" he timidly asked, pointing at where she was still holding Niko's reins in a clenched hand. Bugger. If she'd just trusted the damn horse to stand still, they wouldn't have been disturbed. The Breton didn't bother speaking, instead just tossing the reins to the awkwardly waiting boy, then poked Aedan in the chest-plate with a finger;

"We'll continue this after dinner. And after I've had a soak." She already started imagining herself in the hot waters, how it would feel against her skin, how it would soothe and relax her tensed muscles. When she then started imagining not being _alone_ in the bath, she had to shake that from her mind.

That kind of stuff could come later. Oblivious to her mind's brief stint of erotica, Aedan nodded and smiled sheepishly with anticipation. He looked like he was fighting an urge to laugh at the way they had been interrupted, but managed to keep it to a spreading grin.

* * *

Dinner, such as it was, seemed to pass by in a blur or muscle-memorized motions. Which was a shame, because Aedan _liked _pork belly and potatoes, not to mention that being a Grey Warden came with a much increased appetite.

And yet, here he sat, halfway poking his food. He just couldn't force himself to actually focus on the meal, considering what was planned for tonight. Talia had finished eating some time ago, and left to find the bath Bodahn apparently had prepared for her. Aedan didn't even know Redcliffe _had _facilities for hot soaks, but he supposed Talia knew how to compensate with magic.

And now, he sat here, slowly forcing down the rest of his meal. Few others were left in the hall, most of them servants or simple soldiers enjoying a break. Cullen sat there as well, seemingly in some sort of conversation with Cíada. The girl was smiling, and the templar seemed more at ease that Aedan had seen from him before. He almost envied them that their relationship could never become more than this, mainly because they at least had that certainty in their lives.

His life was a sea of uncertainty now, and he wasn't sure how to make it all…certain, again.

When he was done eating here, and Talia was done with her bath, he knew what would come then. She had implied as much when they rode back, and really, it was something he had wanted almost since the first day he had met her. The problem just was, he had no idea what to do, or…_how_ to do it. She would help him, he knew that much, but at the same time, he didn't want to be completely useless.

"You seem somewhat downtrodden." He almost jumped when a familiar voice spoke just next to him. When he looked up, Gilmore, dressed in the padding that was beneath his armor, was smiling down at him in that familiar way that came with having grown up together. The knight was two years his senior, but still. Aedan had always been able to tell Gilmore things he couldn't even tell Fergus; "Mind if I have a seat?"

"What happened to 'my lord'?" Aedan asked, half-smiling that Gilmore had seemingly stopped being so formal, though he couldn't readily point out when that had happened. The redheaded knight sat down and shrugged, putting his own plate of meat and potatoes on the table.

"An esteemed lady told me that since Grey Wardens could not inherit titles, I should try being a bit more informal, whenever I feel comfortable doing so..." He explained, cutting up his meat meanwhile; "But, enough about me. You," he pointed at Aedan with his knife; "-seem to be mulling something over. Something rather important?"

Aedan stared down at his own plate for a moment, trying to figure out if the answer might lie in his remaining half potato. It didn't, so he looked back up, where Gilmore was still waiting for an answer.

"What gave me away?" he sighed, realizing that it wasn't really an option, trying to hide something from the man before him. Were it not for the fact that he wished Gilmore a long life, Aedan would have tried convincing Alistair to conscript the knight. Gilmore was by far the best fighter he'd ever known.

"Well, I have picked up enough about Grey Wardens to know you're supposed to have a _ravenous_ appetite, and you're barely touching your food."

"I thought that was supposed to be a secret." Aedan sighed, putting down his cutlery. There really was no point in trying to force down his food when his stomach wasn't taking any of it. Gilmore chuckled;

"No, the secret is _why_ you have such an appetite." He said, smiling; "I'd put my crowns on an increased metabolism, but then again, there's a secret to what caused _that_, and I'm honestly fine not knowing it."

Aedan considered keeping silent about his worries, then considered making something unrelated up, or blaming it on a simple stomach-ache. Yet, he knew Gilmore would keep prodding like this until he was satisfied. And really, wasn't the knight one of the people he trusted the most?

"So, what has your mood down like this?"

"It's…complicated." He finally offered, and could see the man immediately focused. Maker, but he was glad at least his mother wasn't here. He was more than certain he would fall dead of shame if she heard him now.

"Much in life is, I've found." Gilmore nodded sagely, then narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, and looked AT Aedan as if he already knew the whole story; "Love, especially."

"Yeah…" the young Warden sighed, rubbing his cheek. There was stubble there, which he had to figure out if he was going to shave or not. Beards were practical in the cold, so maybe he would keep it. Bugger, but he was getting distracted; "Talia is…she's the woman I love."

"Woman, not girl?" Gilmore seemed surprised, and Aedan moved in his seat, unsure what to say. He hadn't been aware he'd said 'woman', but now that he was, he knew fairly well why too;

"I don't think anyone can be as absolutely terrifying as Talia, and still be called a girl." He said, trying to chuckle, yet his mind was stuck on the sight that had met him in the Frostbacks, inside the gauntlet; "Gilmore, you…you've been…_with_ women before, right?"

The knight actually seemed surprised at those words, and sat there for almost ten seconds, rubbing his close-cropped, red beard as if it would count his conquests for him. Apparently, it did, as he looked up and nodded.

"A few, I suppose." He offered; "Most, mind you, were when we visited town. Knights are…popular customers, if you know what I mean. Is that what's bothering you?"

"In a way." Aedan sighed, eyes dancing to the door Talia had left through. He didn't actually know where she was, so after this, he would just be heading to his room. And maybe do some praying on the walk; "When we rode back, she told me she loved me."

"Truly?" the knight didn't sound as much surprised that she had, as simply being surprised that Aedan told him. That was a good sign, he supposed; "And, how did you react to this?"

"I asked if I should bring her flowers, but apparently she's grown up with people bringing her flowers to court her, so she's never really liked it…" he sighed again, something which seemed to be a growing habit of his these days; "…she said she wouldn't mind me doing it though, courting her, because she planned for…when we got back here, tonight, she's…"

_Andraste's_ – not the dragon – _mercy_, but he didn't know how to finish that sentence. If he did, it became real, and if it became real before he was in his room, he didn't know if he _could_ go to his room.

"And you're worried what might happen after this." Gilmore nodded at his own words, or maybe because he understood what Aedan hadn't been able to say. The young Warden looked up, trying to see if the knight was joking with him. He saw no jest in Gilmore's eyes, and in the end just silently nodded.

"Aedan, if I may speak my mind?" the redhead asked, his tone lowered to a private level. Aedan simply nodded again, unable to say anything. If Gilmore knew how to resolve this mess that was his mind, he wasn't going to risk interrupting him; "You love her."

It was voiced as both a statement and a question, so he answered it as such; "Yes…Yes, I do."

"And she loves you. I actually believe she had been in love with you for quite some time." When Aedan looked at the knight in confusion – both because _he_ hadn't realized that, and because the other man had – Gilmore simply smiled; "It was obvious from the moment I saw her looking after you here in Redcliffe, back when we fought the undead. She even implied as much when I asked, though I don't believe she realized it at the time."

"That's…I just don't know what to do, now, when we…" once again, he couldn't say it, and simply produced some odd sounds while making gestures with his hands. Bugger be him, but Gilmore seemed to find it highly entertaining. The knight's features softened, and he ruffled Aedan's hair, something he hadn't done since they were twelve and fourteen of age.

"Aedan, you are becoming a man, and while it really should have been your esteemed Lord Father giving you this speech, I will take that responsibility." Something passed in the knight's eyes at the mention of Aedan's father, but himself he simply felt a void, a place where his father had been brutally cut out. It still hurt, and would likely never stop, but knowing both that his mother lived, and that he had a duty towards Ferelden, Aedan was able to keep it suppressed; "What you have up until now known as being in love, and loving someone who turns out to love you back, is really more of a staging point."

"…a staging point?" he didn't exactly understand that, but hoped the knight would explain it.

"Bugger, maybe not the best analogy…" Gilmore sighed; "Alright. Love, and being in love, is one of the most primal, driving emotions humans, elves and really any sentients can experience. Right now, you are so obviously in love, yet uncertain of what to do, that it almost hurts just to look at. You love Talia, and seeing as I do not believe her a liar, so does she love you. Until now, you have shared your love by kissing and spending time with each other. However, there comes a point where this no longer suffices, and you feel a need to be much, _much_ closer to each other. I would call you lucky, that Talia seems to be the one taking the initiative here, as it spares you some of the worst awkwardness about it."

"I know…" but why then, _did_ he feel so incredibly awkward?

"Also, from what I have been able to gather, Talia is…more _experienced_ in this than you, so I would suggest simply allowing her to walk you through it, so to speak." The knight mused, waggling his fingers at the 'walk' part. Aedan looked at it, not fully understanding the gesture. Gilmore seemed slightly disappointed that his finger-movements had gone unappreciated, and simply set to proceed; "This is a change everyone goes through at some point of their lives. Some experience it earlier than others, which does not necessarily make them _better_ at it. What everyone going through this have in common, is the inherit awkwardness coming with the first time. Some attempt to drink away their worries, but honestly I'd advice against it. You are entering foreign territory, and you need your wits about you."

"…That's not really very reassuring, you know?" Aedan muttered, adjusting his seat to better get his legs free. Gilmore, maybe sensing his uneasiness, shook his head.

"Then maybe if I put it this way, shorter." He instead tried; "Love is a beautiful, _strong_ bond, and when you get up close and personal with the object of your affections, just enjoy it. Play around a bit first, learn what you like, what you don't like, and respect what she likes and doesn't. The details might differ between individuals, but the rules should always be the same. But remember, most of all, that you both want to enjoy being together."

Aedan was, to put it frankly, taken aback. This was _not_ what he had heard from others when they had bragged, and honestly, he far preferred what Gilmore had just told him. He was still nervous, but the trepidation was gone, and instead…anticipation. His plate of food forgotten, he stood from the table, took a deep breath while Gilmore simply smiled and nodded, then left the hall, feeling vastly more confident than when he'd entered.

Gilmore remained at the table. The knight looked at the door his young lordship had just left through, then back to Aedan's untouched mug of ale, sitting there all abandoned on the table. He reached over, grabbed it and placed it next to his own plate.

When he looked around, he realized several servants, soldiers and even Cullen and Cíada, were all looking at him with wide eyes. He could see the question in them all, and grinned;

"Yep, I _did_ just give him 'the talk'." He proudly declared, and helped himself to the ale. When his face was hidden inside the mug, he muttered more quietly to himself; "Now I just hope he didn't misunderstand me…"

* * *

Physically, Talia felt better than she had in _weeks_.

The hot soak Bodahn had somehow managed to prepare – Zenithar bless that man – had been absolutely divine, and there had even been a block of scented soap, something she hadn't enjoyed since leaving Evermor. The College had been fairly basic on things like sanitation, and the soap there had been just that, basic and for cleaning only. Now, every inch of her skin smelled like fresh soil and some flower she couldn't recognize, and her muscles were relaxed enough that she had to force her legs to keep walking, lest they would simply collapse under her.

Even her hair, previously tangled and wild from lack of proper care, was now smooth and soft, moving like a curtain of red silk when she moved. Her scratches and scars were cleaned, those that she hadn't had the time or energy left to heal, and her fingernails were scrubbed clean.

Emotionally, however, Talia felt…giddy, and somewhat anxious as well.

She knew how to do it, what to do, say, when to do and say it. She knew how Aedan would most likely react and respond to different things, and she had a fairly accurate estimation of how he would react when he saw her fully undressed for the first time. And yet, she felt more nervous than she had ever felt when bedding someone. She knew, of course, that this was because she actually _loved_ Aedan, unlike the boys and men she had previously known.

She wasn't scared, not really. Talia feared pain, death and losing the people she cared about – in there lay the reason she had to easily understood Daveth's nightmare, as it ought have been her own – as well as having to make a choice that could lead to all of the above – which was why she had never objected to Alistair being the leader.

No, she wasn't scared, but she was damn well self-conscious about everything that was going to happen, and everything that _could_ happen. The bath had been about as far from Aedan's room as one could find, and still remain in the visitor's section of the castle.

This had given her time to contemplate as she walked back, feeling her skin shiver with anticipation. She had made a point to stop by Jowan's study, which was no longer inhabited by anyone but a stewing flask of mixtures waiting to become the cure for Arl Eamon's sleeping-draught. There, she had found and made use of the necessary ingredients to produce a small potion of Moon tea, something most would have to buy in secrecy from apothecaries and potion-shops. She, however, knew how to make it from experience, and as such didn't have to 'procure' it from some judgmental or amused old hag.

Now, she simply focused on walking, and on keeping anything from dropping off her tray. The kitchens had been on her way as well – everything _could_ in practice be on her way, if she just made an effort out of it – and no one had dared protesting when a Grey Warden Mage had requisitioned 'supplies'.

Some had even seemed more than happy to oblige, and none had objected when she had taken thick wax candles as well.

Now, dressed in her own, unarmored robes, she made her way down the final corner, swallowing the final bit of anxiety as she walked. This was something good, and she wanted to share herself with Aedan, and have him share himself with her.

It had come to this, the point where she no longer could feel satisfied with simply kissing and touching him dressed, no matter how deep the kiss or how ravaging their touches. In a way, she had both been afraid and looking forward to this point, this chance of their relation changing into something _more_. If all went well, tonight she would make Aedan a man, and forge the bond she had once dreaded was impossible with him.

The door was unlocked, meaning Aedan was not yet inside. Briefly, she considered waiting at the door until he arrived. That idea, however, was shot down almost as soon as it formed, and she instead let herself in, then closed the door behind her.

Aedan's room was practically identical to hers, if only for the personal changes he had made. Some chairs were moved around, and there was no mirror above the desk, though there were still enough of the young man's possessions on it that it was obviously used.

Talia placed the tray, containing two mugs of ale, as well as an assortment of breads with meats and cheese between them – she had rather taken a liking to the 'sand witches' Leliana had made this morning. It surprised her that no one had ever actually thought of making them a regular ware at the bakeries or market-stands in Evermor, because they were a damn sight better than the things were separate – and set to preparing.

First she positioned the candles she had so painstakingly hauled from the kitchens. She had seven, and two were placed on each side of the bed, one placed on the same table she had used for the tray, and the remaining four she placed in a rectangular corridor between the door and the bed.

She rummaged her satchel for the pulverized flower she had recognized as lavender in Jowan's study, whereafter she placed them down in the small conical flask. She would set them alight as the final step. Finally, when she decided everything was made and done, she lit the candles with a single-finger flame, and finally dropped just a single spark into the dried flower-remains. The lavender started smoldering, but not burning. Finished, Talia stood back and observed her work;

"There. If that isn't romantic, I don't know what is."

She shrugged her boots off, the only pieces of armor she wore, and placed them out of sight from the door. Her necklace, bearing both her vial and the fragment from Onmund's stone, was taken off as well, and placed on the desk next to a shaving razor, which seemed ill-used. She then found a chair, turned it to face the door, and sat down.

Like this, she waited, though not for as long as she had worried. Not two minutes after she had sat, the door opened.

Aedan stepped inside, eyes wide and searching. He was unsettled, that much was obvious to her, but she also knew it was not in the bad way. He was entering new territory, and she wanted to do her best to help him acclimatize to it. Hopefully, this would end with the best possible outcome, though Talia also knew that the rush of adrenaline running through a man's body could just as well make him flee once common sense abandoned him.

"Talia?" he asked. The opened door stood between them, so he couldn't actually see her. When he proceeded to close it, maybe thinking she was not here, Talia couldn't help a smile at his surprised expression.

"So…how're you feeling?" she opened up, knowing that if things got bogged down, it could get _awkward_. She'd been there before. She then pointed to the mugs on the plate, speaking before he could; "I brought some food and drink, in case you maybe wanted some?"

He nodded, but did not immediately reply. There was something different about him, and she had a good inkling as to what it could be. His breathing sounded slightly faster than usual, and his hands fidgeted before him. Talia stood, taking care to make no sudden moves – she was almost treating him like a cornered animal, which in a way he also behaved as. And yet, there was less trepidation to find in his expression, something she was happy to notice – and walked up closer, one hand trailing along the edge of the bed.

"Good. I'm…good." He replied, eyes following her hand as much as the rest of her.

"Aedan…_relax_." She said, her voice soft as she stopped between him and the tray. He seemed anything but, and she decided he needed the edge taken off. His eyes followed her hands as she took hold of the mugs, and handed one to him; "Here, it'll help you relax."

"Are you…sure?" he asked hesitantly, yet still taking the offered ale. She had made sure it wasn't the cheap kind, though not so strong that he would lose focus.

"it's just to calm you down." She assured him, whereafter she took the initiative and drank from hers. Either convinced or simply overcoming his fidgeting state, Aedan followed suit. She watched him as he drank, contemplating how to proceed from here. She wasn't sure how to handle this if he was too nervous to do anything. Every boy and then man she had ever screwed had always been more than willing to cater to her desires, but this… she didn't want Aedan to be like them, mainly because she hadn't _cared_ about them.

"Right, I'm just… a little nervous." He tried, putting the half-empty mug back down. For some reason, his eyes stayed on the floor, fixated on her bare feet. Talia took the opportunity to wriggle her toes, each as well-maintained as one would expect of a renegade noblewoman. She smiled when he did at the sight, and put her own mug down. Hers was empty, and she didn't know if that meant she needed the courage more than he did, but the notion did not please her; "Is that normal, for, for this?"

"Yes," she nodded, taking his hand to prevent it from fidgeting again; "it's perfectly normal, and good, because it means you want it, and your mind is trying to make sure you don't make mistakes."

"My mind…right." He sighed, though he also at that point returned the grip she had on his hand. Good. She smiled at this, knowing that they were making progress; "I think my mind still needs to get used to you knowing what it's doing."

"I'm just guessing, really." She shrugged, taking his other hand in hers. Aedan looked down, as if he had to observe it to notice it happening, and Talia could see his throat gulp, likely because he was processing more than just the present. His expression grew serious, and she felt a slight stint of concern for him; "Aedan, if…if you don't feel ready for this…"

"I am, I am…" He quickly said, and something lifted from her chest when he stepped closer to her. She could smell anticipation and alcohol on his breath, and the combination was somewhat alluring, though she wasn't sure why; "I just…don't know what to do."

His heart was beating fast, and loud enough that she could hear it. Then, she realized that he would be dead if that were the case, and that the beating heart she could hear and feel was actually her own. She had asked Aedan if he was ready, but hadn't even considered if she herself would end up becoming too nervous.

She wouldn't, and it took her only a second to remember why. Because she actually loved the man standing before her now, and she wanted to give herself up to him, to feel him around her, on her, _inside_ her. She desired him more than she had ever desired another person, and just touching him now sent shivers down her spine.

"Come, I'll show you." Talia said, offering him a smile as she guided him to the bed.

* * *

**So, this is how it's going to be- *dodges thrown rock*Ahem. I said, this is how it's going to be: This chapter ended basically like Mass Effect's sex-scenes, which fulfills one part of my deal with the devil of Fanfiction, meaning I hopefully won't get hammered when the next chapter starts out with as lemony a scene as possible, which means as lemony as I can possibly make it.**

**If that means either throws a dead cow at my head or upgrades this story to M+, then I'll just set that chapter up in a separate, one-piece sort of story, probably labelled something like 'A Night to Remember' or something. If not, then that'll probably still be the title of the next chapter. YOU'RE WARNED! *shakes fist at -Devil, lurking in my closet* So now I - hopefully - cannot be prosecuted for doing some rather graphic, yet still perfectly normal lovey-dovey stuff next chapter. We can even make it into a competition, sort of. **

**Type 1, if you want full-on action a la what I did in the first sexual scenes in Aspect of Fire, or Type 2, if it'll be a bit more modest. I honestly find both options fine, so it's actually about - for once? - giving you guys what you want.**

**As it is, this chapter had me dealing with Aedan's mindset, which is basically the mind of a virgin scared somewhat shitless at the prospect of getting so close with Talia that it will mean a definitive change in his life. Bugger, if that wasn't more difficult than I'd imagined. Still, Gilmore is a character I am more and more satisfied with, and I am progressively happier and happier that I saved his life. Still, Talia is a woman, and a woman's mind - especially in this kind of situation - is hard to discern to me. Still, if I accidentally came across utterly obscene or something like that, I apologize to whatever female readers I have. If you wanted an apology, that is. If you just laughed your butts off at my attempt to imagine your thought-processes, that's fine too.**

**All in all, this was probably the fluffiest chapter I have written in any story to date.**

**Also, yes: Sandwiches are a thing in Orlais. Don't look at me like that.**


	35. To the City of Stone and Steel

_The Auxiliaries seem to have settled in well, though we had to lodge most of them in tents outside of Haven proper. A lot of them are surprisingly young, though I suppose that shouldn't come as a surprise, seeing as being an Auxiliary doesn't come with the same vows as joining the templars._

_Also, it doesn't split people up in mage and templar, which I suppose is good. Speaking of which… _

_Some of the rebel mages from the Free Marches arrived today. Not a whole lot, but enough that I can understand the threat they could pose as apostates. _

_Magnus's eyeballs, look at me, considering apostates dangerous for being apostates. I've definitely been in Thedas for too long – the customs are rubbing off on me._

_I miss it being Aedan doing that._

_Morndas 24__th__, Evening Star, 9:40 Dragon_

* * *

**To the City of Stone and Steel**

* * *

If there ever was just one thing that made sex less awesome, it would – in her personal opinion – probably be that it was _so_ _damn_ _difficult_ to move afterwards.

Talia opened her eyes, with no small amount of bother, and looked straight ahead. She was lying on her side, relaxing while halfway covered underneath the thick cotton covers, and as such, she could see across the floor, where most of her candles had burnt down, rendered a puddle of dried wax on the ground.

"Gods…" when she tried to move her legs, every single muscle in them screamed in protest. As such, she decided simply to remain as she was. It really wasn't a bad thing though, considering the pair of hands on her hip. She was lying on one of them, and the only reason Aedan wasn't complaining was probably because he was still asleep. Not feeling like getting up, she instead snuggled backwards, closer into his chest.

It felt so strange, in a way, being this close to him, unbothered and unhindered by clothing or what nobility would usually have said about them being together. She hadn't had a whole lot of sleep last night, but honestly, she didn't feel like complaining. Hours spent teaching Aedan different tricks, pleasuring and making love to each other, it was something she would never trade for anything in the world.

When she pressed her back against his chest, feeling his body adjusting to accommodate to hers as if on instinct, Talia sucked her breath, wondering at the situation. She was no stranger to waking up before her partner whenever she had satisfied her needs, but at that point the man, or woman, had usually just been dismissed with a 'thank you for your services', and that had been the end of it.

Now, she was in the very peculiar situation of not knowing how to talk with the man next to her. She hadn't done much post-sex talking before, and what she had done had not been passionate or loving. Here, she instead just wanted to remain as they were, and forget that the world outside existed.

When she pressed herself as closely as she could against him, Aedan stirred, most likely because he was just as sore as her in some areas, and feeling just as much as a puddle in others. Talia, for one, couldn't feel her butt, which might have been why she had unwittingly ground it against him in one of the places he was especially sore. The hands on her hip slid over and wrapped themselves over her abdomen, pulling her closer than she herself could have.

"Maker's beard…" well, he was awake now. Bugger, that probably meant the nice and cuddly silence was over. Still, if he just kept his hands where they were, she could just as probably figure something out. Aedan's breath was hot on her neck, causing her skin to prickle in just a few moments before his lips touched the base of her neck.

"Morning." It was as base as she could make it, and considering everything they had done_ all_ night – damn, was this kind of stamina something men got from the Joining? Otherwise there was no way she would have believed him a virgin until tonight – it almost seemed tame. Still, his kisses paused, whereafter she could feel his scruffy face-hair brush against her face as he rested his cheek on the back of her head; "How'd you sleep?"

"I don't think I slept at all…" he yawned, hands not removing themselves from her body. They neither went up nor down, though, so she guessed he was _finally_ spent. Dibella's tits, but she hadn't expected to be the more exhausted party; "I guess I just… couldn't fall asleep, not after everything we did…It was…_you_ were…"

When he was clearly lost for words, she allowed herself a smile hidden from his view. It was nice to see that his somewhat awkward personality had not just vanished overnight; "Amazing?"

"…I don't even know if that covers it, really." He chuckled, and it was pure, sleepy happiness in his voice. It made warm flutters start again in her abdomen, and she thought for sure he could feel the vibrations through her skin.

Talia rolled over, preferring to face him. It also allowed him to retract the hand she was lying on, which had gone numb from the looks of it. She placed a hand on his, allowing just enough healing energy to pass between them that her skin remained intact, and the worst pains she suffered were mild stinging sensations along the back of her hand. When Aedan tried moving the sleeping hand, it obeyed, and he didn't seem capable of concealing the amused smile playing on his lips.

"What's so funny?" she inquired softly, pulling her head on top of her left arm. Just to get a bit more leverage, and to better be able to look at him. Aedan's smile only widened, though his cheeks did their fair share of reddening; "_Really_, what is it?"

"We m-made love, like, really did it." he said, more of a statement than a real explanation, and his voice became a budding chuckle with each word he spoke. Talia cocked a brow, playing with the hairs on his chest with her free hand. Men and their chests, really. It was amazing they all were so fascinated by what women carried around, considering men had nipples and stuff too. Women didn't get to have chest-hair – which was a good thing, no argument there – so by all rights and logic,_ they_ should be the more curious ones.

The world was weird, sometimes.

"Why is that funny?" because, well, it was _great_, but she couldn't see the humor in it. Was this some Fereldan thing she didn't know about, where sex was seen as amusement, rather than pleasure?

"Because I only just now realized it…" he explained, voice becoming more of a normal, level tone. Still, it didn't hide the happiness from his eyes, and she liked the way that looked on him; "I just spent the night with you, we had sex, and I didn't even realize it before…well, just now, I guess."

"See, you _did_ sleep, then, if you just woke up." She pointed, illustrating her point by poking him in the chest. Still, she did understand a little of what he meant; "So, the entire time we rolled around, all the times I took you in, even the time where we…" she stopped when she could see he would probably lose consciousness if she kept recounting details. His face was reddening faster than before; "Anyway, when we did all that, what did you _think_ was going on?"

"I think I was too focused on doing everything right to really think about anything else…" he sighed, lying down on his back. Talia followed, using his rippled abdomen as a pillow for her head. Really, it was actually quite comfortable, and funny when he visibly shivered at the renewed contact so low down; "So…did I…do everything right?"

Here, she couldn't help but laugh at the way he still seemed so self-conscious, even after everything that had happened between them. Then again, an inquiring lover was far better than an overconfident one.

"Aedan, if you had been doing something _wrong_, believe you me, I would have told you." she rolled up, snuggling into his cheek. When his tongue poked her cheek through his, she moved her face up and responded in kind, poking him right back. When each had delivered some pokes, she raised herself up on an elbow, resting her cheek in the palm of her hand as she looked at him; "Honestly, you were far better than I thought you would be."

"…really?" he didn't move to pull her down, but instead simply looked straight back at her. Talia felt then that she would probably never get tired of the way his brown eyes shone with this kind of earnestness and warmth. This was a man looking at the woman he loved, and it was a feeling she completely agreed to.

"Yep. Pat yourself on the back, because we're _definitely_ going to be repeating tonight's success" She abandoned her raised stance and instead settled for lowering her face down over his, opening her mouth for a deep kiss before she even reached him. He obviously got the idea, and put a hand on the back of her head the moment her lips met his, pulling her closer.

It wasn't until she herself swung a leg across his waist and straddled him again, that Talia realized neither of them were probably going to be leaving the bed for the next few hours.

The world probably wouldn't mind that.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Alistair sounded irritated, though that hardly registered with Talia as she entered the room. The other Wardens, including the recruits – it was often hard to remember that Sten was technically a Grey Warden recruit, seeing how Alistair had conscripted him – as well as the mandatory presence of Wynne, Teagan and Isolde, all served to make the otherwise spacious bedchamber of Arl Eamon feel somewhat…cramped.

"Sleeping in.," she replied, waving his question off with a small shake of her hand, like she was swatting a fly. Aedan came in behind her – well, that had also been true earlier this morning, hadn't it? – looking a bit less collected than he probably wished he did. Then again, he had just entered a new stage of his life, so some jumpiness was to be expected; "Why, something important happen?"

"We have administered the potion to the Arl." Wynne cleared her throat, stepping forward from the Arl's bedside; "Now we just wait."

"Right, the potion made with the cremated remains of Andraste…" there was so much wrong with that idea that it honestly surprised her no one had brought up the comparison to necromagi, but then again, maybe that wasn't even a thing in Thedas. Still, it was creepy that putting someone's ashes inside someone _else_ was considered not just called for, but outright guaranteed to succeed. _Scholar Marence would eat her socks if this worked._

The stressed restoration instructor probably already had, for all Talia knew. What with the notes and remarks she so often received, or had used to. Funny incident, that.

The woman often seemed like she had lost her mind, but when vampires had once attempted to take the College by force, Aedra knew _why _they wanted it though, the woman had pounded the undead to a mush. The notes had stopped appearing after that.

"They are the Sacred Ashes," Teagan remarked, and Talia had to bite her tongue _not_ to insult or otherwise offend one of the first members of Fereldan nobility she had met. The king didn't really count, since he had gone and died on the same day they had met; "If anything works, it will be them."

"They are still just _ashes_," she sighed, or groaned, if she had to be completely honest with herself; "Unless some necromancer enchanted them unbeknownst to us, I really don't see this having an effect."

"Finally, some sense." Sten grumbled, reminding Talia he was there. Considering his size, it was amazing he could be so quiet; "Pouring a dead woman into a dying man will solve nothing."

Talia just nodded her agreement with the Qunari. She was fairly content with him dishing out the brunt of 'heretical' statements. If she could get away with just coming off as sceptic she would vastly prefer that.

So when the Arl a few minutes later started stirring, followed by a sore groan, Talia wasn't sure whether to remain in the room or not. _This is _not_ happening. The Ashes worked?!_

Thedasian magic was _wrong_. Unless the Arl would wake up with blue fire in his eyes, a thrall, she really couldn't convince the current situation to make sense.

In the end, she decided she might as well stay. Leaving now would just appear odd, and she had to stay in case the Arl got the bright idea of attempting to have Jowan executed. The mage in question was simultaneously trying very hard to see what was happening on the bed, as well as make himself as invisible as he could.

It wasn't that she _wanted_ to end up fighting Eamon, but if his wife was anything to go by…the man could be trouble. As such, she basically opted to tone out while the Arl regained consciousness – magic and science was _not_ supposed to work like this! – and reunited with his wife.

When the Arl asked how exactly he had ended up in this state, however, Talia's ears perked up. She had positioned herself in one of the room's corners, arms folded across her chest. If something happened now, she wanted to be standing for it, not taken sitting.

Teagan, luckily, beat Isolde to it and explained what had transpired in a far less damning manner than the Arlessa likely would have. Still, he did not circumvent the fact that it had been Jowan poisoning Eamon, though unwittingly, and what had then transpired as a result of it.

Eamon, for a second, looked like he was ready to blow up. Then his features seemed to relax, just a little, and he rested back against the wall of the bed. Talia, on her part, remained ready to haul Jowan from the room should trouble arise.

Right now, though, the Arl merely looked tired, as if he hadn't just spent days in a deep sleep. Then again, comas worked differently, and did not grant the sleeping person any energy at all. More the opposite, really, with how it was difficult to sustain the body.

"And…Connor, my son, he…he is safe?"

"Connor is safe, yes." Teagan replied. Isolde hadn't said a word since Eamon's expression had soured upon her explaining that Connor was a mage; "He is in his room, currently."

"Thank the Maker." Eamon sighed relieved, closing his eyes. He opened them again, however, when something seemed to make him ponder, and looked at Teagan first, then Alistair. Far as she had processed, the Arl hadn't said a word to the cheese-muncher yet; "How _did_ you free me of this deathlike sleep?"

"Really wasn't easy, I'll tell you that." Alistair grinned. It was a forced grin, that much Talia could easily see, though she wondered if she was alone in this. With him leading them, and the Blight crawling north while Wardens were effectively outlawed and hunted, Alistair was under _a lot_ of pressure; "We used the Ashes of Andraste, actually, which were _not_ easy to find."

"The _Ashes_?!" Eamon's eyes were wide open for but a moment, whereafter they narrowed in thought. Or maybe suspicion, it was hard to tell with a beard covering most of his face; "Where in Andraste's name did you find them?"

"Pure coincidence, actually." The Senior Warden admitted with a small bit of sheepishness to his tone; "We'd actually been looking for some time, but put the search on hold when Talia, that is, Warden Aulus, was abducted by cultists."

"Aulus?" the Arl seemed to frown. Talia realized with a bit of a huff that the Arl wasn't aware who she was, and as such wasn't aware she was _in the room_; "…is she Orlesian? I thought the reinforcements had been stopped by Loghain even before Ostagar?"

Talia blinked at that, momentarily forgetting to introduce herself while the chance was there. Loghain had stopped Orlesian Wardens from helping at the battle of Ostagar? What the shit for? – They had _needed_ the help! She regained her focus when she realized Alistair was saying something, gesturing at her. _Right. Damn that Loghain, but not now. _

"You are a mage?" Eamon's first question when he identified her was not what she had expected, but at least he didn't ask why she was walking with a slight limp. _That_ would have been awkward to explain, since she wasn't technically injured and couldn't just heal what wasn't an injury.

"I am, Arl Eamon." She stopped before his bed with a slight bow, showing appropriate courtesy and respect to a man of his stand. Technically she was in line to inherit a more powerful seat than his, but considering the distance and the fact that no one but their group and a few others even _knew_ of Tamriel, it would do much good not to bow. Plus, they needed whatever powerful allies they could get, she surmised; "I am not, however, from Orlais."

"Forgive me, Warden, I simply assumed from your name that you were not Ferelden…" Eamon actually seemed sincere when he said it, so she nodded, though something seemed to click behind his eyes; "Your accent, however, I find myself unable to place. Are you from the Free Marches, maybe Ostwick?"

She had no idea where that was, and simply shook her head at his guess. Well, no time like the present, was the saying, and she decided she might as well fully introduce herself. Not as much for the sake of immediate recognition – there would be little or none, she knew – but so that no one later could claim she had held it secret from the Arl;

"I am not from any Circle, my lord, neither am I from the Free Marches, Ferelden nor Orlais. My name is Talia Aulus Geotien, second-born child and heir to King Omluard Aulus of Bankorai, in the province of High Rock." She paused, contemplating if it was wise to mention her friends as well, though she supposed – hoped – they would be paid little heed to over the whole 'daughter of a king' subject that would no doubt be raised later on; "I am a mage, yes, but in High Rock we do not have Circles of Magi. High Rock, as well as the Septim Empire, lies beyond the ocean to the west of Orlais. I myself and two fellow students arrived in Ferelden by mistake when a magical… experiment went wrong, and I soon after swore myself to the Grey Wardens."

"…"

Eamon stared, eyes blinking faster than what was probably healthy, his jaw making odd sounds. He was not alone in the way he stared at her, as the rest bar Aedan looked varying degrees of dumbfounded. Some of them knew more than others, yet all seemed equally capable of rapid blinking. Daveth was the first to actually chuckle.

"I think you might've broken the Arl, Tali."

"Alistair, is she…" the Arl began, then seemed unsure of how to word 'lying?' without offending her.

"Telling the truth?" their leader finished for him, and probably best the same. Eamon nodded, to which Alistair cracked a grin, this time genuinely amused; "Yes. Amazing and incredulous as it sounds, she actually is."

"This is far too early in the morning for this kind of…" Eamon groaned, rubbing his forehead; "Teagan, you mentioned the Teyrna of Highever was here, but not why."

Well. Shit, that was an awkward omission. Eleanor was probably somewhere around, maybe walking Redcliffe with Gilmore, or conversing with Leliana. It was somewhat uncanny that the noblewoman seemed to slip so easily between casual chatting and planning a Civil War.

"The Lady Cousland and her youngest son," Teagan gestured at Aedan; "as well as a single knight were all who survived when Arl Howe betrayed and massacred the castle of Highever. Lady Cousland is aiding with the preparations for dethroning Loghain."

Eamon was silent for almost a minute, staring at the covers while his hands formed tight fists. He was frustrated, that much was evident. Finally, he looked back up and breathed out. It seemed like every new piece of bad news shaved a year or two off his life.

"I see." He sighed, more with weariness than anything else, if Talia had to give a guess, and looked to Teagan; "I would like to be alone with my wife for a bit, Brother…would you mind?"

It was surprising – really, it was – that the Arl would be so informal with strangers in his bedroom, but then again, maybe his coma had worn him out beyond the point of caring. Talia took it for what it was, and left the room alongside Aedan, deliberately touching his hand as they passed the doorway.

The little things were probably going to be what sustained them all, now that Eamon was awake. The Arl would most likely send them running roughshod, hopefully somewhere north, such as Orzammar.

* * *

It was a cold, irritated Breton who rode in the company of her fellow Wardens just five days later. The northern bases of the Frostback mountains still earned their name, making the last part of this ride one of the most physically uncomfortable since riding back from Denerim.

The weather had turned to a hail of slushy ice halfway up the ascend to Orzammar's main gate, and it had only gotten worse since then. Talia repeatedly hot-breathed down both herself and Niko, just to keep the horse from buckling in protest when she turned him face-first against the incoming ice.

The Fereldan autumn _sucked_, and because this was going to be a simple diplomatic meeting, - sort of – Talia had decided that uniformity would serve the group better, and thus had donned the Warden robes instead of her own. One thing she quickly discovered as they had ascended the heights, was that while her own robes had been resistant towards cold, Warden robes were not.

And it was _cold_.

The opinion seemed shared, as several of her companions were either sneezing or sniffling. Leliana, once again, seemed harshest hit, and had puffed eyes and a running nose. Considering how cute she normally looked, this just made her somewhere between adorable and pitiable.

"Are we there yet?" Cíada grumbled, rubbing her hands. The elven girl had at some point managed to get ahold of a more practical set of robes, much similar to the Wardens' own, if not sharing the same color-scheme. The thing was, because the girl's robes were made of leather and weave instead of the warm whatever it was, of the Circle robes, the elven mage was now freezing.

"J'zargo smells cooking fires. We must be close, yes."

"Hear that, Tali? We'll get to see _dwarves_ soon." Daveth jibed, riding next to her and Aedan. While his company was appreciated, his sense of humor currently was not.

"I'll be happier when I see an open fire and a mug of ale." She snorted, blowing out snot in two bellows of steam from her nose. This was a regular thing, otherwise she couldn't breathe through it. Who had been the genius to want to go to Orzammar in the first…Right, herself. Gods be damned, this was turning into a shitty field trip; "And a bed. A soft, warm, _large_ bed."

It had to be large, because she fully intended on sharing it with Aedan. They had shared the same tent since leaving Redcliffe again, and as a result, Leliana and Alistair now shared it. Talia doubted they were _doing_ anything, mainly because she didn't believe Alistair capable of keeping quiet about it had something actually happened.

"What _is_ it with you and alcohol, by the way?" the archer asked, his voice honestly curious. When Talia – who naturally didn't understand what he meant. He almost sounded like something was wrong – raised a confused brow at him, Daveth's expression didn't change one bit; "I mean, when Sten burnt down Redcliffe's inn, you lost your shit, and Brelyna said it was because you hadn't had a chance to drink there yet…"

"What's your point, Daveth?" she was very much _not_ in the mood for jokes now. Not before she got somewhere warm and dry and cozy. _I wonder if Orzammar's got a tavern or an inn…Shit, what if they don't?!_

"Dunno, I'm just curious, I guess." He shrugged, frowning when said maneuver made his bow slide down his arm. Talia huffed, her breath coming out as white steam against the frosty, humid air. Now that she had had some time getting used to it, the abilities accompanying the unwilling transformation in Haven were actually quite neat.

"I like to drink." She admitted, with not a bit of shame. Why _should_ she be ashamed of it? "It's basically part of how I spent my free time at the college." _That_ and trying to seduce Brelyna, but really, there was no reason for Daveth to know that. Especially because it had been such a massive failure.

"So…_why_ do you like to drink?"

"I like the taste, and getting drunk enough means I can forget about my shit-head of a dad." She leveled a flat stare at the archer, though surprisingly, the next person to speak was not Daveth.

"_Daveth_. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a young woman enjoying the little things in life." Talia nearly snapped her neck when she spun to see Wynne riding up next to the archer, admonishing him of all things. Well, that was new.

She felt like following up on this would have been a good idea, but once again, as was its habit, Mundus decided to intervene in the happenings of mortals.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened when crossing the stone-bridge leading to the central entrance-area outside the gates of Orzammar – they were _huge_, far bigger than a chest-high people had any right to build – and Alistair had even pointed at a stable where travelers and merchants could leave their mounts and animals. The problem started when they had reached the center of the large plaza-like clearing, and Sten jerked to a halt.

Talia only noticed because Niko bumped into him, and the Qunari remained unmoved, resulting in the horse nearly kicking Daveth's steed in the flank.

"Sten! What the _fu-_ Where are you _going_?!" even as she spoke, the Qunari had taken off.

He was moving like a bear, faster than a person of his size and armor was supposedly able to, stampeding across the area with the speed of a wild horse. His footsteps caught the attention of anyone not already aware of their presence, each step resounding with steel pounding into stone like a Centurion on the chase.

A dwarf near one of the shops along the edge of the area seemed to be his goal. With the way Sten was moving, faster than anyone could – or _dared _trying to – stop him, Talia was glad Bodahn and Sandal had opted to remain back at Redcliffe. The merchant had not wanted to take his son anywhere near the city that had apparently thrown the boy in a ditch, and at the same time he couldn't leave Sandal alone in Redcliffe.

"Holy shit…" Daveth mouthed, even as Alistair had jumped to the ground. Being the one to recruit Sten, the Senior Warden _was_ somewhat responsible for the Qunari's actions, just as she was for Jowan's. The former apostate, however, did not cause merchants and travelers to scatter in terror like birds upon his advance.

"Sten! STEN!" Alistair yelled, running after the Qunari. Talia was off as well, sliding off Niko before Aedan had even gotten off his own horse. Shit, at this rate, Sten seemed ready to kill someone. _Not_ the best first impression to make upon arriving at Orzammar.

Before anyone could reach him, Sten had reached the dwarf in question. On each side of the stocky little man happened to be a guard, though neither had seemed in too much of a hurry to remain in the face of the advancing Qunari. Now, Sten simply grabbed the dwarf by the front of his armor, effectively ripping apart what seemed to be chainmail, and lifted him up to eye-height.

For a dwarf, that seemed like quite a lot.

"_WHERE IS IT_!?" Talia had thought at first, back in Redcliffe, that Sten had been somewhat intimidating. Compared to this, however, he had been a lovable puppy in that dungeon. Even as she reached him, she could see the warrior's eyes darken with barely restrained rage.

"Sten, _put_ the man_ down_!" Alistair barked, genuinely sounding just as pissed off as the Qunari. A feat, definitely, considering Talia felt intimidated even though neither man was shouting at _her_.

"You stole my sword." The volume was gone from Sten's voice, but the menace still remained, and he didn't put down the dwarf. Wait, was this _Dwyn_? The dwarf who'd been chased around by Sten in Redcliffe? _I thought he died in the fire? _

"_Where_ is it?"

"I di- I di- I didn't steeaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAARRRRHH!" 'Dwyn', if it _was_ him, started screaming when Sten grabbed him by each arm and started pulling in opposite directions. Stocky or not, it was clear who would win that one, and the image Talia's mind produced of the probable result made her sick.

"You escaped me in Redcliffe." Sten growled, no longer seeming to listen to Alistair's yelling, if he ever even had; "Tell me where my sword is, or I tear your arms off at the shoulders."

"Sten! There is no way this-"

"B-ba-back of the t-t-tent!" Alistair was silenced by Dwyn's stammering. So, this _was_ the guy who had stolen Sten's sword? No one said a word to that, probably because Talia was not alone in being too surprised to speak. Dwyn remained trembling in Sten's grip, though the hulking warrior did seem to slack his grabble somewhat; "Stone, please mercy! Mercy, I never thought-"

"Sten, put him down... _please_." Though at this point Talia felt like she really should have a harder time being surprised, she was still taken aback when Brelyna placed a hand on Sten's arm, and the Qunari actually doing just that. He grunted and lowered the dwarf back down to the ground, where he simply let go, whereafter Dwyn promptly proceeded to collapse in a heap.

He'd pissed himself, too. The smell seemed reinforced by the cold.

She half expected the Qunari to say something, threaten the unconscious dwarf or something along those lines. Instead, Sten merely glanced at where Dwyn now lay, before making his way through the stocky man's tent. Talia repressed a groan as he ripped through everything in his path, throwing goods aside like trash. _We really can't take him anywhere…_

When Sten finally stood, his face a mask of barely restrained relief, he was holding in one hand a sword longer than Talia's entire body. She couldn't really _not_ stare, as the Qunari gave the massive blade a practiced swing, and _grinned_! For the first time in the three weeks it had been since Alistair had bailed the hulking warrior from Redcliffe's cells, Sten was grinning like a gleeful child.

Sten then discarded the sword he had been given, tossing it aside like the relative kitchen-knife it was compared to his own weapon, before stepping back out of the tent. Aside from J'zargo, every member of the group was staring at him as if he had sprouted horns.

Wasn't his race known to have horns? Curious, really, that he didn't seem to follow that example.

"So…I take it you're not going to tell us…" Alistair began, though he was silenced when Sten simply directed a flat glare at him; "Right…I really should have seen that coming."

"I will…consider it." Sten offered, much to the evident surprise of the Senior Warden; "For now, I am once more whole. My Asala is returned to me, and I offer its services to your cause."

"…Wait, your what?" Alistair guffawed, blinking as if to speed up his mind's processing of the scene. The foreign word seemed to make him overlook the fact that Sten had just offered himself up a second time, which really beggared the question; had he then been dishonest the first time, or was this something deeper than Fereldan culture could compare to?

"Asala." Sten repeated, and Talia had the feeling he really believed thát would clear everything up.

"...is that your people's word for 'sword'?" Brelyna asked, taking the chance no one else seemed willing to. Sten shifted his eyes from Alistair to her, and something in them changed;

"No."

Even the adorableness that was Brelyna Maryon could seemingly not drag more from the stoic Qunari. It didn't really come as a surprise, and their leader merely sighed, clearly not in the mood to take another turn at trying to get a conversation through with Sten. The Qunari grabbed something else from the piles around him: a long, black sheath of leather on a meter-long strap of same. Sten slipped it over his shoulders and sheathed his blade in it.

It spoke of his sheer size that he could carry a sword this size on his back, and have it look like nothing was out of proportions. He then simply stood, allowing Alistair to take the lead towards the gate. Around them, merchants and their like were watching with wary eyes, ready to scramble if the inhumanly massive swordsman decided they too had something he wanted.

"Why is it that every time I leave, something awesome happens?" Cíada grumbled from where she and Leliana returned from the stables. Her question earned her a flat look from Wynne, and a coughing sound from Cullen. The elf looked at both, seemingly uncertain who to stare at the hardest; "What?"

"Sten almost killed a man, and you call that awesome?" Aedan looked just as surprised as he sounded, which was a surprising feat. Then again, maybe he was just shocked that a petite girl like Cíada was so keen on violence? It was something Talia found she could identify with in the girl, though she kept that part silent around Aedan.

At the gates – and Zenithar's Anvil, those were some _big_ doors – a dwarven guard was eying them with a sharp glare, looking like he wanted nothing more than to send them packing. Likely, it was either Sten's size or their Warden colors that had him withhold it.

Aside from Dela, this was the first dwarven warrior she had seen yet, and Talia made sure to give him a once-over, something which could probably be mistaken for checking him out in a completely different understanding. The man was clad in thick plates, everything from toes to neck protected by metal clearly _not_ iron nor steel. _Ebony? No…no, it doesn't have the shine, and it's definitely not Dwemer metal…Sod, _what_ the fuck is that armor made from?_

"Wardens." He greeted them with a flat tone. So, it was the colors then? The dwarf's head was the only part not completely covered with metal, as the boxy helmet left his eyes and mouth free, while protecting his nose; "State your business in Orzammar"

"The Grey Wardens seek the aid of Orzammar's dwarves to combat the Blight." Alistair said, his tone shifted from weary to emotionless, stoic and hard. Damn, if he didn't actually have some edge underneath that goofy, unwilling leader he tried making people think of him as; "We seek an Audience with King Endrin Aeducan, to see the fulfillment of the treaties signed by the dwarven people."

"Huh." The hostile look was gone from the guard's eyes, replaced with weariness; "So, it's true then, that the human king's army was slaughtered at Ostagar? Sod, I should have known you'd come running sooner or later…"

"Will you allow us inside the gates?"

"Right, right….Give me a moment, I'll open the gates." The guard sighed, rolling his shoulder-plates as he turned. He rapped a series of knocks on the gate, followed by a slide opening where Talia had been honestly unable to see anything different in the surface of the gate. Shit, if the gate alone was something to go by, this place was going to be marginally different from Denerim, wasn't it? When the guard confirmed with his comrade behind the gate, he stepped back and waited.

Slowly, yet almost soundlessly, the thick gates swung open, offering a view inside a long, torch-lit hall of entrance. Talia could not help but stare at the open gate when it passed her mid-front, realizing that the gate itself was almost half a meter of solid metal, yet again a type she couldn't recognize. The guard turned to regard them, his eyes lingering on Sten without even a hint of fear;

"Word of advice, Wardens. Don't cause trouble," it was obvious he referred to Sten; "while you're here. King Endrin is currently on a tour in the nearby Deep Road, and Lord Harrowmont sits steward in his absence. The Lord is _less_ forgiving of troublemakers than the King."

"Duly noted, Ser." Alistair nodded, gesturing for them to follow him inside. The guard looked after them as they entered, opting to be silent when his eyes went wide at the sight of Brelyna and J'zargo. Talia saw it, hoping this wouldn't turn into another incident like what happened in Lothering.

Inside, the hall was flanked by massive statues of men and women, all dwarves with inscriptions at the feet of each. Talia, naturally, was unable to read it, and as such was forced to make due with trying to gauge what she could from conversations the group passed by.

One centered around someone named 'Branka', though no gender was mentioned while she passed by, meaning it could be a man or a woman for all she knew. Maybe it was a dwarven god, but there didn't seem to be any obvious worship going on, so that was as unlikely as anything else she could come up with. Finally, she caved in and edged closer to Leliana;

"Hey, those statues…are they dwarven gods?" she carefully, quietly asked. If they _were_ gods, maybe the dwarves would be insulted that such was even questioned. Leliana, annoying as it was, smiled in mild amusement at the question, glancing at the closest statue where a dwarven mother and her kid – Mara's skirt, dwarven kids were _midgets_, meaning Sandal had to be older than he looked – were talking about the statue in question.

"Close, but not quite." The redhead mused, reading the inscription of the statue; "This is Paragon Doran Wrathhammer, the founder of the Legion of the Dead. Paragons are dwarves of especially high virtue and importance, who are remembered and revered after their deaths. I suppose you could compare them more to Andraste than the Maker, as the dwarves come closest to worshipping the Stone, rather than any actual deity."

"How'd you know that?" Daveth had somehow walked up next to them, clearly gaining what he could from the lesson.

"I once had a friend who was a dwarf." Leliana said. Talia expected her to say more, but whatever seemed to pass through the redhead's expression at those words, it made her end the conversation at that; "So, I hear you and Aedan were up to no good recently?"

That was a change of subject Talia had not seen coming, and she almost instinctively shoved Daveth away, not even fully conscious of the act. He didn't seem to object, however, and hurried to catch up to J'zargo, who was sauntering along the wall, obviously fascinated with a glowing basin of stone.

The Breton herself felt her face heat at the mere _mentioning_, mainly because she, despite what some obviously would think of her, wasn't one to fuck and tell. She had told Aedan, because she had felt it necessary to alleviate some of his worries that first night, but no one else.

They hadn't even made love on the way to Orzammar, so…_how the fuck_ had Leliana found out?

"That is…that's- _who_ told you?"

"Oh, there were signs." Those four words was all she got, and Talia turned a glare at her friend. If Aedan heard any of this, she wasn't sure how to explain to him that Leliana knew they'd had sex._ Gods, this is going to end up in blackmail, isn't it?_

"Leliana," Talia's voice was so low that only the other redhead could possibly hear it, unless Cíada's pointy ears actually worked according to their size; "…if you say_ anything_ about this to _anyone_, I'll rip the soles off those frilly shoes I saw in your bag yesterday."

The older girl visibly gulped, missing a step in her walk.

"I…see. In that case, your secret is safe with me." the rogue replied with a slightly forced smile; "And…you won't rip my shoes if someone else _already_ knows, no?"

"…_does_ someone else know?" Talia had grabbed Leliana's wrist, and held them both back as the group passed on. It would only be moments before someone realized the two of them had stopped.

"I…ah…_might_ have maybe sort of…_mentioned-it-to-Alistair_ when he…asked me why you and…"

"For fuck's sake…" Talia groaned and released the girl's arm. That didn't stop her from kicking the nearest support-pillar, though it did earn her stubbed toes; "_Shit_! Shit's sake, Leliana, why did you _have_ to tell your goofy cheesemuncher about it?!"

Leliana, to her credit seemed more than ashamed, pressing her index fingers together while her cheeks reddened. Talia wasn't sure whether it was intentional or not, but the effect was sufficiently adorable that he couldn't maintain her pissed-off mood.

"…I'm really sorry?" she mumbled, fingers still pressed together, even as up ahead, Jowan had picked up on their absence and turned to look. Bugger.

"F…._fuck_ _it_, fine, just...don't tell anyone else, okay?" boy, was Alistair going to get it now. She wasn't sure how to go about doing it, but she needed to get the same message drilled into his thick head. The disadvantage was that Alistair didn't have a shoe-fetish she could pressure him with; "Now come on, the others are probably noticing us missing."

Jowan – thank Magnus – luckily seemed the only one to have noticed their falling back, and the two redheads caught up with the group even as they reached the top of a new set of stairs. At their end, a wide door seemed to mark the entrance to Orzammar proper, and was guarded by a pair of dwarves, these ones armored to the point that not even the eyes could be seen. Both sported large, round shields and long, one-handed axes resting their ends on the smooth stone.

"Stone met, Grey Wardens." One of them greeted. As neither moved an inch, and not a speck of skin was visible, Talia had no idea who had spoken; "Orzammar welcomes you and your companions. If you are here for the fulfilment of your treaties, the king is not available at the moment. Lord Harrowmont sits Steward in his place."

"Much appreciated." Alistair replied with a respectful, if small nod. The two guards turned their heads towards each other in perfect union, and placed each a gauntleted hand on the door. It looked far more ornamental than the main gate, and seemed like it really _was_ Dwemer metal. It had the color and shine down to boot, at any rate.

When the doors swung open, Talia was idly glad her staff was strapped to her back. Her mind seemed to cease all its functions as she beheld what lay beyond the golden doors. There, in front of her and spanning farther than her eyes would go, Orzammar was spread out in all its vastness and glory, carved and chiseled out of the rock, and illuminated by a sea of lava below. _Molag's Balls…it's huge!_

"…Are you…f-fucking with me?"

* * *

**I remember someone once telling me that the Dwarves of Thedas are some of the most dangerous and underestimated people out there. Which is true, considering they have a complete monopoly on Lyrium, resistance to magic and could create the lumbering machines of war that is a Golem, a construct capable of bitch-slapping an Ogre.**

**Shale is a pretty damn good example of just what Dwarven engineering could get away with in its prime, and even now, Caradin is walking around as a fantasy-version of the Iron Giant. I wonder if he could match a Centurion, though I'm fairly sure it would at least be an even match, considering Centurions even have steam-breath and a giant hammer for one hand, while the other is a spear/sword thing. **

**Well, now the time has finally come when we visit the single-most badass warriors outside of Par Vollen, and Talia is probably in for a surprise or two.**

**Something struck me the other day, when I was writing the part with Endrin being on a short expedition in the Deep Roads. At this point, it's pretty much up to a guess - for you people - who will become the next kings of Orzammar and Ferelden. So..._who_ do you think it'll be?**

**May you always find your way in the Dark :)**


	36. Atrast Vala, Urtok

_An additional, rarely mentioned downside to the blood-borne method of shapeshifting, is the risk of 'mind splintering'. _

_This state of mind, or rather lack thereof, is connected to powerful emotions, most often those of trauma, grief, anger and sociopathic tendencies. While not an emotion per se, the latter accounts for cases where shapeshifters have lost themselves to their bestial forms with little to no warning._

_It is unknown whether or not a person can return from such a state of mind of his or her own volition… _

'Words on the effects of being a Shapeshifter, a continuation of Pyromancer Aulus' studies into the arcane arts of Thedas, included in a letter to the Synod on the subject of Shapeshifting.

* * *

**Atrast vala, Urtok**

* * *

"J'zargo does not like the stares."

"Yeah well, you're a talking cat: get used to it." Cíada muttered, glancing at the Khajiit over the top of her ale. The elven girl seemed keen on emulating her mentor in every aspect possible, and apparently getting drunk was not an exception.

Talia stretched, making sure to put down her own mug before something was spilled. The impact of entering Orzammar was still only slowly leaving her, though helped on its way by the fact that Alistair had led them to this place, a tavern by the name of Tapsters. Considering the huge kegs of alcohol stored in sight of the guests, the name's origin was not hard to guess. When she looked around the room, she realized J'zargo was right; quite a few customers were openly gawking.

"You're possibly the only Khajiit in Thedas, J'zargo." The Breton yawned, feeling the booze starting to set in. Damn, they served some strong stuff here: she was only on her seventh mug; "Unless Elseweyr sent an expedition before us, you're the first of your kind these people have ever seen…Come to think of it, you're sort of like an ambassador for your people here, aren't you?"

The cat scratched his cheek, rotating his ears towards some conversation out of earshot to the rest of them; "Hmm…J'zargo never liked politics, it was why he did not stay at the College of Whispers."

"Yeah, I know…" Talia sighed, swirling the contents of her mug. Alistair had left her as the only Warden representative in the tavern, tasking her with keeping an eye on their non-human non-Wardens, making her the effective babysitter for Cíada, J'zargo and Brelyna; "Gods, I hate that cheesemuncher."

"Any particular reason this time?" the entropic prodigy slurred, already well into her fourth drink. Talia shot the light-weight a flat look.

"_He_ is in charge, so _Leliana_ could go sightseeing in the single most technologically advanced piece of architectonical marvel since the Dwemer constructed Markath and Blackreach, while _I_ get to sit on my ass here in a tavern." She finished the complaint by draining the remainder of her mug, signaling the barkeep – a young woman – for another; "Well, at least I can sample some culture while I'm stuck here."

"Culture?" Cíada mused.

"She means getting drunk of new alcohol." Brelyna supplied, her voice both casual and informing, as if this was something Talia did on a regular basis. Well, it _was_, when she could get away with it, but there was no reason to portray her as a drunk now, was there? "Admit it, that's what it means."

"You make it sound like a _bad_ thing." Talia grumbled sourly, trying to focus enough attention to glare at her friend. When Brelyna wasn't fazed in the least, the Breton instead shifted the glare to the closest regular customers, all of whom had relocated to the upper level of the tavern, leaving their small group the entire front room.

"For those incapable of magically regenerating their kidneys, it tends to be." The Dunmer pointed out with a smirk. She was merely sipping from what was actually her first mug, something that was both infuriating and hilarious. Brelyna wasn't a good drunk, nor a good junkie, which had been evident when she had downed the slightly altered version of Talia's pepper-up.

She was still a hilarious drunk though, and a hilarious junkie as well.

"Well, I've gotta take a piss." The Breton stated, throwing her legs from the cushions even as the barkeep came sauntering with a new mug. Talia grinned at the small woman, happy and relieved both that she did not resemble Dela; "My fair maiden, where might I find thy latrines?"

The barkeep stared like Talia's hair had gone green, something the Breton idly made sure was not the case.

"…You mean the toilets?" the question sounded somewhere between dumbfounded and simply amused.

"Riiiiiight, yeah, those." Talia drawled, grinning at the dwarf's expression; "Point me at 'em."

When she _did_ eventually find the latrines, or toilets, whatever that was, Talia actually had the mindfulness of stopping dead in her tracks, unsure of what she was looking at.

"What in…" she muttered, staring at the odd contraptions before her.

She couldn't see any holes in the stone, nor was there even a plank. The latrine in Winterhold had been just that, though at least they had managed to solve the residual problem with fire. Lots and lots of fire. Instead, some sort of stone bowl was raised from the ground, complete with a pipe of metal extending into the wall. Some sort of glowing script, akin to a rune, was glowing on the wall to the left of the stone bowl. Drunk and dizzy as she was, she pressed it.

The edges of the stone bowl suddenly gave off a soft, blue glow, and water started flushing through the bowl from seemingly nowhere. Talia stared, feeling her skin crawl with goosebumps as her brain kicked into gear, and she realized just what was going on before her eyes.

Tears threatened to well in her eyes, and her knees started to buckle. Finally, her breath returned, and without even trying to restrain herself, Talia started laughing. A laugh, that turned into a scream of triumph;

"YES! LATRINES WITH FLUSH!WOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

When she came back to the main room, for some reason everyone seemed to look at her like something odd had happened.

Aedan was there too, looking somewhere between highly amused and absolutely confused. Talia gave him a victorious grin, elated that something she had missed for more than three years was finally hers to enjoy again. Flushing latrines was arguably one of the most vital pieces of sanitary technology left behind by the Dwemer, though only the well-off could really afford the installation.

A bonus to being the King's daughter, she supposed.

Odd, really, that only High Rock and Cyrodiil had implemented them. Talia had spent her entire college education having to make do with simple latrines, and now knowing that the dwarves of Thedas had this essential commodity, they had as a race just gone up several notches in her book.

"Did I…miss something?" she asked, seeing as no one else seemed keen on starting. Cíada seemed ready to choke on something, and Brelyna was silently giggling like a child. Aedan simply appeared too entertained to care.

"Alistair's secured us entrance to the Shaperate." He said, softly shaking his head. Talia still wasn't sure what the joke was, but apparently she _had_ missed something funny. Wait, he'd just said something about a 'Shaperate', hadn't he?

"What is a Shaperate?" Brelyna beat her to it.

"I think it's like a library, just…more important?" Aedan tried, sounding less than sure. Bugger, but if it was a library there really wasn't much for them there, seeing how neither she nor Brelyna could read Fereldan, and J'zargo would only care if there was an illustrated book he could actually understand; "It's merely if you'd like to see other parts of Orzammar than this tavern, no disrespect meant, ma'am."

The last bit was directed at the dwarven barkeep, who simply shook her head with a laugh;

"I've had Grey Wardens, grey elves and a talking cat all on one day, Warden. You couldn't offend me enough to give a shit if you actually tried."

"I like her." Cíada declared, abandoning her empty mug where she had been sitting on the floor by the fireplace; "But I don't think you'll ever get Talia to leave her newfound wonder."

Ah. So, _that_ was why they were all looking at her like that. Apparently the walls were not as soundproof as she had thought, meaning effectively the entire tavern had heard her proclaim what she had discovered.

Great.

"Actually, I would _very much_ like to see it." she stated, grabbing Aedan by the hand and more or less dragged him outside, offering him a sweet, girly smile; "Lead the way, pretty please?"

"I don't think I'll ever really understand women." He chuckled. It seemed good-natured, so she played along with it, jabbing him in the side with an elbow. Plate-armor stopped her, but her intention was merely symbolic. Aedan pretended to wince; "Ouch?"

"If you think_ I'm_ hard to understand, try meeting my sister. Alai's about my direct opposite, doesn't even like ale."

"Ah. Now thát is a crime." She liked the way he understood when she was just playing around. Helmet under his arm, Aedan was wearing an easy expression, bearing a faint smile as they walked. She elbowed him again, for good measure.

"Smart-ass." She snarked, showing teeth as she grinned at him. When Aedan just sighed happily, Talia decided to lace her hand with his and examine their surroundings.

Tapsters was one of the buildings more or less carved from the inside of the mountainous cavern, and most if not every building shared the same characteristics on this level; a base beige that reminded her of limestone rock. Everything was on the same side of the mosaic street, where marble tiles of changing colors made up the floor. On the opposite side, the street's side ended with a low wall, followed by a sheer drop to the surface of a lava-lake, hundreds of meters below.

In the center of it all was an island. Jutting from the lava to the same level they were on now, it stood like a fortress in the middle of the city, connected with a single bridge that extended almost as a continuation of the main entrance street, decorated with statues along its length.

"Well, I'll be cursed if this isn't just fucking awe-inspiring…"

It really _was_ utterly awe-inspiring, and Talia felt like she was being dwarfed by the sheer scale of the place. That impression did not lessen when Aedan led them to a gateway-like building at the end of the street. Both curious and amazing as it was, the building turned out to house the vital lifts of Orzammar. They were massive mechanisms of steel and wood, powered by means unseen to the Breton girl.

Dwarves did not seem to harness steam-power, so that was out of the question. So was a lot of other things, actually, when they rode the contraption up. Water-powered gears were obviously not possible here, as the heat from the lava would make it evaporate within hours. Oxen would be impossible to sustain down here, with the lack of sunlight and fresh food, probably, and she would have been able to smell it had there been animals around.

So, the last option was really magic.

The upper part of Orzammar was marginally different from the middle, mainly in the fact that here the street was polished marble, the buildings were polished marble and granite, and the architecture was made with a great deal more finesse in mind. The 'Diamond' quarter, it was called, and Talia could understand why.

"I've never seen a city of marble before…" she mused, glancing at the ornamental carvings in the walls around them. Mosaics depicting battles and sceneries decorated many of the surfaces, each work of art more masterfully done than the former; "Closest thing would be Markarth, but I've never been there either."

"It's impressive." Aedan agreed; "Orzammar is one of the last remaining dwarven cities, so it's obvious why they want it to represent power like this. I think."

"What do you mean by 'one of the last remaining cities'?" Brelyna asked, quickening her steps to catch up; "What happened to the other ones?"

"I think they lost most of them when the Darkspawn started spreading."

"Oh." The Dunmer sighed, almost as if the response had disappointed her; "I was thinking maybe the dwarves there had simply disappeared."

"Like the Dwemer." Talia added for context; "No one really know why they vanished like that."

There was of course the dominant theory that they had tried to harness the power of Lorkhan's Heart, which had led to some sort of magical explosion or divine retribution, but explaining that would mean she wouldn't be done before the Archdemon had died from old age.

"No, they... just got killed by the Darkspawn." He shrugged, looking at Brelyna with a slight bit of confusion; "I think that's why we don't often see Blights on the surface, because most of the Darkspawn remain down here."

"Until they found Dumas, or Dumat, or whatever the Archdemon's called this time around." Cíada said, sounding like she couldn't care less if she tried. This was the first time Talia had heard the Archdemon referred to by name, and she glanced at Aedan for confirmation. He nodded;

"Dumat was the first Archdemon, though you're right that that's how Blights tend to start." He corrected, then continued as they passed what was obviously the royal palace. It was too big to be anything but; "Urthemiel is the Archdemon now, one of the Old Gods of Tevinter."

"Right, the nation that worshipped dragons…" Talia sighed; "It's so fucking familiar that it's not even funny…and, they're still around, those dragon-lickers?"

"Not as powerful as they once were, and they're Andrastians now, but…yes, Tevinter still exist, north of Orlais."

"Well, isn't that just great…" it wasn't voiced as a question, and thus she did not expect an answer either. Instead, she turned to regard Aedan as he walked, then the rest of the city around them. Orzammar was beautiful beyond comparison to anything she had seen in Ferelden yet, but something was nagging her; "Aedan, how come we're not just heading out to find the king, if we're just sitting around waiting for him?"

"…Good question." He sighed, running his free hand over his forehead; "Alistair said something about not wanting to interrupt 'Dwarven customs of maturity', so I'm guessing it's one of the king's children becoming an adult, and we're not supposed to interfere."

"So we have to wait for someone to get their party thrown before we get our assistance?" when Aedan nodded; "That's moronic."

"It's tradition." Cíada supplied.

"Doesn't mean it's not moronic."

"Point." The elf conceded, even as Aedan stopped at a door.

The door in question belonged to an elaborately, ornamentally carved and decorated façade, complete with depictings of dwarves and dragons, glowing stones and much, much more. Interchanging between each scenery on the wall, a relief of some dwarven face was carved into the stone. The details were meticulously cut, and things as insignificant as strands of hair could be seen almost moving in the faces of stone.

"This is the Shaperate?" Talia asked, admiring the façade and all it had to offer of insights into dwarven society and culture.

"Mm. It's where the dwarves gather all knowledge of their city and their empire, such as it is, I suppose." Aedan nodded. He sounded like it was old knowledge, so likely he had been taught all this from an early age, maybe by the old scholar Talia had met in Highever. The old man had been knowledgeable on the Grey Wardens, so it would likely not be a stretch to assume he had taught his young lordship about the dwarves.

"So…you do realize that I can't actually _read_ anything in here, right?" she grumbled to him as they entered the library-like building.

Inside, it seemed to be a massive compound of interchanging shelves and rows upon rows of tablets, books and scrolls. Dwarves in robes and ornamental clothes scurried around, each performing his or her significant task. Talia could only just see the end of the room, far down the corridor of shelves before them, all illuminated by…she wasn't actually sure.

"I'm sure there'll be _something_ interesting in here." He mused, though Talia had stopped paying attention to his words. Instead, her eyes had locked on the closet lamp, and she left his side to investigate it. In a way, Aedan was more correct than he could have possibly anticipated.

The lamp Talia stopped by was resting on a pedestal near one of the tables, illuminating the scrolls currently being looked through by a white-bearded dwarf. His face was more wrinkles than anything, and yet he seemed as sharp as any young mind when he noticed Talia staring at the lamp.

"Stone met, Warden. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"This lamp…" she started, trying to figure out if this was something real, or just the biggest coincidence on Nirn. The source of light was a gold-crested half-cage, containing some sort of blue, never-flickering flame. It was completely still, and gave off a kind of light mismatching its own, azure color; "It doesn't seem to be a candle, nor is it any kind of torch or even regular fire…"

It looked so much like the lamps she had seen in books on the Dwemer, Talia actually had to blink several times to realize that it was different. Small differences, but they were clear when she first realized they were there.

"You don't have glyph-lamps on the surface?" the old dwarf asked, not unkindly but merely with open curiosity and a want to depart of knowledge. A scholar, obviously. Talia shook her head; "We cannot risk actual flames in the Shaperate, for obvious reasons. Glyph-lamps are lyrium-infused runes in the metal, allowing either heat or light, depending on however one adjusts it."

"…I'll be damned." Talia allowed herself an appreciative whistle, something which seemed to amuse the old dwarf; "and this kind of technology is common in Orzammar?"

"Not exactly, as the lamps require lyrium for the glyphs." The scholar explained; "most of the lyrium you'll see in your Circles are here from Orzammar, because most of the lyrium the Mining caste digs out is sold to the surface. Glyph-lamps are therefore mostly used by the Noble caste and rich members of the lower castes."

"Castes?" she knew what castes were, theoretically, but as far as she knew, no society in Tamriel upheld caste-systems.

"True, I forget you surfacers do things differently. Orzammar is divided into castes, with the royal family of the Noble caste leading us. The Warrior-castes make up our standing army, supplied by the Smith-caste. The Merchant caste is responsible for all trade conducted in the city, while the Mining Caste extracts the ore used by both the Merchant and the Smith caste. The Artisan caste is responsible for the countless carvings, statues and decorations you'll no-doubt have seen throughout our city, and the Servant caste works to serve the upper castes working as cooks, maids and the like…" The old dwarf paused to run a hand through his beard. Talia saw that as a chance to ask.

"I knew a dwarf, once, from Orzammar." She said, thinking back to the first time she had encountered Dela. That meeting had been less than glamorous, mainly because of her own inability to restrain herself when she heard the word 'dwarf'.

"A surface dwarf?" he looked up, eyebrows furrowed in thought; "was she one of the merchants trading with the Circles?"

"She was a fighter, actually…" Damn. She had known Dela for all but a few days, and yet she still missed the jumpy little pipsqueak of a royalist; "…if I gave you her full name, could I find her family in Orzammar?"

"It is a possibility, yes…" he nodded slowly, rolling together the scroll he had been reading when she arrived; "…would you happen to know what caste she belonged to?"

"…Ah." Bugger; "…no, I'm afraid I don't…I_ do_ have her name though, if that helps?"

"It might…what was it?"

"Dela, Dela Brosca." Talia turned to regard the speaker, as it had _not_ been Aedan. Instead, Daveth was standing behind her, a rare expression of nostalgia on his face; "Her sister's a noble hunter named Rica Brosca."

Something seemed to pass over the scholar's expression. It was gone almost immediately, but whatever it was, Talia recognized it as not being a positive thing.

"I would ask in the palace, if that is whom you seek." The dwarf's tone was changed, no longer warm but instead flat and indifferent. Talia had no clue whatsoever as to what had changed, only that something _had_.

"Tali, mind a word?" Daveth tapped her shoulder. Seeing no reason not to, she followed the archer as he left the room, leaving Aedan, and the other mages with the books. Her lover sent her a questioning glance, to which she shook her head and gestured for him to just stay where he was.

Once outside the Shaperate again, Daveth let out a sigh and rested himself against the wall. From the way a passing dwarf in fine clothes glared, that was likely not a polite action to take, but the archer seemed like he didn't give a shit.

"Something wrong?" she asked, mirroring his stance and leant against the wall, accidentally elbowing one of the reliefs in the eye. For but a moment, something akin to loathing passed through Daveth's eyes, causing Talia to frown. Daveth wasn't a person she deemed _capable_ of loathing, much of a surprise that realization might once have been.

"You've heard about the castes here in Orzammar?"

"Just now, yeah…Why?"

Daveth averted his eyes for a moment; "Orzammar, far as I remember, keeps a fairly good record of its citizens, right? But you'll never find Dela mentioned in 'em."

"…and there's a reason for that, I assume?"

"Right, yeah…Remember those tattoos Dela used to have on her face, right cheek'n particular?" when she nodded, Daveth breathed, as if trying to get something off his chest; "Dela was casteless, meaning she technically _didn't exist_ to the rest of Orzammar. When she told you about being a Duster, she meant being from Dust town, it's a slum o' sorts in Orzammar. Casteless are not actually viewed as people by the rest of the dwarves, so asking for her is…problematic."

"That's gotta be the first time you've ever used that word." She pointed out, trying to keep her voice normal. She was probably not doing a very good job of it, seeing how Daveth's expression didn't change in the slightest. Underneath it, she was bubbling with confusion, mainly as to why there would be an entire branch of a society branded unworthy of something as basic as being people. Even the Dunmer in Windhelm at least had that right, far as she recalled; "Okay, so…what, she didn't exist down here?"

"More 'o less…" he nodded, looking away; "Dwarves are extremely bound te tradition'n all, meaning they can tend to be some stuck-up arses…"

* * *

"I'm not sure I like your idea, Alistair…" Talia was not the first among them to express her irritation over Alistair's plan to take them through the Deep Roads, near where the dwarven king was, but considering his plan _centered_ on her, she believed herself the most entitled to annoyance.

"It's the best, not to mention probably _only_ chance we get in the foreseeable future to enter the Deep Roads." Their leader explained as the group trotted down the corridors of the ancient, marvel-inducing subterranean roads. It was a small party, leaving all but herself, Alistair, Aedan and Morrigan in the city; "Plus, I have a bad feeling when royalty goes near Darkspawn. Call me paranoid."

"Considering what happened at Ostagar, I really wish I could…" Aedan sighed wearily, most of his attention likely on whatever kind of senses the other Grey Wardens had. Talia didn't, and it frustrated her that something so vital and key to their order was not in her possession. Selfish way of thinking, she knew, but at the same time it was also rational; "But, dwarves have been at war with the Darkspawn for centuries, haven't they? If they let the king himself go down here, it'd have to be because they're confident he's safe?"

"Deep Roads and 'Safe' doesn't really go hand in hand, Aedan."

"Well, at least he'll have a lot of guards." The other Warden offered, tapping fingers on the hilt of his sword. Talia was somewhat proud – though unsure as to why – that Aedan had never even considered letting go of the Cousland Blade and Shield. It showed that he put a lot more weight into his family than she did in hers, which was _definitely_ understandable; "…right?"

"That's what I've understood as well, yes." Alistair nodded. Contrary to Aedan, he was wearing his helmet's visor shut, showing only the narrow slit that was his field of vision. Not for the first time, Talia felt just a little smug that she could protect herself in the same way, though without the impairments of heavy armor. Alteration was one school of magic she had always admired, though failed to actually master beyond the basics. Still, it was enough to stop a blade; "Talia."

"What?" she turned to face him as they walked. His tone came out slightly metallic from the helmet, which made him sound older than he was. Still, she more or less knew what he was going to say now. To think, that he had actually _asked_ Morrigan for her help.

The world was weird, sometimes.

"Do you remember what we talked about?"

"What part, the one I hated or the one I'm scared shitless off?" she retorted, biting out the words. Alistair didn't visibly react to her tone, though she could see Aedan's eyes narrow. He didn't like this either, at least.

"The last one." Alistair sighed with clear weariness; "Look, I _know_ you're scared of the transformation-"

"Oh, you have _no_ idea-" she began, almost laughing at his words.

"-But we need _every_ advantage we can get." He pressed on, cutting off her argument; "There hasn't been a recorded dragon-shapeshifter since the fall of Tevinter. If we can make this work, it'll be an invaluable tool against the Blight."

"Says the guy who doesn't have to rip himself apart at the seams…" Talia huffed, sending Alistair a flat, tired glare. They had already had this discussion once, and it rankled ever so horrible when _Morrigan_ had agreed with Alistair's plan; "It fucking _hurt_, you know that?"

"I'd probably be doing you an insult if I said I knew how it feels…"

"Damn straight you would." Talia grumbled, preparing to kick her leader in his armored ass. She was stopped when said ass stopped moving, and its carrier drew his sword and took a stance. _Fucking great._

"Still, maybe we should begin?" Alistair more stated than asked. Talia couldn't feel a thing, but from the way she could see Aedan's expression change, seemingly _he_ could; "My Warden-sense is tingling."

"Your…? …never mind." In the end it simply wasn't worth it trying to argue. She knew Alistair was right when he wanted her to control whatever she could actually do. Turning into…she supposed it could be called a dragon, was a useful ability, but if she couldn't control it…Shit, this was going to be painful as fuck, wasn't it?

"Here they come." Aedan muttered, pulling his visor down with the back of his hand, then assumed his stance with the side of his sword resting on the edge of the shield. While Talia was unable to _sense_ them, she could definitely_ hear_ the Darkspawn. Running feet, grunts, growls and inhumane sounds overall, each were they cast back and around in the echoing corridor that was the Deep Road.

And then she saw them too. from around the corner, from cracks in the walls, from holes in the floor, the hideous creatures came swarming out like roaches. She tried keeping a count of them, but resigned to its impossibility when the number crossed fifty.

Well…_Shit._

"T'is about time that we faced these creatures again." Morrigan did not even sound scared, instead opting to whip out that curious branch that was her staff. Idly, Talia realized she had never actually _asked_ the witch how what seemingly was a simple branch, could project her magic like it did. Simply to underline this, Morrigan fed energy to the staff, and the swords caught flame.

Damn. She had to see if something like that was in her spell book.

"Talia, now would be a good time." Alistair pressed, holding his stance as he pressed forward. He and Aedan had approximately a meter between them, for the use of the latter's right arm. Right. Priorities. Talia knew they were important. She also knew that formidable fighters though they both were, there was no way Alistair and Aedan could hold against these numbers.

"Gimme a fucking moment!" she grunted, ripping her hands through the air.

Coming into being more an explosion of colors than actual fire, Two-Sock materialized in a form Talia had never seen him in before. As such, she stared, unable to immediately understand what was going on. Sheathed and wreathed in flames, her familiar portrayed a ferocity and power she had never even hoped he could become._ But…he was normal when we camped?_

And yet, she knew it was him. This wasn't just the Blight Fire, though now it would have had a chance to live up to its name. This was her Familiar, but…he had changed. With a howl that hammered off the walls, the flaming Familiar took off, making a bee-line for the approaching Darkspawn.

"Two-S-EMISSARIES!" Talia's words became a frustrated shout when she saw the Darkspawn mages among their "lesser" fellows.

When Two-Sock reached the oncoming horde, he didn't seem to impact on the mass of bodies. Instead, he simply passed through, as if he was immaterial. Then, everything and everyone he went through caught fire, and Darkspawn beyond counting started screaming, boiling as they were cooked in the scraps of their own armor.

And yet, they just kept on coming. Though for reasons Talia could not fathom, they did not seem in a hurry to close the distance.

"Great, this just became a lot more fun…at least I don't see any archers…" Alistair noted, turning his head slightly so as to make eye-contact with her. However much that now was, with his visor down; "Talia, any minute now would be great!"

"I don't fucking know _how_ to do it!" she yelled back, throwing up a ward as sickly green orbs started hammering her position. She didn't know _what_ they were, and didn't feel like finding out either; "I didn't _bring_ any blood with me!"

"Nor do you need it." Morrigan was behind her, one hand already grasping Talia's head, with a thumb on her brow; "T'is all in here."

Foreign magic flooded her mind. Talia at first attempted to stem the tide, to erect mental shields of some sort. Then she recognized the character that was Morrigan's energies, and calmed. At least, as much as she could with the only thing between her and countless Darkspawn being Aedan and Alistair.

Something was pressing against the back of her eyes. Crawling under her skin, demanding blood. Craving meat, flesh, death. It was foreign, something she could not be more different from. Yet it was also her. There was the unnatural sensation, a sort of acknowledgment of what she could do.

And when the witch's energies told her to let go, she did so, with little hesitation.

Though she retained a small voice, hiding at the back of her mind._ This is probably not going to end well._

* * *

"We really should have brought the other mages." Aedan groaned, biting down on his fear. His armor seemed to weigh more than it used to, and he wasn't quite sure whether the heat he could feel was adrenaline or if he had soiled himself.

No. No, he was no coward. He was a Grey Warden, dedicated to combat the Blight.

And yet, there was something suicidal about four people facing off against…he didn't know how many Darkspawn there were. He couldn't see the end of the horde before them, and a small voice at the back of his mind asked if maybe they had somehow managed to run into the main horde.

At least, if there was a silver lining here, he couldn't see any Ogres.

"We couldn't take the risk of taking non-Wardens down here." Alistair muttered, his voice so different from how he knew it that at first, Aedan wasn't sure if it really had been his comrade that had spoken. The tone was hard and serious. And he didn't buy Alistair's argument for one second, regardless of how idiotic it was to argue in the face of Darkspawn.

"Jowan's a recruit, we-" his words turned to an abrupt croak when something seized his body. The grip was crushing, squeezing his bones with the strength of an Ogre. The pain nearly blinded him, yet he still knew what this was: Magic, meaning Talia had been right about the Emissaries.

As sharply as it had begun, the crushing pain ended with a flash of blue, and Aedan found himself dumped back on the floor. His armor was unscathed, contradicting the force that had held him suspended. Alistair had done something to free him, but before he could utter even a 'thanks', the first of the Darkspawn were upon them.

And Aedan found himself staring at the hulking form of a Hurlock Alpha.

It wasn't as much that he hadn't seen one of these before, he'd fought one in the Kocari Wilds. However, back then, that had been with just a few Hurlocks there as well, not this mass of snapping Darkspawn. When the hulking monster slammed against him, Aedan knew he couldn't look to Alistair for help. Even without taking his eyes of his own opponent, he knew Alistair was beset as well.

The Alpha brought its crude axe to bear on him, hacking down and away with the serrated edges of the weapon. Aedan was forced to focus all his strength into simply keeping his shield between himself and the monster, unable to do anything but keeping up his defense.

A fireball, launched by whom he wasn't sure, exploded on the ground close enough by that the Alpha took notice, which was likely what saved Aedan's life. A red blur rushed past, streaking fire in its wake. Likely, this was another of Talia's burning wolves, a spell as horrific as it was entrancing to have observed before the fight had even begun. Any attention he could have levered at the blur, however, was forced back when the Hurlock kicked him in the chest.

Instead of being knocked down, something started feeling like it was catching fire across his chest, sending electric twists throughout his body. Unable to fathom what exactly the feeling was, he knew it wasn't just adrenaline, Aedan found new strength and slammed his shield against the Darkspawn.

If he had to guess, it was probably Morrigan directing some sort of spell on him.

The Alpha merely seemed annoyed at the bash, growled, and grabbed the shield by the edge before brutally ripping it from Aedan's hand. The tear caused tendons to snap in his wrist, and he yelled in pain before being forced to dodge when the axe was sent down, avoiding it to the point of getting a scraped pauldron.

Strange, that the other Darkspawn had not swarmed them yet.

Still, he had neither the leeway, time nor the desire to find out the reason – he doubted they were just waiting in line – and instead focused on the monster before him. When the axe was sent on a fresh swing, this time sideways, he leapt back as much as the armor allowed, shoving away the blade with his flaming sword. When he skidded to a stop, just a foot away, his wrist no longer seethed in pain, and he could move his fingers again. _What the…I didn't feel any healing spell?!_

Writing it off as just that, he lunged forward, sending the sword downwards in a diagonal angle, aiming to skewer the Alpha from shoulder to hip. A hand left the grip on the Darkspawn's axe, however, and caught his sword arm mid-swing. Aedan could only widen his eyes in disbelief before the Hurlock head-butted him, sending him staggering backwards.

A fresh wave of energy, once more originating from his chest, and the staggering ceased, instead leaving him clear-minded and prepared when the next swing came. The enhanced senses of a Grey Warden allowed Aedan to duck beneath the decapitating swing, as well as plunge his sword, wreathed in flames, into the Alpha's torso.

What would have incapacitated any human, simply had the Alpha staggering backwards, dragging itself from the sword. Black ichor and thick, muddled blood spilled from the wound and coated the carapace armor in glistening black. Resilient or not, though, the wound still drained blood from the beast, and slowed down the Darkspawn. Aedan leapt forward again, directing his sword at the same spot, hoping take the blade all the way through.

Instead, he was met with a gauntleted fist to the helmet, followed by blinding pain in his crotch. A wave of nausea rolled through him, throwing off his aim to the point that the sword bit into the tiled floor instead. A mocking laughter managed to penetrate the curtain of pain that dulled everything else. Aedan's vision was swimming, rendering everything a blur.

He could make out the Alpha, standing before him as if he'd never injured it in the first place. It was readying the axe for a final swing, and even as he lifted his own blade to stop it, Aedan knew he didn't really have a chance of blocking the strike.

Then the axe came down, accompanying all-shattering agony and blackness.

* * *

The mass of Darkspawn was a black, wreathing pit of teeth and blades. The group's numbers could not be counted by the human eye in the time given, and neither would it have mattered at this point. Genlocks, Hurlocks and Emissaries in these numbers spelled the death of even veteran Wardens in the confined spaces of the Deep Roads.

Talia didn't care one shit.

Her form was a bit larger than before. She wasn't sure why, if it was something Morrigan had done, and neither did she currently care one shit either. Her body was thrumming with a power she had never felt before, magic running through her veins, laced with every blood cell, as much a part of her as the scales covering her body.

A swipe of her hand, delicate fingers now strong, reptilian claws, and the body of the Genlock before her became a splash of blood and shredded flesh. Her arm, taut with powerful muscles and protected by scales like iron, was as thick as her waist in human form. A new swipe, from the opposite direction, the emissary to her right her new target. A magical barrier protected it, for all of the few seconds it held against repeated tearing. When it came apart, so did the Darkspawn.

They were all around her, moving like the revulsive waste they were, stabbing and slashing whenever they could. There was no regard for their own safety, only the simple directive to kill her because she was the enemy. It was what they were, which meant Talia could kill and kill and kill, swatting them like a bear would swat a human, and feel none of the regret she would have felt, were they human or elves.

She was bathed in blood by now, she knew that much. She could feel the pain too, whenever a blade would edge its way past the protective scales. A silver lining to the absence of wings was that her back and sides lacked weak spots. Instead, the Darkspawn seemed to go for her stomach, the soft underbelly forced vulnerable in order to be flexible.

When a Hurlock Alpha, one of the most dangerous Darkspawn she knew off aside from an Ogre, charged her frontally, Talia gathered both hands and slammed them down, flattening the creature. The spiky armor managed to prick her palms, the softest part of her clawed hands. In return, she arched her neck and bathed the dying Darkspawn in flames.

"_YOL!" _

She was not conscious of the sound she made, nor would she have understood it had she heard the word. Instead, she was solely focused on the way the Alpha became a living candle. Her senses, sharpened beyond human capabilities by the transformation, picked up and separated every sound and movement around her. The stench of rot was worse than she would have noticed as a human.

A flash of pain, not her own, entered her mind. It felt as if it was a flare, a surge of magical life-force that demanded her attention.

When a Genlock, wielding crude hatchets, came at her flank, she shifted her weight and kicked it in the face, spraying its twisted skull back, snapping bones and crushing organs. The tiles beneath her were already awash with blood, some of it her own. Each cut that got through only drove her further into a mindless rage, urging her to slaughter them in droves.

The flare of energy came again, this time stronger, accompanied by the sense of dread and more pain than before. In the back of her mind, itching her skull like a rash, Talia could sense the flare coming from where she had left her group. She had leapt almost the moment the transformation was complete, driven by a sense of otherworldly instinct. It had not been a tactically intelligent decision, but the shock of transformation had rendered her down to basic instinct until the point she had found herself in the midst of Darkspawn, and survival had taken precedence.

Crushing Genlocks beneath her form, Talia whipped her head towards the source of the flare. Reptilian eyes widened in very much human horror when she watched Aedan losing his fight with a hulking Alpha. In her form, such a creature was no impossible opponent, but for a human, especially one still not accustomed to fighting inhumanly powerful monsters…Aedan could get killed. _Would_ get killed.

He was already on the ground, clutching wounds the Hurlock had inflicted on him. Nearby, Alistair was trying to get to him, but the bodies of Hurlocks pressed back with superior force. The Hurlock Alpha seemed to gloat at Aedan's state, and raised its axe for the finishing blow, even as Talia raged through the Darkspawn standing between her and it, crushing and shoving aside the monsters.

Even as she leapt the distance, the axe came down.

Talia crashed into the Hurlock. The impact sent the monster flying, though the axe was left where it had struck. _Aedan_, her _friend_, companion, comrade, _lover_, was _still_ on the floor. The axe almost seemed to _grow_ from his chest like a macabre three.

There, she stopped, staring at the figure on the ground.

Something broke in her mind when she finally processed the scene. Senses were turned off, thoughts numbed. Her brain ceased thinking like a human being. She ceased rational thought, ceased caring for her surroundings. Aedan was _Dead. DeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDEAD!_

And the thing that had done it was still alive. The others, the humans around her, yelled words she couldn't understand. It all barely registered in her mind, numbed beyond the focus she now leveled on the crawling Darkspawn.

When she descended upon it, she did so with a claw tearing off its legs, ripping them off like a sadistic child would a bug's. The creature didn't seem to show fear like she wanted it to, didn't seem to show pain like she wanted it to.

So she ripped off an arm, breaking it at the shoulder before she tore the tissue apart. And still, the Hurlock was not dead. Not yet.

She grabbed the twisted creature by its torso, turning it around so that it faced her. So that it faced her wrath.

Then she ripped off the other arm.

When the sack of filth was nothing but a wreathing, dying torso and a head, she lifted it up, not even feeling the drain in her strength, and slammed it against the tiles. Again and again, she smashed the heap of corrupted meat against the ground, smearing the tiles with blood and scraps of torn-off skin.

When the thing in her hands finally died, she turned her attention back to the remnants of the horde, her mind tuned to the most basic of desires, the very most basic drive there could be.

_KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!-KILL!_


	37. Kal Repartha, Talia-Urtok

_The Dwarves of Thedas seem to have a saying concerning their dead '_Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc_' which roughly translates into 'May you always find your way in the dark, now that your duty is at an end'._

_Death, for dwarves that is, is remarkably different from what the other races of Thedas view it as. To the Dalish, death is…confusing. I haven't really been able to get through the myths and legends completely, but as far as I understand it, they 'sleep eternal sleep?'… not a great many records exist on the subjects, and I have not met Solas again so that he could tell me._

_Regardless, humans, elves and even the Qunari connect death in some way to the Fade. Humans especially, __**Qunari… less so…**_

_Dwarves, I have found however, seem to have a distinctly odd connection to the Fade. _

_Similar to people from outside of Thedas, they do not visit the Fade when they sleep. In truth, they are said to not dream at all. It is strange thing then, that they can be affected by the Blight, which is inherently tied to the Fade._

_I have asked the Orzammar Shaperate for any documents or scrolls on the subject, but apparently they do not seem overly fond of sharing details with associates of the Chantry…_

_I would ask Varric, but I can never really tell whether or not he is trying to bullshit me._

_Morndas 24th, Evening Star, 9:40 Dragon_

An addendum written in flowing Fereldan, though the hand evidently lingered and created a splotch. It does not appear to have neither name nor intended reader.

* * *

**Kal Repartha, Talia-Urtok**

* * *

With a scream, born both from exhaustion and grief, Alistair brought his sword down on his opponent, cleaving the Alpha's helmet in two. The head inside followed, splattering ichor and black puss. He kicked the Darkspawn away the moment his sword was free, and turned to face his next opponent.

Only, there was none left. Every Darkspawn around them was dead, multiple torn to shreds by claws and teeth. All the still breathing Darkspawn had turned and fled, only for Talia to storm after them.

"TALIA!"

She didn't react to his call – and when had she ever stopped? – let alone show that she had actually heard him. For all he knew, she might have worked herself into a blood-frenzy upon seeing Aedan's slain body. Shit, this was _bad_.

On the ground, Morrigan was already on her knees, hands flaring with magic as they ran across Aedan's body. Alistair forced himself not to look, for fear that he would collapse out of rage and sorrow. He was torn between taking off after Talia, and joining Morrigan by his friend's side.

"She will not return, regardless of however much you shout." The aforementioned witch stated, her voice carrying indifference rather than sorrow. Alistair turned on her, leveling the most heated glare he could muster. It wasn't hard.

"How…can you _sound_ like that?!" he spat, pointing at Aedan's chest; "Aedan is _dead_, he's dead and you sound like it doesn't make the slightest difference in your own twisted little world."

"If you truly have the energy left to shout, then by all means, help me get that thing off him." Morrigan's reply only made him glare all the harder, and it was oh so tempting to hit her in the face. He wanted to, oh, how he wanted to hit her for sounding so in control and so indifferent to the scene before her; "I cannot break the spell if he remains like this."

What.

"What _spell_?" Alistair bit out, grabbing the handle of the Darkspawn's axe, if only to have something to subject to his anger and distressed state of mind. Morrigan did not immediately respond, grating on his already shredded nerves; "WHAT SPELL?!"

"As a Templar, truly you felt nothing?" the witch demanded, her tone condescending.

"What was I supposed to _feel, _Morrigan?!" he demanded through welling tears. He wasn't going to cry, not now, not where _she_ could see it and would probably just mock him for it.

"Foreign magic." She replied simply, working her hands around where the axe was stuck. The metal started melting as she put her fingertips onto it, and allowed her to slowly, almost painstakingly so, peel it back one tiny bit at a time; "You do not feel it, even now?"

He grabbed the axe-handle with both hands and yanked.

He had expected the sound of tearing flesh and spurting blood when he did so. He expected the metal of the crude weapon to be glistening with the blood of his friend. He expected…so many nightmarish things, sights and sounds when he pulled the weapon out.

Instead it was the scrape, not of bone, but of stone.

"What in the name…" he muttered when he drew back the bladed end, and saw no more than a few droplets of blood on it. His heart was beating against his ribs, and his forehead covered in as much cold-sweat as from his fight. He couldn't understand what he was looking at, considering the axe had clearly been stuck at least a palm deep into Aedan's chest.

There should have been _so much blood_, spurts of it even. There should have been a puddle of it under Aedan by now, and yet there was no blood but the few stains on the axe-head. His friend should have started going pale by now, yet he still seemed like he was merely asleep. His face was still contorted in agony and shock, but not in the way one would see on a dead.

Alistair did not understand this at all.

"Aedan will live." Morrigan said as she stood; "However, you _must_ take him back to the city. He needs a competent healer, and I am not so."

"_Me_?" he asked, unsure if he'd understood her, but he hoped he hadn't; "What are you going to do then?"

"Talia does not yet posses the knowledge of leaving her changed body." The witch stated, her tone implying that it was the most natural thing in the world; "I will need to find her, lest she could lose herself to the bloodlust."

* * *

Sorella Aeducan was, to put it in Trian's usual way of describing a bad situation, not doing particularly well.

What was supposed to have been her rite of passage into full adulthood, sponsored by Father, Trian and Bhelen, had become a fight for survival.

"My Lady, are you alright?" Gorim stepped through a Genlock he had just cleaved from head to toe, yanking his axe from the monster as he ran towards her. Sorella thanked the Ancestors he was still alive, where so many others had already fallen. Frandolin had been ripped apart, and the scout they had encountered in the Aeducan Thaig had disappeared.

Not that she cared, really.

"Gorim!" she called out, hefting up the Aeducan Shield. It was old, scared and pitted with enough claw-marks that she had been starting to doubt its ability to even stop a thrown knife.

It still stopped a Hurlock saber just fine, and allowed her to swing underneath and crush the nug-fucker's knees with her warhammer.

It was a one-handed, spiked weapon, and it worked wonders when your enemy didn't have the sense of self-preservation enemies normally had. Darkspawn might not be capable of 'bleeding out' from stabs or cuts, but as her current beating-bag found out, they were still very much susceptible to a case of 'hammer to the head'; "Where's my Father?"

"I couldn't see him, and there's more Darkspawn coming from the eastern tunnels." He spoke while fighting, burrowing his axe into the chest of a Genlock, then swiped back and decapitated another. The Warrior-caste's finest, alright; "How of your brothers?"

Trian was dead. It hadn't come as much a shock as simply a sad disappointment when she had found him, stabbed from behind with one of the crude daggers those Shrieks loved to use. She had returned the favor in person when she had seen it, pulping the deformed elf as a vengeance.

And yet, it didn't make Trian any less dead. She hadn't even had the time to grieve over him, an action she until that exact point had never thought she would actually feel the need to. There were just too many Darkspawn. Even if there were no Ogres just yet, it didn't change the fact that dwarves of the Royal Guard were dying all around them.

Blocking a fresh strike, Sorella repeated the same action as before, pulping knees before taking out the head. It was the same tactic she had used in the Provings, only this time she fought to kill. Still, in its own way, the Provings had ensured that she actually remembered how to hold a hammer. Maybe that was what had kept her alive so far.

"Prince Trian's dead." She replied hoarsely, exhausted from the ceaseless killing. Darkspawn didn't get tired, so if she did, they would only kill her that much easier. She wasn't even sure if Gorim could hear her, and didn't have the time to ask either. An Alpha was coming at her, and it was one of the _big_ ones; "Oh…fuck me…"

In Gorim's company, that was usually either a jest or an invitation.

The axe came down, and she could feel the impact rattling her bones. Dwarves were thick-boned as they came, but the hit still felt like it at least sprained her forearm. What was worse, the Hurlock simply found it funny – who knew they had a sense of humor after all? – and stated hammering away at her shield like it was a toy. She couldn't even get a strike in, as every time she tried, the Hurlock simply kicked her back.

Sometimes being small really _sucked_.

She was saved, sort of, when another Darkspawn collided with the one hammering on her shield. Expecting it to be Gorim's work, she was instead surprised when she saw Bhelen retrieving an axe from the head of the Hurlock that her knocked her own attacker off.

"Bhelen!"

Her brother's armor was bloodied from boot to the top of his helmet, and one eye didn't seem to open inside it. The large rift in the metal above said eye didn't offer pleasant ideas of what exactly had happened, and his cheek from what she could see was a bloody mess.

Still, he was alive.

"We need to get out of here, Sorella." He said, not sounding very much like the little-brother who always did his best to avoid attention or trouble. He sounded a lot more like someone trying to stay alive, and hopefully not becoming an only-child while doing so.

"Don't need to tell me twice." She huffed, looking around. The battle had mostly died down or spread out, and given the chaos, she didn't even need to see her Father's corpse to know that he was dead. The Royal Guard would never have dispersed like this were their main charge still alive; "There are more Darkspawn in the tunnels."

The knowledge made her cringe with grief. Father was dead, Trian was dead, they themselves were probably dead too soon enough. Even with the amount of Darkspawn they had slain, the monsters had killed most of the expedition off. She could count herself, Gorim, Bhelen and four surviving guards still standing.

…make that three guards still standing.

"It's not- " her brother started, before an ear-hammering roar echoed throughout the corridors. Sorella stumbled where she stood, and Gorim visibly shivered at the sound. Even the Darkspawn seemed to pause at the sound, but only for the blink of an eye, before resuming their slaughter; "It's not _just_ the Darkspawn. There's _something_ _else_ down here with us. And it's leading the Darkspawn right here!"

"What in the Stone's cold grip was that…?" Gorim whispered, almost as if he feared the answer. Sorella wouldn't hold it against him if he did, considering she herself could feel her hands shaking. She decided it was due to overuse, not fear. To prove that she meant this, Sorella took off for the closest Darkspawn, a Genlock sporting a crude saber longer than itself. It had just stabbed it through the stomach of a Royal Guardsman, and turned with a sneer even while the dwarf was still writhing on the ground.

Sorella came in hard, aiming her hammer at the Genlock's arm.

The arm was never the first thing protected when the enemy came at you, mainly because it wouldn't kill you to break it. Except, Sorella was very much going to kill the Genlock, she just needed to break said arm first.

The Genlock slashed at her, meeting only the hard steel of the Aeducan Shield. When it raised its arm for another slash, Sorella swung her hammer into its elbow-joint, ripping the entire forearm off in a spray of blood and torn muscle. The guard on the ground was dead now, so she sent the Genlock to the Stone with him, letting the man have his vengeance within the Stone.

When she looked up and around again, no one had survived but themselves. Bhelen was standing huddled over a Hurlock, clutching his side while Gorim wrestled his axe from the skull of a Shriek. Sod it all, were they really all that was left?

"We're all that's left?" Gorim echoed her thoughts eerily well, wiping some splattered gore from his shoulder; "My Lady, my Lord, what now?"

"We need to find Trian and Father-"

"They're dead." Sorella cut him off. Bhelen's one open eye widened, and she could see the child still very much lingering inside. Her brother wasn't ready for this kind of crap, and really, who was?

"S-Sod it…" he whispered, visibly biting his own lips as the tears started down his cheeks. Sorella didn't like it – right now she had that opinion on basically everything – but she was the older sibling, and with Father…dead, she had to take charge. The only way they would survive this was if they made it back to Orzammar. Bhelen was doing his best to hide the grief – he was that much a man, after all – and simply refrained from speaking.

"We still need to move before…_whatever_ that thing was gets here with fresh Darkspawn." She grabbed the shaft of her hammer and stuck it down its ring. Then she thought better of it and simply kept it resting on her shoulder. Her thick armor had protected her so far, but she didn't want to take chances; "Gorim. Which way-"

A fresh – and _closer_ – roar deafened her next words, and made her armor rattle with the impact of the sound. It was followed by noise, like stones and bodies being thrown around, and screams as creatures died violently.

"That's probably bad." Her bodyguard stated dryly, assuming a defensive stance where he was. The room was large, and there really wasn't much point in trying to run around and waste energy. She didn't have enough of it as it was, and Bhelen was not in any shape to fight as he was now. He was bleeding from the face, and one hand never left his injured side.

Now, they could only wait. Sorella put Bhelen in the middle so he could use his free arm to hold a shield before himself while she and Gorim handled the weapons. As whatever was in the corridor before them came closer – it definitely did not sound like an Ogre, and the steps were too fast to be on two legs – the screams of dying Darkspawn became more and more clear.

Whatever it was, _something_ was driving the Darkspawn before it. Each of its steps rang out across the chamber, followed by roars or wailing Darkspawn. Normally a sound she would have cherished, the notion of so many Darkspawn fleeing something made her spine rattle. Whatever it was, there was no guarantee it was not going to kill them too.

"Should we… really be standing here?" Bhelen whispered in clear fright, keeping the shield firmly in front of him, while also covering the sides of his companions. He was right in that it was a stupid idea, but seeing as any other idea involved running further into the Deep Roads, it was also the only one they had.

"Prince Bhelen may have a point, my Lady." Gorim admitted, staring at the opening ahead. Bursts of warm colors could slowly be seen with increasing clarity, and it became obvious to Sorella that whatever was chasing the Darkspawn was also setting them on fire.

Suddenly standing in the open was looking like a very bad idea.

"Sodding Stone…You're right, we're dead if we stand here." She resigned, lowering her hammer as she glanced about. The first thought was to hide in plain sight, playing dead among the corpses. But Darkspawn were notorious for seeing through that kind of crap, meaning she scrapped the idea as soon as it was formed; "There."

They were still in the ruins of Aeducan Thaig's outskirts, meaning a few buildings yet remained from back then. One such was a single doorway carved into the rock, with just one window close by. It was probably a small storehouse or a guard-station back then, but right now it seemed like their best option.

Sorella's run broke off when Bhelen couldn't keep up. His injury was slowing him down, forcing him to stumble awkwardly after them. She turned, backtracked and grabbed her brother by his free arm, ignoring the shield that was digging uncomfortably into her armpit. She hauled him inside the old building, listening as the screams and roars got closer and closer. She could now hear the myriad of stomping feet from the Darkspawn, and knew she had to get her own ass in cover.

What followed then, as the three surviving members of the expedition peeked from the safety of their cover, she could only describe as mythical.

From the chamber's entrance to the Deep Roads, Darkspawn of both Genlocks and Hurlocks came running inside. They had abandoned weapons and shields, and were running like the Archdemon itself was after them. Immediately upon emerging in the chamber, the blighters started spreading out, grabbing at discarded weapons and shields on the ground.

"_YOL! TOOOOOR!"_

Even as Darkspawn were still coming out the Deep Roads, a wall of fire washed over their backs, consuming them in scores, and turning the ones yet confided in the corridor into dancing candles. The smell of Darkspawn could only be made worse by burning them, and the thing that had set them on fire seemed completely indifferent.

"_YOL!"_

A fresh wave of fire rushed inside the chamber, roasting whatever Darkspawn had not yet escaped proximity to its source. Then the source of all that death emerged as well.

"Stone preserve us, it's the Archdemon…" Bhelen whispered. Sorella briefly thought the same, fear spreading through her until she saw the dragon emerge fully from the entrance.

"No it's _not_." Gorim beat her to it. This dragon was far too small to be the Archdemon, as well as the fact that it did not possess wings, and the fire coming from it was red and yellow, not the sickly purple Archdemons were said to breathe; "It's too small for that, and it's not rotten."

He was right, on that last note too, Sorella had to admit. In truth, it was actually quite beautiful.

Whatever Darkspawn had managed to avoid being roasted alive now formed something of a semicircle around the creature, prodding at it with dwarven spears and Darkspawn pikes. Whenever one got too close, the dragon grabbed the spear around the shaft and sent the startled Darkspawn flying across the chamber.

Sorella counted at least twenty of those nug-fuckers. No wait, nineteen now. The dragon, for all it was larger and stronger than the Darkspawn, was covered in cuts and bruises. Each time it snaked its neck to spew fire, a Genlock would leap at it with axes, or a Hurlock would poke a spear at its neck.

"Who's…who's winning?" Bhelen whispered. His voice sounded more pained than before, and upon looking at her brother, Sorella could tell he was noticeably paler than before. She prayed it was blood-loss, and not something far more sinister. He had also sunken to the floor, out of sight of the fight.

"Dunno…" she replied in equally as hushed a tone. As she spoke, one of the Hurlocks managed to get in close from the side, spearing the dragon's thigh with a pike. The massive creature _wailed_ in agony and grabbed the Hurlock even as the Darkspawn tried getting the spear back out. The Hurlock was then crashed into its fellows, breaking bones and snapping arms; "I really don't…"

Following through with its throw, the dragon turned on itself and lashed out with the muscular tail, breaking spines and knocking down its opponents. Some of the Darkspawn didn't get back up again. Most however, did, and took advantage of the red-scaled creature's blind angle to slash and stab at its sides.

The dragon shrieked with such an intensity that Sorella could feel the metal in her helmet vibrate. Every hair on her body stood, reacting to the agony she could hear in the dragon's screams. Blood was pouring red on black as it spilled from its legs and sides onto the pools and puddles of foul ichor.

When the dragon turned to enact its vengeance on the Darkspawn, its speed was slowed. The blood loss clearly was starting to sap it of its strength, and the legs were sagging even as one Hurlock was too slow and got caught in the dragon's claws. With a bestial snarl, the creature ripped the Darkspawn apart at the waist, then threw the remains at the others.

"…what happened?" Bhelen whispered as well as wheezed, holding his side while pain was etched into his expression. He didn't look good.

"The dragon got injured. I think…I think it's dying…" Sorella muttered, and could not help but find it disheartening. Dragons were supposed to be some of the strongest things alive, even worthy of the old surface Empire of Tevinter's worship. And yet, here she was, watching as a dragon was losing its fight with the enemies of Orzammar. _And it'd still eat me if I helped it…Shite…_

"How many…Darkspawn are left out there?" Bhelen groaned; "…c-could we take them?"

"Not in your state."

As Sorella spoke, the dragon's hind legs gave out underneath it. The Darkspawn took this as their chance and closed in, only for the dragon to swipe out, spilling entrails in a shower of gore and blood as the three closest blighters underestimated its reach. The remaining six Hurlocks seemed more cautious now, if that was even a thing, attempting instead to circle the dragon.

Every time one got too close, the dragon would strike down, flattening the creature in a smear of scrap-armor and blood. And each time it did so, another Hurlock would run in from the side, cutting at its legs or body. From where they were hiding, Sorella could see scales being torn from the huge body, and blood running from countless wounds. The red color she could see in the light of burning corpses might just be the creature's own blood, not the color of its scales.

In the end, the dragon's endurance seemed to win out over the Darkspawn's dwindling numbers. Only two Hurlocks remained, one on each side of the dragon. Likely they couldn't even see each other, and simply waited for the dragon to attack the other one. With its hind-legs crippled, the large reptile couldn't rise up to kick or slam its tail against one side while clawing the other, leaving essentially defenseless against whatever Hurlock it didn't target.

"Gorim, did you bring a bow?"

"…no, my Lady?" he answered, looking at her with confusion; "Who would you shoot if I had?"

"…dunno." In reality, both sides were equally dangerous. Herself and Gorim were the only ones ready to fight, while Bhelen was injured on the ground. If they shot the dragon, and the Hurlock's killed it, they would have to deal with them. If she'd shot the Hurlocks and saved the dragon, nothing would stop it from going after _them_ next.

At some point, the dragon must have realized that the Darkspawn were simply waiting for it to bleed out. It likely rankled it to the core that such lowly cretins would get away with that. Yet it couldn't do anything about it. If it attacked one side, the other would attack. From what Sorella could see, the dragon was a few stabs away from collapsing completely, and likely wouldn't be able to strike back at all.

The dragon seemed to reach a decision. However, instead of lashing out at either side, it craned its neck and peered down, looking for all the world like it was glaring at the ground. Jaws hanging open, a fierce glow started gathering and growing in its maw. Somehow, Sorella knew what would happen, and stared at the twirling ball of fire somehow maintained in the dragon's mouth.

The Darkspawn had apparently come to the same conclusion as her. Yet, instead of backing off as would have been far the most intelligent plan, they ran forward, one raising a sword, the other an axe, both aiming for the underside of the dragon's throat.

As such, when the ground exploded in a veritable firestorm between them, both were thrown back with howls of pain. Each landed in smoking, twitching heaps. They were still alive, though likely only because they were Darkspawn. Sorella couldn't think of any other reason they could have survived such a blast.

The dragon glared at each, snapping its jaws and craning its neck again. Yet nothing more came out. The dragon's arms, the only pillars of support it maintained, trembled underneath its weight. With a snarl that seemed more desperate and sad than angry, the reptilian creature lowered itself to the ground more than it fell.

"…Is it over?" Gorim muttered, keeping a hand on the shaft of his axe. Sorella dared a nod, seeing how between the two of them, they could dispose of the Hurlocks if they were fast. The dragon seemed too exhausted to be of any threat whatsoever, which also meant it wasn't going to be able to kill the remaining Hurlocks. Or them, for that matter.

"Bhelen, stay here." She pointed at the ground as if her brother was a nug. He didn't offer complaints at all, instead just nodding and remained where he was. Sorella turned to Gorim, one hand on her hammer; "We should kill the Darkspawn before they get back up."

"And the dragon?" he inquired, even as they started out, crouching as they left their hide. Walking in a crouch while in armor _hurt_, and it was heavier than one might think. Yet, neither felt like walking straight, and kept at the awkward walk as they neared the first of the Darkspawn.

"Leave it." she muttered, yet keeping an eye on the monstrous creature. Now that she was closer, something seemed…off, about the dragon. Gorim cut down the Hurlock while Sorella kept her eyes locked on the dragon's head. There was something with the eyes – they were closed, thank the Stone – , something she couldn't immediately understand.

It was only when she took a step too close that she was truly stopped dead in her tracks. What stared at her from the scaled, ferocious head was not the usual narrow slit of a reptilian eye, but instead a green iris filling its entirety, with a far too humanlike pupil in the middle.

The immediate feeling she got from those eyes were frustration and anger, but somehow, it changed. Frustration became desperation, and anger became sorrow. Sorella didn't move, she didn't even make a sound. Gorim had not noticed her reason for stopping, but kept a wide arch around the dragon all the same as he made his way to the last of the Darkspawn.

Sorella's eyes remained fixated on the dragon's, however. She was trying to understand why a dragon would have eyes that were so inherently dwarven – and human and elven too, she supposed – when such creatures were supposed to be cold reptiles. Emotionless killer just did not match the storm of emotions she thought she could see within the emerald of the dragon's eye. It almost seemed like the eye itself was shimmering, glistening in the dimming light from burning Darkspawn.

She realized with a hair-raising start that the dragon was crying.

"…Gorim." He was close enough that he should be able to hear her. When he didn't respond, she tried again; "_Gorim_?"

"Yes?"

"Can dragons normally cry?" she whispered as he made his way towards her, again with a wide arch around the dragon; "I mean, with tears?"

"My Lady, you shouldn't be this close to…" he paused when he apparently saw what she did; "It's weeping?"

"…It's probably from the pain…We should…put it out of its misery…" She stepped closer to the pained animal, ignoring Gorim's unspoken protest at her action. When she hefted her warhammer in a better grip, the dragon's eyes widened and stared, fear seeping so intensely from them that it made her stomach turn. It somehow _knew_ what she was doing. Somehow it had _understood_ what she had said, understood what she was holding, and yet couldn't move; "I'm sorry, it's…it's the only thing we can do for you…"

The fear and grief in those emerald eyes was so human, so familiar to what she had seen in Bhelen's when he heard of Father and Trian's deaths. She stood still, unable to raise her arm at a creature so evidently intelligent. It felt wrong on so many levels that the only thing she could do for it was to put it down, and she despised that it would be a mercy. Darkspawn weapons rarely left clean wounds, and this creature had suffered so many, Sorella couldn't begin to imagine the agony once the corruptive poisons set in.

"My Lady, we should make haste before more Darkspawn arrive."

"…Right." She knew he was right, but didn't feel any better for it. It was either kill the dragon here and now, or leave it to an even more agonizing death. She gave the dragon one last look, trying to convey her regret. The dragon's eyes never left her, and she knew it was a sight that would haunt her. Dwarves didn't dream, yet she knew this would come to her as nightmares.

There was no way it wouldn't, not after everything that had happened today.

She gripped her hammer tighter, taking a careful aim at the dragon's skull where she hoped to kill at the first strike, and raised the weapon. When she had taken a breath and averted her eyes from the dragon's, she brought the hammer down.

Meeting enough resistance that the hammer _stopped_, Sorella looked back to check if she had connected in the right place. If she only increased the dragon's agony, she didn't know what she would do.

Yet the hammer had stopped a few inches above the dragon's head. It was only then Sorella realized that she couldn't move a muscle. Her entire body was trapped in a solid lock, and she couldn't explain how or why. Emissaries wouldn't bother with a stasis, or whatever it was called, and there had been no humans in Orzammar's Deep Roads since Duncan had attended Father's feast last year.

An interesting thing about dwarves and their resistance to magic, was that while they could theoretically shrug off those nasty bolts of magic mages would usually throw around, as well as most kinds of offensive magic, there seemed to be something of a loophole when it came to non-harmful magical attacks.

"That…was too close."

Sorella could only move her eyes, trapped as she was, and could only barely see the form of someone approaching from the same entrance that the dragon had used. The voice alone made it clear that the newcomer was a human woman. But she couldn't understand why she was here, nor why the woman had stopped her from ending the dragon's misery. Unless…

The dragon _could_ be the woman's…something. Sorella didn't know much about the customs of surfacers, but knew that some kept odd pets and familiars. If the dragon was the woman's familiar, and used for hunting Darkspawn, maybe the woman was then a Grey Warden?

When she came into full view, Sorella was somewhat surprised that the potential Grey Warden wore little aside from some purple scarf hanging over her chest and a skirt of some sort. She was carrying a staff, but the bones dangling from her waist didn't exactly inspire belief that this human was from their Circle of Magi. She knew _that_ much, at least.

"T'is for your good fortune that I arrived before you did…something regrettable." The human said, looking between them and the dragon. Said creature had shifted its attention from Sorella to the woman, and something that seemed almost like pleading shone from the emerald eyes.

Then the human placed a hand on the dragon's forehead, something Sorella had trouble believing even though she was seeing it before her very own eyes. No one spoke, but something changed on the dragon's…expression. Sorella couldn't explain what it was, nor how, but the grief seemed to lift from it, replaced with…could animals, even those so intelligent as dragons, feel elation or relief? Joy?

When the woman stood, Sorella hardly dared blinking. Obviously there was a bond of some sort between the human and the dragon, and being caught about to kill it, she doubted they were in the yellow-eyed woman's good graces now. _Shit, this day just goes from worse to worst!_

"You need not fear, Talia was never a danger to you, Aeducan." The human said, and Sorella wasn't sure which was more of a surprise, the name or that the human knew who she was; "I intend to release you, if you will refrain from attempting to kill my companion here."

Sorella simply blinked. She couldn't speak nor move her head, so blinking was all she could do. Next to her, Gorim seemed like he was trying to grunt, but only managed a choking cough. She just hoped this wasn't going to end with this human, whomever she was, killing them.

"Good." The mage-woman did something with her hand in front of them, shimmering the air and causing rivulets of tingles to wash over Sorella's body. When they had passed, and she could move again, the first she wanted to do was apologize for almost killing the Grey Warden's 'Talia'. But the woman held up a hand, silencing her before she could even begin; "Now, I do believe introductions would be the most civilized way to start our conversation, do _you_ not?"

"I…yes, I agree." Ancestors, this was likely the _least_ probable thing she had expected, but the woman already knew who _she_ was, so…; "I am… Sorella Aeducan, second child to king Endrin Aeducan."

"Mmm… and your _strapping_ companion?" it was almost funny to see Gorim grow flustered at the veiled…whatever. He usually didn't get that, unless it was from noblehunters. Somehow, she felt sure that the dragon was laughing as well, but decided against even contemplating it.

"Gorim." He replied tersely, meeting her eyes but without emotion. When the raven-haired mage raised a brow, his furrowed; "_just_ Gorim."

"Very well, _I_ am Morrigan." Morrigan stated politely, before laying a hand on the dragon's neck. Sorella hadn't realized it before, but many of the wounds had started closing up. She did a double-take when she saw one of the thinner cuts on the scaled neck simply heal before her eyes, and looked back at Morrigan, who seemed genuinely relieved, maybe at the same observation; "This is Talia Aulus, one of the Grey Wardens. I, as you might have guessed, am not one."

Yeah. This was more or less the single weirdest sentence that had ever been spoken to Sorella since…well, since that blonde Warden-apprentice had mentioned aloud that he was relieved dwarven women didn't have beards. Right in the middle of the throne room.

"Excuse us, it's not been the best of days, but…did you just say…" Gorim started, trailing off as the question seemingly became too odd for him to even give voice to it.

"This is not Talia's true form." Morrigan said, squatting down next to the healing dragon; "…she is a shapeshifter, albeit an inexperienced one, and does not yet fully understand her own powers."

"Right." What else was there to say? Although, and she'd be a Bronto if it wouldn't have been the potentially most disastrous decision she'd ever made, she had just _almost killed a Grey Warden_; "M-Morrigan, I mean…Talia, can she understand me?"

"She can, yes." The woman replied off-handedly, not taking her eyes off whatever she was doing with her hands. When Sorella glanced down, she could see blue threads of magic being weaved between Morrigan's fingers.

Shit. There were times she was glad dwarves didn't have to deal with that kind of crap. Still, she had more important things to do now than stare at pretty colors. She had almost executed a Grey Warden, and that more than anything demanded at the very least a royal apology. _Shit, that's actually literal now with both Father and Trian dead…_

"Warden Talia, I beg your forgiveness for my attempted action against you. I did not understand what you were, and thought I could only end your suffering." Dammit all, just because she was royalty it didn't mean she couldn't get on her knees and apologize. Well, unless one asked Trian, that was; "I understand that you may harbor ill feelings towards me, and I accept if you do not forgive me for my transgressions. Half of my family has just taken by the Darkspawn, and I fear the grief may have affected my sense of judgement."

"…are you quite finished?" Morrigan did not even turn her head as she spoke. Sorella, on her knees in apology, felt something like a desire to punch the woman. Talia, her eyes now focused on the princess again, let out a snort of amusement. Stone take it, Sorella hoped that meant she was forgiven.

"…_yes_"

"Good, then I can start reversing her transformation." Morrigan stood, and the web of blue energy between her fingers was cast into the air above Talia's prone form. Each tread seemed to split when it hit the dragon's…girl's…the Warden's skin, and each split thread then split again, in the end covering the shapeshifter in impenetrable light; "Gorim might want to turn around…"

"What for?" the man asked. Gorim was many things; loyal, strong, brave, smart when he had to, possessing of a charming wit and most of all kind.

What he lacked was an understanding of undertones in women's speech.

"Because I am not even certain if she will reappear dressed or nude." Morrigan deadpanned. Sorella couldn't help a small grin at the way Gorim flushed. No doubt he too was just as eager to see the kind of woman who could turn herself into a dragon.

"Oh."

Both then simply watched in silence – Gorim from over his own shoulder – as Morrigan's spell, whatever it was called, turned from a bright white to a flat blue. It was the color of Lyrium, that much she at least recognized. 'Talia's form was outlined as a single shape, and when the raven-haired human clapped her hands together, it seemed like the dragon's form would similarly compress.

Instead it changed. It shrank, for one, and lost the outline of a tail and long claws. Sorella hadn't ever witnessed much magic, mainly because few mages ever chose to visit Orzammar, and only three Wardens had been in the city throughout her life, all at once on her last nameday, of all times.

When the shape stopped shrinking and changing, its end result was a humanoid, human-sized shape lying prone on the ground. The form was just that, a form, until Morrigan's hands spread out again, and the person within became visible.

"T'is an improvement, at least, that you are dressed this time." Morrigan noted when a fair skinned, redheaded human girl appeared on the ground. She was dressed in the robes of a Warden mage – at least, Sorella assumed it was how Warden mages were usually dressed – and with heavy steel on legs and arms; "Still, you need more practice. Next time, however, I suggest we do so in a location without the risk of Darkspawn."

* * *

_"…shudup…"_ Talia groaned, pressing her very own distinctly human palm against her very own distinctly human forehead. Her mind was trying to kill her, that much was definitely true, and it didn't help that she'd lost _way_ too much blood over the last hour; "...my _head_."

But at least she was dressed this time. Being naked in the Deep Roads was not something she fancied.

"I do believe the words you sought are 'thank you'" Morrigan mused. She was so annoyingly satisfied with herself that Talia couldn't help but scowl. Or, maybe it was the migraine. But even that far paled in comparison to what Morrigan had told her, in the mental link.

Aedan was alive.

She didn't know how, or why, or if he was still in danger, but right now, he was _alive_. She had gone from mortal fear in the face of death, to a sense of relief she could barely even process at Morrigan's words.

"Thanks…" she muttered, pressing a pair of glowing hands against her temples. Healing energies surged throughout her body, dulling the migraine to a simple itch in seconds. When she brought down her hands, she became aware of two simple facts.

One, she didn't have her staff. Morrigan, on the other hand, seemed to be carrying it, so that wasn't really a problem.

Two, however, was that the pair of dwarves that had been about to cave her skull in was still standing nearby. Gods, she needed a drink. The woman-dwarf looked like a blonde Dela, and it was seriously creeping her out. What truly frustrated her, however, was what Morrigan had called the dwarf. Aeducan.

That was the name of the royal family in Orzammar, if she remembered that one right. Alistair had wanted them down here because he was worried something might happen, seeing as the whole blue-blood line was gathered in one place in arguably the least safe place this side of the Padomaic Ocean.

"You." she pointed a hard finger at the blonde not-Dela. Aside from the lack of brand – gods, she already despised that part of dwarven culture – and the slightly finer nose, this woman was an identical twin of the perky rogue; "Where's the king?"

She never got the answer, however, as a new figure stumbled from the doorway of the old ruin the dwarves had hid in. He was clad in armor similar to what the dwarf-girl before her wore, only with a lot more blood decorating it. One hand seemed almost glued to his side, where blood was slowly leaving a trail of droplets behind him. His expression was set in pain, and his skin so pale that the darkened veins in his skin stood out all the more hideously clear. _There's always something, isn't there?_

"W-Wardens…"

The hand not clutching his side reached forward as he walked, with the blonde girl already at a sprint towards him. He collapsed before she even reached him.

"BHELEN!"

* * *

**I think I have lost count of just how many times I have rewritten the Orzammar-arch so far. It's reeeeeeeeeaaaaally annoying because I keep writing down one event-line, then suddenly an idea springs up that beats the Hel out of the previous one.**

**That is not the reason for the long break, however. **

**I have finally managed to get started on my side-project called 'rewrite a book longer than the F'in Bible!' which does take some time. Luckily it's only 60-some chapters, but that's still well over 600k+ words I need to go through. Needless to say, my fingers hurt. If anyone here has read the original "Aspect of Fire", I can only say that the remastered version is SOOOO much better.**

**And if you never read the original, the new version is a good place to start.**

**So...if we're quite done with the shameless selfpromotion, I would just like to wish the lot of you a happy summer vacation - whenever that is, I've kinda lost track of time down here - and hope you will bear with me once more screwing over the plot-line. I respect and love what Bioware did with the Dwarven campaign, it's just that I have different ideas.**

**Roku, out! :)**


	38. Gemstones under Diamond

**So, yeah, a lot of you probably thought to yourself that this break has been **_**way**_** too long. And for that I would like to offer the lot of you – because honestly, you deserve that much – an explanation. **

**Since starting VUC – a sort of extra educational course – my time has once more become incredibly limited. I have to keep working on papers for both chemistry and math, as well as make sure I actually get enough sleep to survive the next day. Add to that that, since I still do live at home, I also have chores and cooking to do, plus the fact that if I get caught writing, I'll be chewed out unless I can prove beyond a doubt that I have done everything for the next week. Yeah, it's kinda awkward like that. **

**In the end, that leaves me with roughly three-four hours a week to write. That is time I have to split between Talia, Incursions, Helheim and the rewriting of Interventions. Believe me when I say, if I could spend more time writing, I **_**would**_**.**

**I work in a cycle, meaning that following this update, the next chapter will be Aspect of Fire, Incursions, followed by another chapter being re-released in Interventions, then Helheim and finally this again. It's the only way I can prevent neglecting a story.**

* * *

_Golems, as they are commonly referred to, are autonomous constructs much like the lumbering Centurions found in the larger Dwemer ruins. _

_Primarily made out of either stone or steel, these guardians are the epitome of Dwarven might, and are believed capable of tackling Ogres in single-combat. Whether or not this is true, however, is up to debate, as very few Golems still exist. All but a few were lost when the Thaigs were overrun in the beginning of the first Blight, and those that remain are kept far from harm's way. It seems the Dwarves ascribe to the old philosophy of not fielding what one cannot afford to lose. _

_The making of a Golem is, at best, shrouded in enough secrecy to make the Cynod appear openly informative. Realistically, if that were a term best used here, nothing at all is available about the making of these artificial, yet sentient war machines. Their maker, Paragon Caradin, disappeared ages ago into the Deep Roads, and has not been seen nor heard from since. _

_\- '_Observations on Orzammar', 37:1 Dragon. A signed scroll found in the library of the Circle of Ostwick.

* * *

**Gemstones under Diamond**

* * *

Aedan's world returned with the smell of braised pork, ale and scented herbs, as well as a stinging pain across his chest.

At first, confusion over all these things was what filled his mind. The last thing he remembered was feeling the Alpha's battle-axe rip through his armor and body both. The pain had been excruciating, worse than any wound he'd ever received before. He had felt it as his ribcage was cracked and cut open, had seen the world vanished into darkness.

So why was he still here? As much as he believed in the Maker's afterlife, he doubted it would come with such worldly smells, and he doubted even more so that his chest would still be causing him pain had he died.

"You are awake."

It was not a question, but the voice at least was familiar enough to cement his survival. Opening his eyes, Aedan found himself staring first at a richly decorated stone-tiled ceiling, then tilted his head to the left and found Wynne there, gazing at him with an indistinguishable expression. One of her hands had just let go of a wooden mug.

So, that was the ale-smell down, at least.

"I…" there was so much he wanted to know. Talia's whereabouts chief among them.

"-need rest." It was an order if he'd ever heard one, though far more gentle in its delivery. Wynne released a tired, weary and yet relieved sigh as she leaned towards him and lightly placed a glowing hand on his chest.

This was when he became aware of being shirtless.

"How do you feel?"

"…hungry." He didn't mean it as a joke: He really _was_ hungry; "And…confused. I mean, I thought I'd…I'd be…" the word, that one word somehow wouldn't pass his lips. Aedan slumped his head back on a remarkably comfortable, if roughspun pillow, staring at the ceiling while Wynne hummed.

"Your survival is, once more I believe, due mostly in part to Talia's magic, and how little I truly understand about it." the old enchanter admitted, not a hint of shame as much as resignation in her voice; "How does this feel?"

He became aware that she was pressing a finger onto his chest, but almost couldn't feel it. If it was where the axe had hit him, maybe he'd lost the ability to feel there. It was always better than being dead, however.

"…faint. Like there's something in the way." He muttered, trying to lift his head enough to see his own chest. When he succeeded, bandages was all he saw. Surprisingly few of them were stained red; "Talia?"

"Talia is…physically unharmed." Wynne seemed to hesitate with the words, as if there was something to hide; "She healed herself of any injuries she sustained. Which, I suppose, brings me back to what she did to you."

"Is she here? Nearby?" By the Maker, he wanted to see her. To hold her and kiss her and never let her out of his sight. Ironic really, seeing as _he_ was the one who'd almost gotten himself killed, not her. It was probably his sense of manly responsibility, something _she'd_ never ascribed to; "what do you mean she 'did to me'?"

"I am still not sure…Neither is she, for that matter, but, and this is only the best assumption we have been able to reach so far…" he wasn't quite sure if he liked the way Wynne hesitated. Usually hesitation meant something bad was going to come out; "I- We believe that what she did to you on the night of your Joining, somehow reacted with the magic in the ritual itself, and created a…bond, of some kind. When you were struck down, the part of your body where she touched you hardened on its own."

Somehow, thát didn't make him think of the Joining at all.

If Wynne noticed his blush, she didn't let it show; "Talia called it 'Stone flesh'. It is a defensive spell much like self-petrification, commonly referred to as 'rock armor'. When the axe struck the part of your chest where the scar formed that night, that part of your body briefly turned to stone…It was not permanent, and you will most likely have a scar, but it certainly saved your life."

Aedan, for a while, didn't speak. His mind often felt numbed when people discussed magic around him, especially if it entailed how different and yet alike the magic from Talia's homeland was to the magic of his. And now, with even Wynne unsure of what exactly had happened, he felt no less confused and overwhelmed than usual.

"So…I am _alive_, because…I almost _died_ at the Joining?"

"Simplified, but yes, that is most likely the case." Wynne nodded, the wrinkles in her face creasing slightly with the faint smile on her lips; "Personally, my recommendation would be for you to remain in bed. You should refrain from any and all strenuous activity for a while."

"…okay."

"There is also…" Wynne put a finger on her lip in a quite girlish musing. Its oddity briefly threw him for a loop; "Well, I suppose Talia would need someone to brighten her mood, so if you feel comfortable receiving visitors?"

Aedan could have sworn there was a hint of youthful…something, in the old enchanter's eyes. A glint of something thought left behind years ago. She most certainly said what she said knowing full well that he would agree.

"You haven't told if…Is she okay?" he realized as he spoke that she'd already told him once. A lot of the things she'd said didn't exactly stick, leaving his mind something of a haze; "I mean-"

"I know what you mean." Wynne told him kindly; "I would imagine too much is going on right now for you to remember much. I will go examine the others, then. Talia should be here shortly."

"…thank you." Aedan replied, resting his head back down with a sigh.

His chest didn't sting as much as before, so Wynne must have been healing him while she was talking. If anyone was, Aedan was certain that the Senior Enchanter would be the kind of person to make Talia realize that at least not all the Circle was as stuck-up as she believed. Not that he didn't see where she was coming from, as her homeland had never had a need for templars, as far as he understood her.

Magic…There were times he was really glad he was born without it. And not just because it would have had him stuck in a Tower for the rest of his life. That was at least a part he understood perfectly why Talia despised.

Talia. What had she done, or thought, when he had been struck down? The last time he remembered seeing her was when she shapeshifted and started tearing into the Darkspawn. Had she just continued, unaware that he had nearly been killed? Or had she somehow felt the 'bond' Wynne mentioned, and discovered what had happened?

Eyes closed with exhaustion, he hadn't been aware of Wynne leaving the room until he heard the door open again. The footsteps he could hear weren't of the soft boots Wynne used, but instead the familiar rattling of steel sliding against steel on armored feet and shins. And even _if_ Alistair had somehow come to visit him, the steps were much too light, as if the person wearing them was attempting to sneak. Aedan raised his head a bit, bringing the sound of footsteps to a stop.

Talia stood next to his bed, still wearing all her armor. Her hands, both still in their protective steel-gloves, had frozen mid-air as if interrupted in their movement. Her eyes, he noticed, seemed like they belonged to the kind of person who should be in bed, not walking around. How long had she gone without sleep? How long had _he_ been sleeping?

"…Hey, Talia." He wasn't quite sure what else to say. She didn't look like she was in the mood to even talk. And she smelled like alcohol; "I'm glad you're safe."

Without him noticing when it had started, tears ran down her cheeks in silent streams. Talia didn't even seem to notice them either, locked on his as her eyes were. Then, wordlessly, she shrugged off first her gloves and bracers, then the boots as well, leaving her barefooted on the tiled floor.

And Aedan was left dumbstruck. He often was, he realized, when it came to how Talia reacted to a lot of things. He had not expected, for example, that reuniting after he'd almost died would make her take off her boots.

It was only when he felt her weight on the bed, her arms draped over his chest like a desperate child, that his mind even processed how quickly she had moved. Briefly stunned by her actions, Aedan soon felt warmth spreading through him from her embrace. The chainmail in her protective vest did not feel cold at all, and only dimly did he realize that she had shrugged the uniform as well. Her body was against his, clinging on as if for life itself, with just their underclothes separating them. He could feel her heartbeat through the arm she pressed herself against.

And then he felt her tremble. A great, wracking sob escaped her lips, coming out as raw as had she been yelling and screaming for days. Ignoring the stinging sensation from his wound, Aedan turned so that he could face her, and returned the embrace for all he was worth, hugging Talia to his chest. She didn't stop crying.

"You…_idiot_. Do you have- a-any idea how _scared_ I was!?" it was only seeing her, alive and unharmed, that allowed Aedan a faint smile, one Talia didn't see as she was pressing her forehead into his throat. She radiated so many emotions that he wasn't sure how to react to them all combined. She was indignant and relieved, as well as clearly pissed off at him while yet seeking his comfort. He just wasn't sure what to say, in a case like this.

"I'm sorry." It was an instinctive reply, and he felt certain more or less immediately that it had been the wrong one; "I didn't mean to scare you like-"

"W-well you _did_" she repeated, a growl mounting in her voice; "I've never been so fucking scared before and I thought I'd lose you like I lost Onmund and- Please, I _don't want to lose you_. I don't want to do this thing if it means you die. _Fuck_ the Blight, if that's what it…if that's what it takes…Don't you _dare_ smile at me like _that_, what's wrong with you?""

"I'm sorry." He repeated that same, stupid apology. He wasn't even sure if he could be blamed for any of what had happened; "I'm just so, _so_ glad you're safe."

She didn't reply to that, only buried her face in his neck. He could feel her hot, shaking breath on his skin, and the tears running down her face ended up running down his neck until they splotched on the bed. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that there actually existed a fragile – or at least just _soft_ – girl underneath the shell Talia so often put around her as a façade.

Her habit of swearing was definitely one of those reasons.

"…you're still an idiot, for losing to a Hurlock…" she muttered, seemingly not interested in removing her mouth from his neck. It brought back memories from their night together in Redcliffe. And with her snugged into him like this, all he had to do was close his eyes; "I mean who the fuck loses to a _Hurlock_?"

"…You know they're rather strong, right?" he attempted a laugh, and felt the increasingly familiar sting spreading from his chest. Right, he'd been chopped with an axe there. Easy to forget with a beautiful woman next to him.

"The cheesemuncher didn't seem to have problems."

"Ah…" what else could he say to that? Talia had her quirks – quite a lot of them in fact – and one seemed to entail her labeling Alistair as such. Luckily for Aedan, and perhaps for her as well, Talia's hand brushed over the center of the bandages, and her head rose as he gasped from the stinging sensation; "It…still stings, just a little…"

"I…I did that, didn't I?" Talia muttered, resting her fingers deftly around the actual injury, not upon it. Somehow, Aedan found his eyes were transfixed on her hand, and the way she moved her fingers, not the fact that she was in her smalls; "I…examined your wounds earlier, and I don't know what happened or how, but…the red skin, your scar, most of it seemed like it'd turned to stone when the axe hit it. Wynne thinks it's an…a magical c-connection, like…like, I'm not…I don't know."

What had begun as a faint crease of his lips became a full-blown smile as Aedan looked at the beautiful redhead getting increasingly flustered. She was normally either the extremes of snarky or aggressive, and so this shambling, mumbling behavior was as rare as it was endearing.

"What are _you_ smiling at?"

"You." he said without a shred of shame, touching a hand to her reddening cheek; "You're really adorable when you get all flustered like that, you know?" his smile remained as Talia's own hand quickly came up to his, as if afraid that he would take it away. He hadn't been planning to do that.

"A-anyway, there's been some…some developments you should probably hear about." She stuttered as she took away his hand. Her expression became slightly less flustered, yer far more serious, and the haunting look returned. Aedan guessed that meant the developments hadn't been for the better. He sat, assisted by Talia until he was leaned against its end. Talia took a seat where his legs gave up room, fiddling with one of her armored vambraces; "Orzammar's in mourning. The Royal Expedition was ambushed in the Deep Roads, and King Endrin was killed, along with Crown Prince Trian and all of the royal guard…"

"Maker's shit…" Aedan groaned, palming his face; "Maker's _shit_! God!"

"On the…other hand, Princess Sorella Aeducan survived." She hesitated somewhat, even though what she said was what Aedan considered _good_ news. But, hadn't there been _three_ children of King Endrin Aeducan? "Her brother, the youngest Aeducan, Bhelen, he…we…We tried to…He got wounded and…"

"…Ghoul?" Aedan could see the answer in her eyes even as she remained initially silent. He bit down a swear, cursing the bad luck they seemed to face at every turn. Talia's eyes betrayed a deep horror, something she had seen that had shaken her to the core. He should have realized it the moment he saw her, the haunted look in her eyes that he had merely ascribed to a lack of sleep.

Aedan had never even _seen_ a Ghoul, but he'd heard about them. Nan had used to tell him frightening stories about the ghouls that came in the night and robbed misbehaving children from their beds. And Alistair had more than once mentioned the consequences of the Darkspawn taint. Grey Wardens didn't get it, because they were by definition _already_ tainted, but for everyone else…He'd seen what happened to rats around Ostagar. He didn't feel like seeing the effect on a human being.

"That's…what he called it. Alistair. I…I had to…I had to hold Sorella back while…while he…while…that…" her words came out slowly and with regret laced through every single one. Aedan could more or less imagine just what Alistair had done, since Talia had had to hold back the Aeducan princess. As far as he knew, there wasn't a cure for the taint when first the victim had fully succumbed.

And yet, there was something else going on. As much as he wanted to yell and punch a wall for the shit they were being put through at every turn, Aedan could still catch enough from how Talia behaved that there was something bothering her beyond restraining a no-doubt grieving sister.

"_Shiiiiit_…" he groaned, collapsing his face in-between the palms of his hands. Andraste, this was _bad_. The entire situation was more or less as wrecked as it could be, and all they had achieved was next to nothing. He'd almost been killed, and out of three heirs, just one had survived to ascend Orzammar.

"But…but at least Sorella Aeducan and her companion survived."

"Yes…Yes, that's…good, I know."

"It seems like…like it's just happening everywhere I go, you know?" Talia sighed, slumping down on him with his chest as her pillow. He didn't object, needing her comfort as much as she likely needed his. Grey Wardens on the best of days seemed to simply lead tiresome lives. This, right now, was not one of those 'best days'.

"What happens?" he asked her, running his right hand through her fiery-red hair. Even in the dimmed lighting of the room, it seemed to glister; "…everywhere you go?"

"Mmm…" he could hear and see it both as she bit her lip before replying, doubt etched into her expression. She still seemed ready to break under an invisible weight, one he wished dearly to help her shoulder; "Do you…remember I mentioned arriving in Skyrim, the province with the College, and that there was a man by the name of Ulfric Stormcloak there?"

"A few days before I arrived in Skyrim, while I was still at sea, Ulfric murdered Skyrim's High King. That's what started the civil war. Then I come to Ferelden, and Loghain gets King Cailan killed, and now Eamon and your mother want to start a civil war against him. Then we come here, and another king dies…It's just…I'm getting tired of people constantly dying around me, of civil wars starting when there's something far worse going on and…I'm just…_sick_ of this."

"…you think we shouldn't fight Loghain?" he asked calmly. With a history like that, and actual experience with civil wars, he didn't hold it against her if so. Talia averted her eyes, looking it seemed at the center of his bandages.

"Aedan…Civil wars are horrible things. Eamon and Eleanor might not realize it because they're not going to do the actual fighting, but it's worse than an actual war. And a civil war in the middle of a Blight cannot be anything but even worse."

She was right, and he knew that. But Aedan also refused to believe his mother did not already know this. Eamon, he wasn't yet sure of, but his mother _had_ to be aware of the consequences of a civil war right now. He'd assumed as much from the meetings he'd attended in Redcliffe…all two of them. _There's nothing I can do about that from here anyway. Right now, all we can do is to attempt to find recruits in Orzammar, get the treaty verified by the dwarves and…and then I pray Alistair knows where next to go._

"…what do we do now?" Talia's soft, uncertain question drew him back from his thoughts. Her free hand was up, fiddling with the ever-present braid. He had come to know that gesture by now. She was uncertain and nervous, anxious for the future most likely. So was he.

"I…don't know." He muttered, drawing her closer. He wasn't sure what to do, or whatever to say that could be more of use than that. Even were he to be optimistic, he doubted they'd have much luck getting anything akin to aid from Orzammar now; "Let's hope Alistair does."

* * *

Alistair, Daveth and Jowan had now for the longest time been trying to get an audience with the soon-to-be queen of Orzammar. As it was, they were now awaiting said audience in the dim, torch-lit corridor between the Diamond Quarters and the Throne Room. The halls of Orzammar echoed with songs of mourning, each in equally grieving dwarven tongues.

It was downright depressing.

While he himself and Daveth both did their best at maintaining respectful stillness, Jowan was…less so. The young mage seemed incapable of relaxing, and had actually been like that since Talia had recruited him. At the time, Alistair had been very much against recruiting a Blood mage. Everything he had been taught in the Chantry repeatedly stated the evil and malice possessing every one of them. But he knew lingering trauma when he saw it, at least. Daveth seemed slightly more irritated.

"If ye don't stop skiddin', the guards'll throw you out, you know."

"S-sorry."

"What's wrong anyway?" the archer muttered. Orzammar seemed like one of the few places where Daveth was in a perpetual _bad_ mood. Not that Alistair didn't get the reason.

"I just…don't really like closed spaces." Jowan sighed, visibly trying to still himself; "I'm sorry, I know it would have been better if Talia had been the one to be here, but I couldn't-"

"Yeah, she's not leaving Aedan if the soddin' Archdemon itself came down here…" Daveth grunted, shaking his head. Alistair remained quiet, trying to plan out what to say to Sorella Aeducan when he saw her again. Considering she'd more or less sealed herself off inside the Palace since returning, he wasn't even sure what her emotional state might be.

Probably not the best. Losing your entire family could do that to even the best.

Maker's smalls, but this day was going every kind of wrong. With all but one member of the royal family killed off, there at least was the silver-lining that the succession wouldn't be in doubt. And it wasn't that he doubted the young lady's capabilities as a regent, but…she was just that: _Young_.

Too young, for all this shit to rain down her shoulders. And thinking that made Alistair feel _old_. Not as old as Duncan had likely felt throughout _half_ then antics Alistair had pulled on his mentor, but still.

"The Princess will see you now, Wardens."

Alistair hadn't heard the guard open the door, but he did recognize the gravelly voice. It was Aeducan's personal guard, the only other survivor from the Darkspawn attack in the Deep roads. He wasn't aware of the man's full name, only that he'd identified himself as 'Gorim' when Talia had encountered him and Sorella.

Before any could take a step towards the door, however, Gorim continued. His expression was as hard as the stone on which he walked; "I would implore you to exercise _patience_, with my Lady. She is not yet recovered emotionally."

"Of course." Alistair nodded in understanding. Maker, that she would even take visitors right now, so soon after the attack, was nothing if not a show of willpower; "Thank you."

Sorella Aeducan was, in spite of having agreed to seeing the Wardens already, clearly not in a state to see most visitors. Hunched forward on the throne and still clad in the blood-soaked armor of her family, her eyes regarded the incoming humans with indifference and emptiness.

Alistair did his best not to notice, and knelt as he stopped before her. Daveth and Jowan did the same, awaiting permission to stand again.

Minutes seemed to pass by, until Gorim finally gave an awkward cough from next to the throne. The princess blinked, as had she only just woken from sleep, and regarded the room again. When her eyes settled on the three Wardens, something seemed to pass before glazed eyes.

"…you may…stand…"

Her voice was low as a whisper, and raw from grief. Alistair could only imagine what she was going through, and likely not even then. The most disastrous loss he'd ever gone through was losing Duncan at Ostagar, but that had been his mentor and friend. Duncan had become something of a second father to him, but still, he had been only that, and not his true father, nor true brother. But Lady Aeducan, Sorella, had lost _everything_.

He couldn't compare himself to that.

"Thank you, your Highness." Alistair stood as the first, gathering both hands behind his back. He had managed to scrub the worst of the blood from his armor, though he could still have passed for a corpse on the field. Lady Aeducan, on the other hand, had a hard time passing for its survivor.

"I think I…know, why you're here…It's…Alistair, right?" he nodded; "The Blight, you're here for Orzammar's soldiers…"

"Yes. This Blight has so far claimed more lives than the two previous ones, and not only has Ferelden's main army been wiped out at Ostagar, but we also believe we haven't even seen the main horde yet." He couldn't help but notice that Daveth seemed surprised at this. Jowan as well, though he seemed far more distressed than simply surprised; "…as it is, the emergence of Darkspawn on the surface means there will be fewer of them in the Deep Roads. We need as many soldiers as you can spare."

"…we're already bound by the treaty, you know…" the princess sighed; "…even then, I can't… the treaty has to be…_verified_, by the king or queen of Orzammar."

"Is…there a problem, my Lady?" he was starting to sense that there would be, yet couldn't understand what. She did not have any competitors for the throne, did she?

"…Orzammar tradition, actually…" she muttered, eyes downcast at the floor. Alistair dared not say a word, waiting instead for her to continue. Gorim had said to be patient. He had been right in that; "…Orzammar, _per tradition_, has never had a ruling queen. As it is now, even as the sole surviving child of my father, the Assembly…probably wouldn't accept me…"

"Just another stroke of genius down here…" Daveth grumbled. It was probably intended to be under his breath, but Alistair heard it nonetheless.

"Does that mean Orzammar will be leaderless until, what, you marry someone from the Noble caste?" Jowan hadn't been allowed to speak, yet Alistair had to admit that the mage wasn't wrong. That was, as far as he understood dwarven politics, the way they did things. He also noticed Gorim shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"I'd…prefer not to." Sorella muttered, looking at her knees. She drew them up and hugged them, something of a testament to the flexibility of dwarven armor; "…but, there could be…another way. If I do not become queen…odds are Lord Harrowmont will continue in his role as steward. Or you could call it 'king', if you wanted…same thing, really…But if he continues in his role as Steward, there is a possibility he will not let dwarven lives be lost in what he views as a surface conflict…"

"Yer _shittin-" _

"_Daveth._" Alistair hissed, glaring at his comrade. He knew all too well that little was needed for the archer to run his mouth at Orzammar's nobility. And it's warrior-caste. And its commoners. Really, the only people Daveth didn't seem to immediately hold a grudge against would be the Casteless.

"Harrowmont is Orzammar first…" Sorella continued as if Alistair hadn't just admonished the rogue; "My father liked and trusted him to carry on our ways…in case something were to…to happen to him. In that he…I suppose in that he is very much loyal."

"But why would he deny us the help?"

"…it's just what he'd do…Dwarven lives shouldn't be given for human lands…"

"That's…that's…" Alistair honestly couldn't come up with fitting words. Was Orzammar really _this_ mired in backwater traditions that they'd abandon Ferelden to the Blight? "Okay, so if Harrowmont wouldn't help us…would _you_? in the event that you were crowned ruling queen?"

"…Are you truly _that_ desperate for aid?"

"Yes."

"…then…it would probably take something…out of the ordinary." The princess muttered, standing from her throne. Almost immediately, Gorim was at her side, providing a pillar for her to latch on to, should she need it. There was more to that than simply a guard's dedication. Sorella led them through a door in the back of the room, opening up to a staircase that descended into the darkness. Only patches of lyrium-lamps brightened the corridor at all; "I suppose…you should see it…"

"_Now_ I'm getting curious." Daveth said with little mirth. Nothing seemed to actually bring him from his foul mood in this place, and Alistair was frankly getting tired of trying.

"My Lady, are you certain…" Gorim started, only to receive an apparently rare look from the Aeducan heiress. Alistair couldn't _see_ the look, but saw its effects; "I understand."

Good for him, because Alistair didn't – and had Morrigan been here, she would have called him stupid to his face – and it left him anxious and curious both as to where they were going. The air seemed undisturbed down here – wherever _here_ was going to end up – leading him to believe they were going further underground than he'd initially thought anywhere in the Diamond Quarters led.

He did however realize that Jowan was growing increasingly hesitant with every step they descended. When he met the mage's eyes, Jowan evidently forced the smile out. There were a lot of things he wanted to say and do, seeing as he'd almost come to _trust_ the Blood mage by now. A strange concept, really. And he definitely _liked_ Jowan better than he did Morrigan.

"Here it is." Gorim declared as they came to a stop before a door that, contrary to Alistair's expectations, wasn't the same solid brass-like metal as most doors in the upper-caste quarters. Instead, it was an ornate wooden door, bearing the Aeducan crest; "Beyond this door rests the reason, the very foundation for the might of the Dwarven Thaigs. It is not a place surfacers are _ever_ allowed."

"Ain't that just an honor?" Daveth shook his head; "so, what's in there anyway? Golems? Lyrium-bombs?"

It turned out to be nothing quite as grand as that. When Alistair saw what the room held, honestly he was almost disappointed. There were no hulking golems – on the other hand, how would they even have entered the room at all? – there were no stacks and rows of blue-glowing lyrium-bombs either.

Instead, five rows of pedestals stood before them, each holding its own, faintly glowing gemstone.

* * *

**So, that's more or less it for this update. Rest assured that the time until the next one shouldn't be nearly as long. I'm just hoping I can keep doing this, the writing, as well as keeping up with my schoolwork without succumbing to a nervous breakdown. It's just me not handling intense work-loads all that well. **

**If you wanna help ease some of that stress, you know where the Review-option is. Yes, I know, shameless to ask, but reviews really are what makes my day sufferable. Or, suffer-ish-able, seeing as I'm not exactly some tortured soul or abused kid. Just an amateur writer hoping to get a little appreciation back from his work. **

**So if anyone here follows Incursions, that'll be the next story updated.**


	39. The Consequences of Drinking Weird Stuff

Finally we continue the trek into the Deep Roads, where weird and confusing things have a nasty habit of going down.

* * *

_It is funny, or sad – I am still not sure which – that no one in all the time since we left Haven, ever considered the dangers of mixing dragons blood with that of Darkspawn. Wasn't that combination how the Blights are supposed to have started?_

_Then again…I guess they never did expect Kulaas to be more than a mere beast. None of them ever expected it to be a demigod-like creature…I suppose I _should_ have told them as much _before_ we ventured into the Deep Roads…_

_And I ended up paying the price for that oversight._

Note found near an empty bottle on a bed-stand.

* * *

**The consequences of drinking weird stuff?**

* * *

Having been more or less hauled out of Aedan's room, Talia was somewhere between annoyed at the interruption – she had been pretty reluctant to leave his side and the coziness that was there – and curious as to what could be the reason.

"Why won't you just_ tell_ me what's going on?" she demanded as Daveth led her through the rooms and hallways. Orzammar's Royal Palace was a _big_ place. It probably went some hundred meters into the solid rock, and several floors both up and down.

"'cause _I'm_ not really sure what's goin' on." He replied cheekily, backtracking as he waggled both eyebrows at her. Gods, he was just…annoying, was probably the best word for it; "Alistair said you'd know more about it than us, so he asked me to get ya."

"…Really?" she muttered with clear, undisguised skepticism.

"Hey, I didn't enjoy breakin' into that snuggle-fest of yours more than you did me doing it."

"It was _not_-"

"But Alistair's the Senior Warden, meanin' he gets to boss us juniors around." Daveth complained, drawing in a long sigh. For a guy that wasn't enjoying this, he certainly seemed to take great enjoyment from cutting her off though; "Anyway, I'm not actually _allowed_ to say what it is."

"…why?" That really didn't make any sense.

"I can't tell ya, Tali. Have to wait'n see for yerself." He shrugged, opening the doors leading to the throne-room.

Seeing it for the first time, Talia was almost amused to finally see a place made to fit the small stature of the dwarves. All the furniture was somewhat miniature, yet the ceiling was still high enough that she didn't have to bow her head to walk through. That, or it was just made to be extremely high-vaulted for the smaller people living here. She didn't know, and frankly, didn't care either. Dwarves, to her personal opinion, had so far been something of a let-down.

Except for their sanitation, that was.

"Down here." Daveth whispered, opening a smaller door in the back of the throne-room. Talia, now actually curious as to what could be at the end of their journey – the clandestine door helped somewhat – followed the archer without a word of complaint. Beyond the door, a long, descending corridor led into the depths of Orzammar. How deep did it go, she wondered. There was only a small, square light at the end of the tunnel – for it was more a tunnel than an actual corridor – to light their way now that the door behind them was sealed; "Watch your step, eh?"

"No need to tell me." she muttered, idly glad that torches along the walls provided some measure of light. It wasn't like flashing out a mage-light would have been much trouble, but it was the principle of things, really. Sort of; "Are the others down there?"

"Just Alistair'n Jowan. Some reason, we can't show this to non-Wardens yet."

"…Says Alistair?" she tried, forehead creasing in thought.

"Nope, that'd be Lady Aeducan." Daveth's reply came smoothly, almost idly as if his mind was elsewhere. Talia, however, suddenly saw herself returned to the Deep Roads, holding onto a struggling Sorella Aeducan as Alistair shoved a sword through the turned Prince Bhelen. The tunnel seemed to echo with long-dead screams now, and she had to shake her head to clear them out. _It was a mercy killing. A mercy killing. If we hadn't done anything, he would have…have turned and someone else could have died too. _

And yet, she knew that wasn't the core of why that situation had horrified her so. Talia barely dared acknowledge it, much less think it aloud in the privacy of her own mind, but what had happened to Bhelen was what would have happened to her, had the Joining not happened.

And it was the reason she wanted Brelyna and J'zargo to stay as far from the Deep Roads as possible.

"Here we are." The archer declared with a small grin, knocking on the door. It was a few moments before it was opened by Alistair, who seemed almost apprehensive for some reason. Talia was by now more than used to Alistair reacting differently to the most unexpected of things, so really, she had no idea what had him apprehensive _now_, of all times.

Maybe it was the death of the Dwarven royal family. She'd garnered enough from Dela back in Ostagar that Alistair had some sort of history with them, however short it might have been.

"You're here."

"_Yesssssss_?" Why was he stating that as a question? Alistair didn't say anything beyond that, instead just opening the door enough for her and Daveth to slip through. Almost as soon as they were both inside, the Princeling closed the door shut. _What is this, the Dark Brotherhood?_

What she then saw before her, put whatever fantasies she'd ever entertained about that particular bunch of assassins to shame.

"We were hoping you might…know these things." Alistair started awkwardly, gesturing at rows upon rows of pedestals. It was, however, not so much the ornate carvings on those pedestals that caught her eyes, but instead what rested upon them; "It just looks a lot like what you had around your neck, I think…"

"Warden Talia?" it was the last of the Aeducan's, Sorella Aeducan and her bodyguard. She hadn't even realized they were there until the princess – or was it _queen_ now? – spoke. Just like with Bodahn, it was remarkably easy to miss a person who only reached halfway up your chest; "Are you familiar with our stones?"

"I…I…believe…" Gods, she had _no_ idea what to say. For all she could see, what was before her was nothing less and nothing more than some twenty-five soul gems, all of them sharing the same distinct glow that signified a soul within; "What…do you call these?"

"Spirit Crystals." The small woman replied, her voice oddly distant. Talia, quite honestly, did not blame her. She had been much the same after Onmund's death, and Sorella Aeducan had lost her entire family. It was frankly a miracle that she even managed to walk around, let alone speak; "Do you know of them?"

"Each one…it has a soul inside of it, doesn't it?" Talia asked in almost a whisper, her mind still trying to process the fact that she was looking at _soul gems_ in the middle of Orzammar. There were so many reasons this should _not_ be possible, yet logic didn't have a say against what really did lie before her.

Each pair of eyes in the room widened in surprise, either at the fact alone, or that she knew it. The dwarves in particular seemed far more surprised than the humans. It did not escape her notice that Sorella and Gorim, the guard from the ambush, shared concerned looks.

"…No one outside the Royal Family knows that." Sorella stated slowly; "Not even the Shaperate is informed of this."

She pointedly didn't seem ready to ask _how_ Talia knew, though the unspoken question was still easily read on her expression. That, and lingering, devastating grief. Right, she'd just lost her entire family. Talia more than anything wanted to slap herself for that one, because she'd forgotten as much as even offering condolences when she'd spotted the gemstones.

And though the situation called for a cool head, she wanted nothing less than to kick the wall. Or maybe herself. Either would work, really. Still, she knew enough to rein her impulses in and answer the unasked question. _Because the world might as well start making sense at _some_ point._

"We…have them in my homeland, your majesty." She answered first, trying to find the words that would avoid confusion, while also not lying by omission; "We call them Soul Gems…like…" she hesitated, but only for a moment, before pulling her necklace from underneath the protective vest. Eyes widened, even with those who had seen the ruined gemstone before; "…this one."

"Son of a nug…" Gorim muttered, seemingly to himself.

"Wait, that's the same kind of stone as…" Alistair started, eyes going between the pedestals and what remained of Onmund's gemstone. Talia knew it was useless, seeing as soul gems could only store a soul once, but…she wouldn't part with it were she offered a kingdom of her own; "Maker's socks, and that's the same as…But…_how?_"

"Seems to me there's a lot more to those stones than we'd think, eh?" Daveth mused, picking one from its pedestal. Gorim, Alistair and Jowan seemed ready to protest, the latter albeit slowly, when Sorella simply nodded;

"I don't know." She sighed, plucking the stone from his hand; "Once, Orzammar possessed thousands of these gems. We mine them from the Frostbacks with the very metals making up so much of our civilization."

"Really?" Alistair didn't seem ready to believe that, whichever part was causing him the more disbelief. Talia didn't know and, quite frankly, didn't care; "What do you use them for, since I know for a fact you enchant using lyrium?"

That, again, was actually a better question.

"That is…part of why I actually showed them to you." the dwarf sighed; "Each Spirit Crystal holds the soul of a dwarf, one who willingly or not gave up their bodies in the service of the Thaigs. These are Warriors and Casteless both, the lines blur when the bodies vanish."

"That's awfully philosophical for a civilization keepin' most of its people pressed into the dust." Daveth noted, which earned him a glare from every male in the room. Not Talia, because she was too busy trying to comprehend the implications of what the princess – or was she a Queen now? She_ really_ didn't get Dwarven inheritance-politics – had told them so far, and not the Aeducan, because she seemed far beyond reach of simple social criticism.

"When each gave up their bodies, they did so to become the mightiest warriors to ever walk Deep Roads." The woman explained slowly, somberly as if she was revealing a grim secret. In a way, once those words finally finished echoing through Talia's mind, the Warden realized that it really _was_; "Golems"

"Holy shite…" she whispered, more out of disbelief and slight awe than the disgust this probably deserved; "You did like the Dwemer…You _really_ did the exact same thing as the Dwemer…"

"I'm…sorry?" Oddly enough, it was Alistair, not the dwarves, who asked the question first. Still, every pair of eyes in the room was on her, human or not, and it made her feel somewhat self-conscious about how to actually explain what had long been subject for heated debates among the scholars and professors of Colleges and Universities around the Empire; "What do you mean?"

"It's…a theory, not much else, but…" she hesitated, rubbing at her forehead. Shit, she just _had_ to say it, didn't she? "While it's pretty common knowledge that most Dwemer automatons are driven by forces yet not understood by Imperial scholars, it's been a bit of a dilemma how they know where to go and who to attack. That is…until explorers actually managed to destroy one, and discovered a soul gem in its chassis."

"…it's what?" Alistair deadpanned, to which Talia just offered him a sideways glance;

"Body." She sighed; "Thát, then gave rise to the short-lived theory that all the Dwemer had actually ended up inside their own constructs. Which was a stupid idea, because no one would just construct machines to stuff their own people inside. At least…" Here she eyed the dwarves; "…no one in _Tamriel_ would, as far as we know."

"So…Explanation, please?" the Princeling asked, tilting his head. When he was like this, it was hard imagining him being the serious leader he surprisingly often acted as; "Because I'm confused here."

"It's not…really all the surprising, I mean, finding soul gems here." Talia tried again, feeling somewhat like she was digging herself into a deeper and deeper hole; "We have wheels, you have wheels. We have gold, you have gold. We have soul gems, you have…?"

"Spirit Crystals…" Gorim added, to which he received a grateful nod.

"Right, those. I mean, it's a natural resource, so…" she stopped herself at this, because there was something nagging at the back of her mind, something the Aeducan had said that was grating her brainstem; "So…if not even your Shaperate knows of this, you having these gemstones, _why_ exactly are you telling us?"

The room, all of a sudden, went deathly quiet. Eyes flickered around, trying to guess at who would be the next to speak. Most bets seemed to be on the princess, though Talia spotted their mage recruit looking more at Alistair than either dwarf, and Gorim was just looking back at her.

Finally, it seemed as if Sorella drew the short straw. She huffed and, in a manner very much un-royally, averted her eyes to the floor while wringing her armored gauntlets. _Oh boy, this should be good._

"I…require a favor, from your group."

* * *

"So…we need to find this woman Branka, who may or may not be dead, and hope she's found something called the...Anvil of the Void?" Brelyna asked, looking over her shoulders as the gates to Orzammar grew smaller and smaller behind them. The Deep Roads were thankfully well lit, compared to the caverns and corridors Talia had chased Darkspawn through earlier.

"That's pretty much the gist of it, yeah…" she sighed, trying to force her tone into something resembling happy. Considering the facts that not only were they forced to have Aedan remain in the city, but they were bringing two non-Warden healers as well as un-Joined recruits with them, there was just too much that could go wrong for her tone to be anything but dry. _At least J'zargo isn't down here with us. The way he likes getting up close and personal, I don't want to see what Darkspawn blood can do to a Khajiit._

"And we need to find her, because…otherwise the dwarven princess won't be crowned queen?" the Dunmer continued, drawing an amused snort from their newest companion. She seemed somewhere between amused at the curious insight into dwarven politics, and observant of each smeared Genlock they came across.

Up ahead, some thirty meters before them, her lumbering atronach was clearing the road for them, one shattered corpse at a time.

"It's…complicated." Alistair tried, fingers dancing on the pommel of his sword; "Apparently, since Orzammar has never had a ruling queen before, Sorella fears the Assembly will bypass her unless she can bring something _major_ to the table."

"But…She's the _sole_ _heir_, isn't she?"

"Don't even try to understand it, girly." The redheaded, bearded and loudmouthed dwarf next to her grinned, shaking his head as if he was lamenting deep wisdom; "Sodding nobles have always had their heads so far up their own arses they can't tell the difference between a nug and a princess."

"Why, if I may ask, did we have to bring the walking brewery?" Morrigan huffed, offering said dwarf, a warrior by the name of Oghren, a scathing glare. Much as Talia enjoyed alcohol, she had to admit there was a point at which the smell of ale and beer became too much.

She wondered how many years it had been since the dwarf had crossed that line.

"Because you're looking for my soddin' _wife_, that's why." Oghren glared straight back, thumbing his own chest as he did; "And because the Aeducan girl's got more brain between her ears than half the city combined. You surfacers need someone who _knows_ these roads."

"…And you do?" the witch seemed less than convinced.

"If you've been through half the sodding tunnels here, raise a hand." The dwarf grumbled, sticking his own fist into the air. The other was currently holding onto a two-handed broadaxe resting on his shoulder. Seeing as he was the only one raising a hand, Oghren nodded; "Sodding right you need me. Half the maps've been useless for a century already, 'cause of all those darkspawn digging their sodding tunnels."

"Have you ever actually_ seen_ a Darkspawn?" Talia inquired, glancing at the dwarf. He looked up at her as if she had done him a personal offense, then spat at the tiles before him; "No offense, but you don't really seem all…sober."

"I fight better drunk." He retorted, kicking a pebble; "And I bet you I've seen and _killed_ more Darkspawn than any other dwarf you'll ever meet. Stone, maybe even more than any of you Wardens."

"I take exception to that, dwarf." She gave him barely a raised brow, then smirked; "I'll make you a bet though."

"Aha…what kind of bet?"

"Simple. I bet I can kill more Darkspawn than you." she grinned, offering the somewhat-drunken a snark. She was somewhat annoyed at his behavior, but at the same time immensely enjoying his rough and uncultured manner of speech. It reminded her of drunken customers in taverns, which brought back some of her better memories.

Oghren's grin was evident through his beard, with surprisingly white teeth gleaming in the light from molten stone.

"Hah! You're on, sweet-cheeks!"

Almost as if to counter the agreement, or maybe to prove its validity, howls and snarls rose in intensity up ahead, followed by the tell-tale crunches and wet snaps of broken bones and bodies. The atronach was doing its job, but even in the dimmed light of the underground roads, it was clear for all to see that it was getting overwhelmed.

"Seems like we've reached a larger group." Alistair commented sourly, drawing blank. It was always something of a surprise for Talia when the cheery, lollygagging cheesemuncher grew serious, even with the amount of times she'd witnessed it already; "Get read – Oghren?"

The dwarf, either possessing testicles of ebony, or simply lacking a sense of self-preservation, had taken off towards the darkspawn, axe held at the ready and a drunken, gleeful warcry on his lips. It was almost funny to see, had it not been for the fact that the dwarf was their _only_ guide, and was in fact running towards a group of ten Hurlocks, no longer impeded by the chipped-down atronach.

"Oh son of an Aldmeri Whore…" Talia grimaced, already taking off alongside their leader. It seemed to be by unspoken rule that all non-Wardens should remain behind the others. Their resident Qunari, however, was no longer a mere recruit. Due to either his own foresight or simply paranoia at Talia's spontaneous conscriptions, Alistair had brought the Joining chalice along to Orzammar. Wynne being who she was, Talia wasn't even that much taken aback when she discovered that Wynne had been amongst the mages from the Circle who prepared the chalice for her own Joining.

One mug of tainted blood later, and Sten was a full-fledged Grey Warden. Talia, personally, was just glad they hadn't forced Jowan through it yet. Even though the injuries and damage from his stay in Redcliffe were healed, she didn't want him pressured to undertake it. _Maybe I really should have considered thát back then…_

As such, Sten wasn't bound by the unspoken decree, and simply charged ahead, _Asala _swung above his head before he even reached the Darkspawn. He was fast, far faster than even Talia in her relatively lightweight protection, and rammed the group like a sword-toting bull. The first Hurlock to meet him, covered in its chitinous plate, bellowed a challenge and swung at him with a wicked saber.

Sten grabbed the saber-swinging arm with one hand, holding it while his other _one_ hand swung the greatsword down. It cleaved through the monster, splitting armor like so much bark, and didn't stop before clinking against the tiled ground. He then promptly kicked the Hurlock back, and got to work on the next one.

Truly, it was a beautiful sight.

Not that she herself was any the less for it. Following the trail Oghren was leaving – despite his size the dwarf had already slain three of the Hurlocks, and wasn't _that_ impressive? – Talia whipped her staff around, blade ablaze and slashed the air between her and the first the best darkspawn she could find. Though the metal did not touch the Genlock in question, the blade of fire certainly did, and scorched a palm-deep cut into the monster's head and body, sending it to the ground in a crumbled, smoking heap.

And then the next one received the metal itself through the throat, as she stabbed the flat edge past its shield and between the upper part of its plate-armor. Deciding that there was no such thing as "overkill" when dealing with Darkspawn – really, there wasn't – she sent frost through the staff's blade and turned the creature's upper body into frozen shit.

The next group, Hurlocks in numbers she didn't care to count, were met not with blade or frost, but with a bellow of flame. Lacing her breath with fiery magic seemed easier and easier with every time she transformed, though it still did not change the unpleasantness doing so. Still, watching the dancing candles fleeing in terror, flailing willy as the flames consumed them, was perhaps just satisfying enough that she could live with it.

She ended up more or less losing herself to the fight, feeling oddly pleased as she dove into the thick of it. There had been a time, once, where she had been afraid of getting too close to enemies, even regular bandits. Here though, she didn't feel that kind of trepidation. Maybe it was something to do with the Joining itself, some kind of residue from the magic.

…or maybe she was just too flooded with adrenaline to really give a shit.

Whichever it was, she only came back to full coherency once the last of the Darkspawn had dropped to the ground. Between all of them, no less than twenty-six of those fuckers had ended up dead on the ground, finally letting their bodies follow suit the smell of decay they always bore.

"Anyone wounded?" Alistair called, looking around as he wiped his sword on the chest of a dead Genlock.

"I'm good." Daveth called out, already in the business of extracting intact arrows from corpses.

"I am uninjured. Shall we proceed?" Sten grumbled, reminding Talia more of a mountain with legs than a semi-human being. Then again, she usually traveled around with a Khajiit and a Dunmer, so who was she to judge?

"Tits of my ancestors, girl! I didn't know you circle-people could _breathe_ _fire_" Oghren seemed more excited than tired from the fight, and somehow managed simultaneously speaking and drinking from a leather sack at his waist. With the amount of times she'd already seen him gulp it down, there had to be magic involved for it to still hold beer. Or wine. Or whatever was in that thing; "Most of you just seem scared of breaking nails, heh."

"Circle mages can't breathe fire, no…" she replied smugly, even as Alistair started them forward. Mostly, it seemed to be more for the purpose of making sure Sten didn't go stir-crazy; "But College Mages can."

"That a different thing?"

"_Very_ different." Alistair declared from the side, sounding as if the statement caused him great amusement. For once though, Talia didn't bother feeling annoyed at his attempts at being funny, and just rolled with it, her shoulders included before twirling the staff around.

"And Circle Mages need to grow balls, then, because you don't see _me_ shying from brawls."

"Particularly tavern-brawls, am I right?" Alistair grinned again, keeping his eyes everywhere but looking in her direction; "Oghren, we're coming up on a cross-road."

"Aye, that'd be Caradin's Cross right there…Time sure does fly when you're havin' fun, huh?"

"Could it be you might merely be too drunk to _tell_ the time?" Morrigan pondered aloud. The words were likely meant to annoy the dwarf, but instead what she received in return was a belch, loud and deep enough to echo throughout the tunnels; "Truly, t'was an _Ogre_ making that sound…"

"I _wish_…" Brelyna sighed, trudging alongside the witch. The Dunmer seemed to be getting more and more along with Morrigan these days, though Talia wasn't entirely certain what caused it. Not that she minded, of course, far from it, but…it _was_ peculiar how the she seemed far sooner to ease up around people than Talia herself was, considering Brelyna and J'zargo had been the ones taking the brunt of prejudiced hatred most of the…Right, now was _not_ the time to think about those things.

"We should all have care not to use fire around the dwarf." Morrigan continued; "With the fumes wafting around him, surely they would ignite and undo us all."

"Death by dwarf-fart, eh?" Daveth chuckled, though seemed to take a step further from their guide; "That'd be an awkward thing for the funeral, wouldn't it?"

"We could always weaponize it?" Talia suggested with a grin, imagining somehow using a contraption to spew flaming dwarf-farts at enemies. Centurions could do it with steam, so…Plus, if the fires didn't kill them, the smell definitely would.

"Right, so let's _not_ throw fire at each other." Their leader cut in, clearly trying to make the idle chatter end. Try as he might though, and though he succeeded in stopping the banter, Talia could still see amused grins on a few faces. _It's probably because they're all contemplating using Oghren as a living torch. Which…would probably kill him. So, a bad idea. And one that really shouldn't be _this_ funny. I mean, he's just desperate to find his wife…_

Oghren, apparently ever the charmer, chose that moment to repeat the previous belch, dividing Talia between being disgusted at the sound…and admiring the amount of liquor the dwarf could hold while still functioning. _He's probably just drinking to keep the sorrow and longing at bay. I know I'd wanna be wasted beyond my senses if A- if someone like that was lost to me._

Still, that wasn't important. Not right now, at least.

What _was_ important, however, was finding out where the fuck to go. They'd been walking for hours on end already, and Talia's appreciation of the architecture of the Deep Roads, was slowly but surely turning into annoyance at the same repeated columns and corridors, over and over and over. When her feet were on fire, her soles so sore that each step brought her pain, she had to start healing herself just to keep going.

And the uniformity of the Deep Roads was making her cranky.

Not cranky in the understanding that she would snap and bite at anyone daring to address her, but more the kind of cranky where, when the first of many Genlocks started pouring from a hole in the right side of the road, she was far more eager to run at them than what could be called normal. Or _sane_.

Blade whistling through the air, she carved her way through the first of the miniature monsters, hardly stopping to confirm the kill before moving on to the next. Her arms and legs ached for action beyond the monotones of marching miles upon miles. _She_ was aching for action, and had arrived at a point where Genlocks in these limited numbers no longer presented a real threat.

Of course, Mundus_ did_ have it out for those who got too cocky.

"Genlock Emissary!" Alistair called from her rear, almost drowning in the gurgling cries and screams from the little monsters.

Talia _did_ hear him, but failed to comprehend what he was saying until the world suddenly blew up around her. Flames scorched and singed and burned, eating away at her wards like wolves at the flank of a bull. Even with the runic gauntlets and boots providing wards far above the standard, the fires still started getting through, even before she stopped tumbling ass-over-head backwards.

She came to a stop against a pillar, which turned out to be Sten. The Qunari simply grunted at the impact, then continued forward, letting her flop uselessly to the ground.

"Son of a…_fuck_!" because it _hurt_. As a mage specializing in fire, Talia had almost grown numb to the temperatures created when fire sprung from her palms. Still, it did little to prevent foreign flames from burning and blistering her skin where the wards failed, resulting in searing agony now biting across her arms and body.

Soothing hands rested on her shoulders even as she clumsily got back on her feet. Brelyna was by her side, healing the burns with a precision Talia couldn't even muster on herself, let alone another person. Biting pain soon gave way for cold numbness, where skin reknit itself and blisters faded away.

Up ahead now, Alistair had sent the magical gnome through flying, residue light still fading from the pillar of counter-magic. She wouldn't ever accept that Templars used such a weapon on mages, simply to keep them underfoot, but…she could definitely see the advantage of such training against the Darkspawn. _Gods, that fucking _stung_!_

When she regained her footing, Talia was almost disappointed to find the Genlock Emissary dead on the ground, playing the role of axe-sheath for Oghren's weapon. Still though, she wasn't one to be outdone by someone half her height – unless it was one of those creepy child-vampires. Then she was just _out_.

Talia trotted up, eyes scanning the corridor for any leftovers.

And wasn't thát an odd thing, actively hunting down the Darkspawn.

Only two turned out to remain, a pair of archers hanging back at the entrance to the tunnel they had emerged from. Picking up the pace, Talia allowed herself a grin that was closer to sadistic than not. The smell and taste of blood was in the air, and foul though it might be for being tainted, Talia felt a rush of glee and excitement as she caught up with the first of the fleeing critters.

Something inside of her, something unnatural, went through a wave of ecstasy at the prospect of inflicting death.

She impaled it through the back, riding the little shit into the dirt before using it as a vault, kicking flames at the last Genlock. The force of the impact threw it forward, a burning heap of stinking flesh that tumbled and skidded until it finally came to a stop beyond the narrow tunnel.

There were more beyond that tunnel. Not _many_, but more, and Talia was riding her rush of adrenaline too high to stop here. She didn't _want_ to stop here, not when there were more of them to kill, and her blood was _mewling_ for carnage, edging her onwards as if assaulting a prey that was already downed.

The weird metaphor only registered as something she'd probably not have used _before_ the forced transformation when she was already back into the open. _Oh yeah…Dragon blood and all that shit…This…_

She was staring at a few bit more darkspawn than she had expected. Actually, this was more than just a group of Hurlocks. Well, there _were_ Hurlocks, but her attention was currently on the lumbering Ogre just a hundred yards ahead…_This might be bad, actually. But fuck it, I can't stop!_

She scarcely registered as arrows whined past her, some coming close enough that her hair danced with the draft. Her mind was boiling, singing for blood in a way she had never felt it before. Her skin prickled and the hair stood her neck. The air was _hot_ around her, and her mind was racing with impressions and instincts not her own.

More and more, it felt as if something _else_ was intruding upon her mind. And in her state of adrenaline and bloodlust, she hardly realized it as her own conscience more or less took a back-seat.

_Let blood be spilled!_

"Talia!"

* * *

Running around in heavy armor, even though he might have trained for it throughout his years in the Chantry, was never an easy thing. Especially when he was worn out from marching through the Deep roads for what felt like an eternity.

All in all, Alistair was far from ready for this kind of running around. Armor might be meant for movement, Grey Warden armor more than most, but still…Whomever had ever voiced the idea that running around in full plate was _easy_, deserved to get a shovel planted up between his or her buttocks.

As it was, he had a hard enough time keeping up when Talia launched herself at the Genlocks. She had just…_leapt_ at them, as if possessed by something to do it. Of course, he really should stop being _surprised_ at her rash actions at this point, but still, she had just scythed into them, hardly using magic beyond point-blasting whatever evaded her first swipe. It wasn't until the Emissary had nearly blown her up – and really, he suspected her infusion of dragons blood was the only reason she didn't end up a charred corpse on the spot – that she'd actually been stopped.

He had, being the one amongst them with Templar training – since Wynne forbade Cíada from entering the Deep Roads, Cullen had remained in Orzammar as well – and the quite responsible Senior Warden that he was, immediately unleashed a smite on the Genlock, draining it of magic as well as slamming it back, before Oghren was on it, burrowing his axe to the hilt.

Alcoholism aside, the dwarf _was_ a capable warrior. And with the Emissary dead, and Sten having…well, using the term "killed" was somewhat insufficient, considering the way the Qunari had gone about it, but in the end that had left them with only two Genlocks alive from the original group. _Good. We can finish up here and be on our way without a single casualty. _

Of course, he should have known by now that the Maker smites those clapping themselves on the back before the bear has been skinned…or was it shot? It was something along those lines, and whatever that 'something' was, Talia currently seemed intent on being its direct embodiment. Now, Alistair would have been more than happy if she had simply stopped, once the last two Genlocks had been killed, but…_she_ seemed to have other ideas, and had simply continued into the tunnel.

"Oh crap…" because really, he didn't need her running off_ again_, on top of everything else; "Talia, get back to the group. Talia, back to the group!"

There was no response – of course there wasn't – and he found himself forced after her. Maker's breath, why couldn't he have _normal _comrades? People who didn't turn into spiders or dragons, or weren't walking cats and red-eyed elves? People who could refrain from chasing after darkspawn like a Mabari after a rabbit?

He did find her, eventually, at the end of a surprisingly long and twisting tunnel. Some stinking coals were all that remained from the last of the Genlocks, clearly, yet he could still sense a large concentration of Darkspawn just ahead. And an even stronger surge of magic, like a pulsating beat underneath his toenails, foreign yet familiar.

When he emerged from the tunnel, and into the huge, cavernous expanse, his first reaction was to flinch as an arrow bounced off his right pauldron, disappearing into the darkness along with the _ping_ it accompanied. His _second_ reaction, however, was that there was an Ogre heading straight for the tunnel he had just left.

Much as he would never admit it, realizing Talia standing not that far in front of him, was only his _third_ reaction. Mainly it was because she was unmoving, yet almost appearing to be shimmering. There seemed to be an aura of some kind surrounding her, almost like an arcane shield, and yet then not. It was a malevolent red, and only gave off very little light.

So, it wasn't fire.

"Talia!"

At his call, she finally snapped her head back, finally reacting to his voice. The relief he felt, that if they high-tailed right now they might get back through the tunnel, suddenly found itself replaced with a strange mixture of confusion and queasiness.

Talia was looking at him alright, but her eyes did not belong to a human.

She held his stare for several seconds, narrowed black slits on emerald canvas. Those eyes were _wrong_. Even if she could shapeshift, even _he_ knew enough about those things that physical changes like that weren't _normal_.

The worst thing was though, that when he looked her in the eyes, from just a five or so yards away, there was _no_ recognition in them. As if she didn't know who he was, or just what he was saying. Her eyes gleamed, illuminating themselves with dimmed emerald.

**"_Daar raan fen draal Aaz fod Zu'u gevul faal golt voth Niist Sos! Daar slen bo's voth Sossedov, Nii fen rathol Un Nahkriin!"_**

That, Alistair decided, was bad. Not because he understood the words, because he _didn't_, but because the voice was Talia's, yet wasn't. It was deep and malevolent, yet still in the tongue of the woman he'd come to trust as a comrade. _Andraste. What is happening?_

"Tali?" Daveth had reached his side, and had likewise stopped. So had, to his great confusion, also the Ogre up ahead. It was shuffling on its feet, tossing its head as if smelling something particularly unpleasant; "…Al?"

Talia seemed to lose interest in them at that point. Her eyes shifted from the group, from her comrades as if they hardly mattered, and settled on the Darkspawn up ahead. With a single, chillingly amused laugh, she took off in a sprint forward.

Towards the Darkspawn.

* * *

**So…As you might have realized, what with this update and all, I am _not_ dead, nor is this story. And really, considering just how much time has passed, I think you deserve to know why I didn't update for almost a month. *looks at last update* actually…more than a month. Shite.**

**So, first of all, I simply had a writers block. Yes, I can actually get those. Weird, I know. It was one of those blocks where I sometimes had to manhandle myself to even get ten words down, and then had to stop because I realized "I have no fucking clue what I'm doing", and honestly, _no one_ wants that.**

**Second, I went through a bout of…shall we say, undiagnosed illness. We still don't know what the fuck it actually is, and I'm going for an ultrasound-scan this Thursday. Hopefully it's not cancer – even_ I'm_ not that unlucky – and just a simple infection, so…yeah. If it comes down to it, I'll amputate the fucker. Armstrong did it, and lived just fine – I think… Yeah, yeah he did – so it's not that I'm worried I'm going to die before I reach 30…Well, I _am_ worried, but that's more a combination of war-trepidation and the increasingly more real risk of getting neck-stabbed on the street.**

**Third, and perhaps the most embarrassing part…I forgot what the level to find Branka looks like. I had to go through the game over several days and get every single detail down for reference, which meant I had to _get_ there from the last save. Yeah, I could have used Youtube LP's, but…meh.**

**Finally, there's of course the thing with VUC that they assign you homework. And with chemistry-finals being in December, they've upped the weight.**

**So yeah, that is all why you haven't heard from me lately.**

**And yes, the cycle with my stories is still on.**

**And no, Talia isn't the Dragonborn. Her soul is perfectly human, thank you very much ;)**

**Still though, we can make that the day's question, can't we? What, going from all the spread hints and foreshadowing throughout this chapter and the ones since Haven, do you think is happening with our favorite, innocent, meek and cuddly Bretoni mage?**


	40. Bloody Hell

_Update on my dragonling-search - __**thoug**__h Cassandra called it a starved quest… __**Fuck m**__e if I understand the woman half the time. I mean, it's not as if I _have_ to find any of those creepy, foul-tempered little shits. I just…__**need to stu**__dy them. _

_A__**n**__d __**now**__ the ink is spilling __**all**__ over. __**Great**__._

_I found the carcass of one just south of the town, about three miles from the entrance to Kulaas den. I never expected to find anything, honestly, but somehow, seeing the dead ones always…__**I dunno, b**__ut it makes me sad. Which it shouldn't because I hate those little __**fire-breathing**__ shits…From what I could tell, the specimen was still a hatchling, and a girl at that, with yet undeveloped wings but the clear potential for more growth than found on males._

_**It's a dead dragon-girl…a**__nd I still need to find an eraser for this thing. I don't even know why it's affecting me this much, seeing dead dragonlings. _

_Considering my current predicament, dead dragons should make me happier than anything else…_

Field-notebook on Haven's fauna, Aulus.

* * *

**Bloody Hell**

* * *

There probably was a lot to say about the current situation she was in. A lot of words could be used to describe her predicament, very few of them positive whatsoever.

Actually, she couldn't come up with anything right now that was in any way good. First of all, her body wasn't her own to control. This was not the first time she had been unable to move on her own volition, though the other times had been because she had been locked in a Stasis, or magical prison or some other Thedasian bullshit.

Right now, _she_ couldn't move her body at all, but that was not to say it wasn't moving anyway.

Following the weirdest staring-contest she could remember with Alistair, who had looked a lot less like Alistair and more like just…well, a human - as in a human being a species separate from whatever the fuck was taking over her brain right now - she had said some things that hadn't been her saying them, and she hadn't understood a word of it regardless. Yet, she still somehow knew what it meant, beyond clearly not being human language. Draconic was…not the easiest language to learn, never mind to speak. Yet somehow, her mouth had moved, her tongue had moved, and air had passed between her lips that formed words only dragons were supposedly capable of speaking.

Fucking Oblivion's fiery fucks, she _hated_ when magical beings started abusing her, whether it was body or mind. She had only stared at the cheese-muncher, unable to even contract an eyelid beyond the permission of whom- or whatever the fuck was stringing her like a marionette. _Help me you idiots! Smite me! Slap a stasis! Anything for the love of Magnus I can't control my own body!_

Yet nothing would come forth, and none of her comrades reacted beyond staring at her with disbelief. Why were they staring like that, yet not even bothering to tackle her to the ground?

"_So…finally the bond has formed…and you are but a hatchling?"_

It took her several seconds to process that yes, that had just been a voice in her head that was _so_ much not her own. _What the SHIT was that?_

"_Yet, you survived the blood of my kin? That is…unexpected from a mere _jor_…"_

Talia, had she had any control over her own body at this point, would probably have punched herself in the head. Or the gut. Anything really, if it meant escaping the deep, malevolent voice in her mind. It was as if she stood before a god, the very fabrics of her being echoing with every spoken syllable. If ever there had been a time where she was threatened by her own mind wanting to _eat_ her, this was it;

"_Tell me, hatchling girl, what is the name you are called?"_

"…_T-Ta-Tali-ia- m-my name is- is Talia" _it was also, on a note, the first time she could ever remember stuttering in her mind. She had no idea what was going on, or who was talking to her mind, _from_ her mind. Someone was _inside_ her mind, and she felt violated by its intrusion.

"_Bear witness then, Talia of the jor. Prove your power, and be the vessel of my __**wrath**__."_

* * *

Alistair had taken off at a run almost as soon as Talia did, hoping by the Maker to stop her before she got horrendously murdered by whichever swarm of darkspawn got to her first. As her Senior and leader, it was his _duty_, dammit, to make sure she didn't get herself killed in whatever bout of spontaneous bloodlust that overcame her.

He didn't _doubt_ her skills, but Maker's breath; there was no way she could take on every Darkspawn in front of her and _survive_!

There were _a lot_ of them, crawling from the chasm dividing the cavernous tunnel in two. They came running across the single bridge spanning the divide as well, darkspawn in all shapes and sizes with malicious grins and snarls echoing throughout the expanse.

Talia was, partly due to her equipment being oh so much lighter than his, much too fast for him to catch up to. Her legs carried her with a speed far surpassing that of ordinary humans, and even most Wardens he had known. The red haze around her seemed to condense and tighten around her form with every leap she made, until it finally covered her like a film of water.

"_Tal_-!" he could hear Brelyna shouting behind him, but the sound cut off halfway as a _blast_ ran through the air, ground trembling with barely restrained primordial fury. Himself, he was thrown _back_, tumbling ass-over-head across the few meters he'd managed to cross already. He would likely have been sent right into the wall if it hadn't been for the weight of his armor dragging him down.

Small blessings, and all that.

"Azura's mercy…" he'd apparently been thrown far enough that he could pick out Brelyna's whispers, horrified though they were. Maker, but he was going to have headache now, with how his head had been hammered around in the helmet. On the other hand, at least the helmet had ensure his skull didn't crack.

When he looked up, he almost thought it had.

Talia was gone, and in her place was not merely the thing he'd come to recognize as her wingless dragon-form. It was _big_, bigger than what she was the last time. Even from here he could see how much thicker her arms and legs were, how much longer she had grown, how scales almost like spikes now lines her back and plate-like scales covered her skin.

She had changed, alright.

And there was nothing he could do at this moment other than to fall back to the tunnel. If they didn't…well, he didn't exactly believe in their chances against the horde continuously swarming over the bridge. If there was a blessing, it was that he only saw _one_ Ogre - the one Talia was on a collision-course with.

"Fall back to the tunnel!"

It was painful, the way every eye around him widened in disbelief. Even Sten seemed aghast as could be at the notion. There was complete silence, save for the furious roars of Talia slaughtering her way through the countless monsters, each now so powerless next to her.

"We can't hold in the open; we _have_ to get back to the tunnel!" he repeated, gesturing and yelling for all he was worth. Which, in his own personal opinion right now, wasn't very much. He was essentially asking them to abandon her, to abandon their comrade and friend.

But she no longer recognized them, and there was nothing he could do to force her with them.

* * *

Talia, meanwhile, had other things on her mind.

A commanding, disembodied voice, for one, as well as the fact that her body was out of her hands, almost quite literally.

That, and maybe also the fact that she could only numbly, almost as if on instinct, react when the Ogre before her bellowed challenging roar. Once, such a creature would have terrified her beyond belief, yet now it was just a few feet above her, as if she had grown exponentially bigger.

"_Why are you doing this!?"_

"_For eight centuries I have been deprived of my cravings for death. Deprived of tearing mortal flesh, of rending beasts and men alike." _The voice replied almost as if it was irritated with her voice. It was _her_ body, dammit!

She, or it, avoided a meaty fist swung at her head, and grabbed onto the trunk-like arm, claws stronger than before splitting darkened skin, sinking into tendons and muscle and bone. The Ogre howled in agony at the injury, and Talia felt a foreign-yet-not sense of euphoria rushing through her, body and mind, as she smelled the blood.

So _much_ blood, running in streams of black liquids from every gash and tear she inflicted. Each droplet offended her nostrils, her every human sense was close to vomiting, yet the senses from the foreign entity in her mind…_savored_ it. Even as the Ogre ripped its arm from her grasp and turned to run - that had to be the first time ever she'd experienced an Ogre _fleeing_ \- she latched onto its back and dug her claws into its flesh, ripping apart whatever straps of armor adorned it.

Her weight brought the creature crashing face-first to the floor, its injured arm unable to carry its monstrous weight. Talia, or maybe it was the intruding entity - she could honestly not see where the lines were - roared and brought her jaws to its neck, tearing skin and tendons before ripping out the Ogre's jugular and windpipe, spraying the rocky ground with a geyser of sticky, black blood.

"_So mighty a prey, yet brought to death as easily as any man or elf." _The entity grinned smugly, relishing with nigh orgasmic pleasure in the kill. Each word and sensation was a violation of Talia's mind, of her free will and body. She never wanted this, never wanted this at all!

"_GETOUTOFMYHEADGETOUTOFMYHEADGETOUTOFMYHEAD!"_ she screeched and wailed in her mind, desperately attempting to stave off the presence taking her over. It felt so wrong, so wrong that she couldn't find the words to describe it. Her mind was swaying back and forth, between her remaining strength and the endlessness of the entity.

"_You feel it, do you not?"_ again, it came for her mind, smug and confident in whatever wisdom it believed itself to hold. Talia felt _nothing_. Nothing regardless of whatever this _thing_ wanted her to feel. She felt only what she always felt, only what was _her_; "_The __**rush**_**. **_The thrill of downing prey, the slickness of their blood on your tongue, the scent in your nostrils. The bliss of power. Power, beyond all mortal means."_

She rose from her kill, staring down the hesitating darkspawn. Even the oh so mighty Hurlocks now seemed to fear her. They were terrified and yet did not run. The fright and terror wafted from them like the stench of rotten meat aflame.

"_Fear. Agony. Terror. They mountains __**heave **__with my torment. The torment you will bring to the world."_

"…_I never _did_ anything to you.." _Talia whimpered, feeling as if each word pounded her mind like a maul. Her body leapt across yards of ground, crushing and scattering bodies when she crashed into the darkspawn; "_Why are you doing this, who are you?"_

"_You committed the ultimate transgression, and drank of Kulaas's blood and soul." _The entity growled, sounding and feeling more like a feral being than a human or an elf. Smacking a clawed hand down, she reduced a Hurlock's left side to a smear on the ground, letting the right side crumble to the floor. She had barely felt its spiked armor on her palm; _"The blood of Dov streams in your veins, fragile though you be. With your act, borne either of ignorance or arrogance, you have sealed your fate." _

"_W-what?"_ her word accompanied a stream of fire, bathing and engulfing the skittering critters before her. Shrieking candles tumbled around, like so many dancing bonfires until they one by one, amounting to dozens in the end, collapsed on the ground as their bodies burned out. Flames yet lingered where fat had not yet charred, and the stench assaulted her nostrils, even in this form.

"_Like so many of your kin have done for eons, you consumed the lifeblood of mine. And for eons, this has been the contract of servitude and championship between the Dov and your…priesthoods, as you call them."_

Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no no no! This was _not_ happening. This _could_ not be happening!

Talia could feel the blood freeze in her veins. Every single word the entity - the _Dragon, _for there was no way it was anything but a dragon, somehow wrangling for control of her mind - spoke, brought nausea running throughout her being like wildfire. It did not help in the least that she was busily slaughtering her way through the Darkspawn in ways not even her Wyrm-form could accomplish. This was…it was magic on a far greater scale than anything she had ever experienced, and it was _wrong_.

It wanted her to become a _dragon priest_. Just the concept of those beings had never ceased to cause horror and dread to crawl through the veins of even the most foolhardy of people she had ever met. They were supposed to be _dead_. Dead, and so long gone that even their existence had become a mere legend.

"_Who- who __**are**__ you?" _she demanded once again, her voice powered more by dread and outrage than courage, of which she had exactly none left.

"_I am he who will accept and demand you as my champion, not priestess. For thát you are far too young yet, __**hatchling**__"_ the dragon huffed throughout her mind; "_In the tongue of my kin, I am __**Diinaan-Yol**__. In the tongue of man, I am __**Hakkon**__."_

* * *

**So...as you might have noticed, this is two things:**

**1) It's Talia, not Aspect as the cycle was supposed to have gotten to. **

**2) It's a lot shorter than what I usually update with.**

**There is a reason for this. The reason being, finals are coming up. Because of that, I have to make due with snippets like these. Believe me, I'd love to post a lot longer updates, but I just do not have the time to do that. Between homework, school-work and my one blessed hour of horse-riding a week, my time is...limited, to say the least. And, seeing as Talia is the story easiest to write, there is a serious possibility that I'll only update this story until after my finals.**

**I just hope you will bear with my decrease in updates until I pass the finals. Or, I don't pass, and instead just sink into a pit of drunken depression...Still, as long as what I can get away with here is appreciated, it's worth all worth it.**

**Oh, and I _know_ that Hakkon is an Avvar god of war. So that part is not a mistake or an error of continuity. Just have a little faith that I still - while being mildly under the weather and stressed beyond what could be considered healthy - have something of an idea what I am doing.**


	41. Branded for Life

_The thing about dwarves, is that they seem to defy all understanding I'd so far gathered about sentient life, that being life in general, when I first encountered one. I still remember Dela, and how she, in the very short time I knew her, would break so many of the illusions and expectations I'd nourished from Duncan letting me know of their existence here. _

_The Dwarves seem intent on breaking every law of magic I could ever think of, primarily by being unable to use it at all. Even the Falmer can use magic, as well as Draugr. _

_And I don't much believe it is because of the Lyrium. There has to be something else. _

_I had once, I think it was sometime after Ostagar, gods it has been so long now I can hardly remember. I almost feel like I was but a little girl back then, trying to figure out where I belonged in the world. What was up, what was down, what was the purpose of this entity trying to decide what I could and couldn't do…Hakkon is…I'm still not sure. It's been nearly eight years, and I'm still not sure what he is, or what he truly wants with me. _

_Only that when I act against his will, knowing it is against his will - whatever that _is_ \- the brand lets me know._

_I only pray what happened in the Deep Roads will never again come to pass. I don't think I could ever…_

Partially burned note found in the ruins of 'the Hanged Man'.

* * *

**Branded for Life**

* * *

Blood.

There was so…so much blood.

When Alistair finally dared emerge from the tunnel, having kept the rest of the group - even Sten - behind him as if he could actually protect them like this, what he saw was blood.

It was everywhere, covering every surface he could find. Slick, black blood and torn flesh smeared across the ground, stinking ichors gathering in every dip of the floor. He had never seen carnage of this intensity. Never this much, not even at Ostagar, not even in Kinloch where the bodies had lain strewn with a hand far too generous.

Puddles of black covered the floor as far the eye could see, ruined bodies lying at odd angles where they had been tossed as if a giant had come through. Hurlocks were impaled upon stalagmites with a precision that bordered on deliberate cruelty, torched to the point of charcoal.

"…_gods above_…" Brelyna whispered, coming out behind him; "Where…where is Talia?"

She was right, he realized, as they filed onto what reminded him more or a battlefield than a simple skirmish. Scanning the area where he had last seen her trample off, Alistair was unable to pick out anything that wasn't a massacred Darkspawn.

"Sodding Nug-fuckers…_One woman_ did all this?" Oghren grumbled, almost as if he was more offended than disbelieving. Because Alistair was in disbelief. Oh yes, he was _not_ trusting his own eyes on this one. There was just…_this whole scene_, it was implausible, if not outright _impossible_; "Stone, I'll be laughed out of Orzammar…"

When Brelyna ran ahead, Alistair didn't even have the mental capacity to admonish her for breaking rank. He was…more preoccupied with _not_ stepping into the gory mush left all over the place. As in, literally all over the damn place.

"Maker's breath…there's got to be at least a hundred of them here…" he whispered, even as a flash of light up ahead meant Brelyna had summoned one of those walking…things. The ice-one, it seemed. He turned to watch as Morrigan likewise picked her way through the carnage; "Did…did you know she could do this?"

"I…did not." That…was less than comforting. Usually he would have enjoyed Morrigan _not_ being a totally snarky bitch when gracing him with a response, but right now he found himself _really_ wishing she had insulted him somehow. That thing she was doing right now, the whole 'shocked disbelief' thing, was not something he liked; "Whatever just now occurred…Whatever just now happened, I…never thought something like this was possible. Not for a shapeshifter."

"Well…_great_, so…you don't know what the _Hell_ just happened?"

Morrigan shook her head, slowly at that too. Seeing how she wasn't going to be much help, Alistair turned away and started moving towards where Brelyna's ice-construct was busily tossing dismembered corpses left and right. It was a macabre shower of blood and torn flesh, and he decided not to get too close. Eventually, as the others joined, so did they.

"You found 'er?" Daveth called. He actually had to shout for his voice to get through the noise the elf was making. He was answered, but not in the way he'd likely expected. Receiving an ownerless foot to the chest was probably not what he'd expected alright; "Hey Brelyna-"

"Help me look for _Azura's_ sake instead of just standing around!" the desperation and anger in the usually so timid and gentle girl's voice was more than enough to coerce the group into action. In pairs, they started shifting around bodies, constantly dreading that the next they found would be familiar and lifeless. Sten, perhaps feeling outdone by the hulking ice-thing, simply grabbed body after body, flinging it away like they were but dolls.

It seemed to stretch for hours, finding nothing but more tainted corpses. For what felt like an eternity, the only skin Alistair saw was yellow and tainted, the only faces he found, snarling and dead. He could sense the dread and trepidation growing in intensity amongst the others as the corpses thinned with yet no sign of their comrade.

"Over here! Over 'ere! Here!" Daveth's yell brought every pair of eyes, ears and immediately legs towards his position, where the archer and their dwarven companion had just hauled away a large Hurlock, revealing bloodied clothes underneath.

Yet the blue of the Grey Wardens was visible, even through the ichors.

"Talia!" Brelyna yelled, leaping across corpses as if she were ethereal. Daveth, meanwhile, was already getting the unconscious - _Dear Maker let her be just unconscious! - _mage into a slumped seating, supported only by his arms around her back and shoulders. The elf reached her just seconds before Wynne did, and the latter's delay was only from her robes catching onto spiked armor; "Arkay, Akatosh, Azura, _don't be dead, don't be dead…_"

Not even Oghren spoke as the healers hovered over their comrade, the silence almost reverent. Alistair felt like he should say something, and at the same time that he really didn't have the _right_. Talia's condition was a statement to that.

She was bloody, bruised and torn, with blood both her own and not caked around her body, crusting wherever she was moved. Her face was torn, with a broken nose and cracked lips. She looked far too much like she had back in Kinloch, after the Pride demon had nearly killed her. Back then, she had pulled a surprise too, only this time…he was the one at fault. He wasn't naïve enough to think himself capable of having stopped her - he wasn't _stupid_ \- but he had told the other to fall back, abandoning her to this.

Now, he could do nothing but clench his fists and watch, watch as Brelyna with shaking hands and Wynne with a pale expression attempted to bring their friend back from the brink of death. The two mages shifted in their roles, providing healing in succession so as to not exhaust themselves too soon. At least, that was how he assumed it worked. He didn't understand how Tamriel's magic worked, and Thedas' own barely at that.

"Is she…" Daveth started, still holding the girl seated upright. He didn't actually dare speak the full question, and Alistair didn't blame him. He couldn't even begin to speak as it was. The whole thing reminded him far too much of Duncan's retelling of their last Deep Roads expedition, where a single Warden - for all he tried, Alistair could not remember the man's name, only that he was originally Avaar - had gone off to fight the Darkspawn and give them enough time to escape.

He prayed this wouldn't end the same

"I think…" Brelyna started, but cut herself off when dark, sickly brown fluids started running from the nose and mouth of the unconscious mage. Talia was bleeding from her mouth and nose, followed by her breathing kicking back in. Each intake of breath was wet and weak, and the exhales brought with them bubbles in the ichors, for it clearly wasn't her blood. The Dunmer's eyes grew wide and horrified; "Aedra, what's _this_?"

"She's bleeding taint! Don't touch it!" Alistair scowled, wracking his brain for answers. Because _of course_ she was bleeding taint - or more accurately, she was bleeding tainted blood, something only ghouls were supposed to do - because they needed as much shit on their plate as possible; "We're retreating to the main road. Sten, carry Talia."

Wordlessly, the Qunari complied, picking up the redhead while the rest of the group braced for a hasty retreat. Alistair took rear, for once - he couldn't make himself leave as the first. Damn his conflicting emotions, he still had a duty - and made sure as heck that Sten was first through the tunnel.

Dear Maker, why was everything going so utterly _shit_?

* * *

When they managed to make what could - in the very most generous of terms - be called a "camp", Alistair felt ready to punch a kitten. There had been no visible improvement with Talia _whatsoever_, and Brelyna was growing increasingly anxious, which showed in the way she treated those around her.

Maker, but that girl was capable of making his life a living hell. Not that he doubted he deserved it, though. _He_'d been the one to order them back to the tunnel, effectively abandoning Talia to her current state. It really didn't matter whether or not they _could_ have done anything; the point was that they hadn't, because _he_ hadn't allowed them to try.

"_What_." He therefore didn't exactly _blame_ her for the harsh tone when he entered the only pitched tent in probably the entirety of the Deep Roads. It had been Wynne's suggestion as much as order to set it up for seclusion of the patient, though he still didn't fully understand the point of that when _indoors_. Brelyna was kneeling over Talia's form, the redhead held in a partial stasis of Wynne's make, and the Dunmer did _not _seem too keen on his presence. When she spoke again, her eyes retained their flint but her voice at least resumed some semblance of normalcy; "What is it, Alistair?"

"…how is she?"

"Oh, _now_ you're worried about her?" she spat, and the harsh tone seemed unnaturally wrong for her. Alistair winced, mainly because he understood why she felt like this. He hadn't known Talia for nearly as long as the mage before him had, and so of course she thought he didn't care, what with how he had ordered them to leave her. Lacking a proper response, Alistair looked to the unconscious redhead, hoping for a sign of improvement.

Now-dried streams of black ichor had run paths from Talia's eyes, nostrils and mouth. Her eyes, now blessedly closed at least, had at a point opened wide, displaying only a milky white gaze. At that point, Alistair had felt mortal dread. She had looked so much like becoming a ghoul that he had honestly contemplated ending her suffering. He had even contemplated putting his sword through her, just to make it quick and painless.

When Talia's breathing returned to normal, he had felt like falling on the blade himself.

They had stripped her down to her smalls - Wynne and Brelyna had, that was - when she had been moved into the tent. That was when they'd found a deep gash to her side was well, blackened with irritated corruption. Daveth had gone quiet at that point, his face as grey as Brelyna's, who instead of falling quiet had…well, she had ended up like this.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered quietly, voice laced with regret and shame. Alistair turned at her voice, watching the Dunmer's face as it was downcast over her friend's. He didn't feel like he _deserved_ an apology, especially not from her, of all people; "I'm _so_ _sorry_, Talia…"

She wasn't apologizing to _him_, then. That actually made a lot more sense, much as he was saddened by it. Brelyna, in the somewhat short time he had gotten to know her - though at this point it was almost five months, wasn't it? - had turned out to share one quality above all with Talia; She was fiercely loyal to her friends, and it showed.

"…should I leave?" he asked at last, feeling like he could at least ask that much. Brelyna didn't visibly react to his words, not at first. After he had spoken, her body didn't move, her eyes didn't move, and only lips pursing was any indication that she had even _heard_ him.

"What's the point?..." the girl muttered, her voice once more indifferent to him. Like she couldn't find it in herself to care; "…whether you stay or not won't affect if she's even going to wake up, will it?"

"I…no, I suppose it won't…" it was getting harder to breathe with each word, both from her and himself. He had never seen Brelyna this agonized, not even after Kinloch, not even after Talia had been abducted and they had returned to Redcliffe without her; "I…didn't mean to…abandon her."

He prayed to every god Thedas had so far revered in total that she would wake up.

"…but you _did_." There was far more grief than condemnation in her voice, and somehow, he wished it was the other way around. He wanted her to rage at him, not…not to sound broken. But she _did_, because for all the world to see, kneeling above her unconscious, beaten and bloodied friend _had_ broken her.

Hopefully, when_ \- _not _if _\- Talia awoke, things would get better. _Please wake up, Talia._

"You _told us to leave her_." Brelyna whispered, with her voice dancing on the edge of breaking; "We could have helped her, stopped whatever was happening…But we _left_ her. S-something possessed her, and we _left_ her!"

Alistair remained silent as she threw her grief at him, her voice never reaching above a hoarse whisper as if she was scared of waking up her friend. He remained silent, because what could he really say? He knew she was right in what she was saying, that he had told them to leave Talia behind. He knew he couldn't use '_she's too dangerous'_ as an argument to defend his actions, because there was no way he could get those words over his lips.

Maker's breath, he wished this whole day had just…not happened. It would be _so_ fantastic if he could rewind time and just do something else than go down here and nearly get his group killed.

"…_what…are you two yelling at_?" at first, he thought his ears had broken. Because that decisively sounded like it wasn't coming from Brelyna, but from the very much_ unconscious _girl on the bedroll.

Then again, when he looked down and away from Brelyna, he realized that his ears might actually be working just fine. And wasn't thát just amazing, really? Because he was still uncertain whether or not his eyes as well could be trusted, or maybe he'd just started hallucinating.

Because Talia was looking at the both of them, eyes somewhat glazed over but wide and attentive to the ongoings of the world around her. Her pupils were barely standing out through the dulled green of her irises, but at least _they were there_.

And so was, in the span of less than a second, Brelyna. The Dunmer more or less threw herself at her friend, seemingly forgetting the still very-much-not-healed wound in Talia's side. The whole thing was still covered up with bandages, and would soon have to be changed to avoid infection…Though honestly, right now Alistair couldn't care less about the state of her bandages.

Talia was awake, and she was actually recognizing them.

She was also coughing for air when Brelyna's body seemed to block her intake. It was actually ridiculous enough that Alistair's relieved smile grew to a grin, one he pointedly did not let Brelyna see. Then again, the grey-skinned girl was more than busy trying to assuage herself that her friend was alive, awake and herself.

"_You_…you know, _I used _to fantasize about _you_ doing that…" the redhead grinned through clenched teeth, and even from his place behind and somewhat above them both, Alistair could see Brelyna's cheeks darken. It didn't make her _stop_ the intense hug she had assaulted her fellow mage with, oh no. Alistair doubted _that_ would take the Archdemon sauntering down their corridor, and nothing less would do.

"_Juohn Azura, Juohn!"_ she cried into Talia's neck. Alistair didn't recognize the words, but since he wasn't _an idiot_, he remembered Azura being some sort of deity, which meant 'Juon' was probably like saying 'thank you'. Or, he could be completely wrong. Honestly, right now he didn't much care; _"Ohn adur amuhn. Ohn a-adur amuhn, daeseh…Juohn Azura…"_

Listening to Brelyna crying out her relief in a language he'd never heard before, Alistair was starting to consider if maybe he _should_ leave. At the very least to tell the others that Talia was alive.

"_D-daeljuhn, ohn'ad…duruu…"_ this time it was Talia speaking, and if nothing else_, that_ made Alistair take notice. He looked to where just the top of her pale, sweaty face was visible above Brelyna's black wilderness, to where her eyes actually locked on to his; "Al-Alistair…_help_, ca-can't _breathe!_"

Not surprisingly, Brelyna actually moved off her friend before Alistair had to do anything at all. As soon as Brelyna had moved, Talia's breathing seemed to return to normal, and the color slowly returned her face to somewhat normalcy. The Dunmer seemed more than a little embarrassed, but whether that was from the realization that she had been choking the other mage, or because Alistair had witnessed it, he didn't know. Probably didn't need to, either.

"D-did…what…happened?" Talia whispered, her voice still hoarse enough to rival Brelyna's. Finally, the Dunmer actually looked _at_ _him_, now as if trying to convey some sort of message. He didn't know which, or why. Did she mean they shouldn't tell her? "Did everyone…I didn't-?"

"Everyone's fine, Talia…" Alistair started, seeing as Brelyna was locked in a worried frown; "Honestly, _you_ on the other hand have never to my knowledge been _this_ beaten up. How…how are you feeling?"

Talia, for almost a full minute, didn't say a word. It was clear though that she was thinking, and whatever was busying her mind seemed less than pleasant. Finally, she looked up and said something Alistair did _not_ expect, but all the same wasn't surprised by.

"Like someone took a shit on my taste buds…and in my nose…" she grimaced, seemingly at her own wording. Brelyna, he knew, had done her best to clean away all traces of the tainted blood, allthewhile she had been healing them both to prevent an infection; "…_did_ someone take a shit on me?"

"…not to my knowledge, no…" he muttered, trying to withhold an entirely uncalled-for grin that was threatening to spread across his face. Hearing her swear, Maker but he never thought he would appreciate it as much as he was right now. Still… "Do you…remember what happened?"

Talia's eyes, just now so busy wandering the tent and inspecting her own injuries as best she could, shot to his for but a moment, a fraction of a second before averting to the side of the tent, where nothing but waterproof hide met her gaze.

"I…I don't really…_know_." She started, visibly fighting herself over every word. The relief Alistair had felt until now was slowly giving way for renewed worry already; "I…I ran after some Genlocks through the tunnel, and…I heard some kind of…_voice_."

"…a voice?" Brelyna repeated slowly, eyes narrowing; "What kind of voice? What did it say?"

"I…I honestly don't remember. I just…there was a voice, and I couldn't move my own body and I couldn't think and…everything after that just…feels like a haze." She scowled at her own words, causing the knot of concern in Alistair's chest to grow and tighten; "I remember…_liking_ it, like I really enjoyed butchering Darkspawn, like it was something I _wanted_ more than anything in the world…"

"Well…you _did_ turn into a pretty big dragon. Bigger than last time too, actually…" he mused, trying the best he could to sound…well, "cheery" wasn't it, but hopefully he didn't come off as pessimistic; "Honestly, I think you scared the lot of us shitless there."

"…sorry." Talia muttered, resting her head back with eyes shut; "I just…didn't have a lot of…fucking headache…"

"…come again?" Brelyna blinked, momentary surprise clear; "…you didn't have a headache?"

"No, I _have_ a headache…like, a really fucking _evil_ one…" the redhead groaned, lifting a hand to her forehead; "I'm _so_ _fucking done_ with this shit and it's not even funny because we _have_ to get…what was her name again?"

"The Anvil of the Void." Alistair muttered, unable to fully withhold the small grin at seeing her like this. Not the part of her in pain - because that would make him a _bad_ person - but the part of her that was incorrigibly swearing at everything going against her will. It had become part of her charm - if he _had_ to admit she had such a thing - and seeing her spewing it out was at least one more indication that she was herself once more.

Thank the Maker.

"And Branka, Oghren's wife, Alistair." Brelyna reminded him. Yes, they had to find her too, didn't they?

"Right, the…smith, right?" Talia groaned, trying to pull what little covers were within reach over her face. They didn't reach, and only managed to expose her legs to what cold there was. Considering they were in the Deep Roads and pockets of lava-pools illuminated the corridors, that wasn't a whole lot. It was actually pretty damn warm down here, which didn't help with the smell of decaying darkspawn. At all; "_Fuuuuck_, I just want to go home and have a long soak…That's not an option, is it?"

"I'm afraid not, no…" Brelyna mused, just the hint of an amused smile creeping over her lips. Talia sighed, though to Alistair it sounded suspiciously more like a groan. Maybe it was both; honestly he was sufficiently tired by now for that sort of details to matter less than little.

"Right then…" the redhead exhaled, and swung her upper body into an upright sit. Alistair pointedly turned his head away, because the adjustment sent her cleavage somewhat uncomfortably close to his face. It also brought a bit too close the newest addition to the mage's complexion; "Ah…Brelyna? Why do I…have a tattoo on my boob?"

This time, Alistair was the one to sigh. Brelyna didn't, most likely because she was too busy trying to come up with an explanation. Frankly, neither knew _what_ had caused the strangely rune-like burn to appear roughly at the center of Talia's left breast. It was just three lines, with the two seemingly supporting the third like a ceiling. It was _definitely_ weird, but Alistair knew a lot of things were that seemed normal to people from Tamriel, so…

"…and why does it feel like a burn?"

"…you don't know?" Alistair finally managed to ask, having to look her in the eyes when speaking. It was…_difficult_ to keep a straight face when very little cloth kept her chest contained.

Aedan was a lucky man.

Talia turned to regard him, and probably realized just how hard it was for him to keep his cool. Honestly, he had had to deal with enough trouble today that it was nothing short of a miracle how he hadn't just collapsed. Because he was actually pretty damn tired.

"Alistair…" the redhead started sweetly, way too easily for her smile to be genuine; "better make sure your eyes don't _wander_, don't you think so too?"

"Definitely." He replied, fast as he could. Even bedridden and semi-injured, Talia could be absolutely terrifying to the degree where Morrigan came off as just being irritating; "So, ah…your tattoo?"

"No idea what it is." Talia grunted, poking at the burn with a finger. When she seemed to have had her curiosity sated - and really, she had a runic burn on her chest. Who wouldn't be curious? - she turned back to the both of them.

"Alistair, would you mind waiting outside while I help Talia change her bandages?" Brelyna said, her voice just teetering on the edge of authority. Authority as in 'ordering him around', that is. Alistair wasn't dense enough not to realize when he was being asked to bugger off, and really, he was just glad she'd done it without sneering at him. It was obvious she was still very much pissed at him, and that Talia did not seem to share in it, so with all the dignity possible for a somewhat miffed Senior Warden, Alistair took his leave.

* * *

Talia wasn't entirely sure what was going on.

When Hakkon had finally relinquished his control over her body, something had hurt her really badly in the side, and she had lost consciousness from the combination of pain, nausea and mind-boggling magic. She wasn't even sure how many Darkspawn she'd managed to kill off before the dragon - and she was using the term simultaneously as vaguely and reverent as she could get away with - had decided to let her go.

And now she was here, beaten bloody and resting in a tent somewhere in the Deep Roads, with some pretty obvious animosity between Brelyna and Alistair. Which was really weird, because she couldn't remember the last time her friend had been thoroughly _pissed_ at someone, let alone Alistair.

Had he done something?

Then, of course, there was the _mark_. Hakkon's own little gift of departure - or just slave-brand - was burned into her chest, right above her beating heart. She had no idea what it read, that single sign in draconic that she had _no_ idea what to do with. Hakkon had called her so many different things, it could mean anything from 'servant' or 'slave' to 'priestess', 'champion' or even just something utterly random. Dragons were spontaneous, arrogant beings - if the books were to be believed - so really, it could be _anything_.

Which calmed her _none whatsoever_.

"_So…"_ Brelyna started, keeping her tongue Dunmeri. Talia picked up on that, at least. Her head was killing her, though not so much that it prevented thought; "_Would you mind telling me _now_, what happened? All we saw was you looking back at us, as if not yourself, and then you transformed."_

"_I already said I didn't remember."_ Talia bit out, feeling more defensive than she knew she had any right to. Actually, she wasn't even sure why she was trying to hide_ anything_ from the Dunmer. Brelyna was her _friend_, dammit, and closer than her own sister. There was no reason she could think of that made her _not_ want to tell her everything.

"_I have known you for three years now, Talia. I __**know**__ when you are lying."_

"_I'm not- I'm…"_ Talia grabbed her head, trying to hold herself together. It didn't help in the least that just _thinking_ of telling Brelyna made the mark on her chest sting like a bitch. She rubbed the mark, more out of irritation than anything else; "_I just…can't tell you. Not because I don't trust you; you know I trust you more than anyone else, but…" _

Brelyna, bless her, was not slow to catch on.

"_You are prevented from telling me."_ There was no blame or accusation in the Dunmer's voice, only dawning understanding and sympathy.

"_That's…the gist of it, yeah…" _

"_I see…Are you in immediate danger from…what- or whomever is preventing you from telling me?"_

"_No, I don't think so. And I'm in control of myself again." _She added the last bit almost as an afterthought. Everything was sop way beyond messed up and chaotic that it wasn't even funny. It was just sad, the state they were in. The state things in general were in; _"I'm sorry if I scared you…before, you know?"_

"_I was scared __**for**__ you, not of you…" _Brelyna sighed, wrapping her arms around the redhead's neck. Talia was, not for the first time, taken somewhat by surprise at the spontaneous intimacy of her friend. It took her all of an entire second to process it and respond in kind - even though the action pained her side.

"_You needn't be, my friend." _But gods was it nice to just burry her face in Brelyna's neck. All the warmth and smell of dust, leather and bookish elf. Brelyna had a scent all her own, one Talia would probably always think of as the smell of home. Home was where the heart is, a wise man once said. And for Talia, that heart was the smell of books, Brelyna's hair and the cat's constant reminders that he was going to best them all someday; "_But thanks."_

"_Always."_ Brelyna whispered, giving her friend one final squeeze before letting the redhead go. Talia felt her insides warm with the contact, and felt just slightly saddened by its end; "Now, let's see about those bandages, shall we?"

* * *

When Talia, after having been through another one of Wynne and Brelyna's healing sessions - and Wynne really didn't intend on letting her off scot-free after the whole "possession" thing happened - finally made her reemergence into the group, it was with the small bit of dread that she was going to be on the receiving end of the same kind of treatment she'd been given after Kinloch.

Somehow, realizing that the group had seemingly learned its lesson actually managed to disappoint her if only ever so slightly. Daveth was by far the most fidgety of them all - and wasn't _that_ just a surprise? - while Alistair seemed intent on talking about everything but her little bout of spontaneous mass-murder. Wynne was being completely professional about the whole thing from a healer's perspective, while Oghren seemed lost in something akin to awe and remaining disbelief mashed together. Brelyna was, of course, being the supportive friend she always was, and merely kept her quiet unless asked.

And Sten was being his usual, stoic self.

Morrigan was, unsurprisingly, the most curious of them all. The witch didn't seem capable of staying away from Talia for more than a minute at the time - at most - and Talia was fairly sure the whole thing would be even worse if the apostate knew about the brand, never mind Hakkon.

Weirdest thing was though, that the witch didn't actually ask any questions. She just kept staring at Talia, her expressions going everywhere between awe, disbelief, concern, intrigue and even a little bit of jealousy. _Still, I get the feeling she just doesn't _know_ how to ask. I guess that's what growing up with wolves and birds gets you for social awareness…_

"You know, I'm almost starting to think I miss the Morrigan who didn't seem to give a crap." Because eventually it just went from unusual to downright annoying; "This is just…what, do you want a skin-sample or something? Morrigan I am _fine_. I'm not going to suddenly transform and _eat_ someone, and I'm _not_ going to flip my shit, so you can _stop_ looking at me like I just grew an extra pair of eyes."

Morrigan, to her credit, seemed almost embarrassed. Her eyes averted and color found her cheeks as she seemed to realize that intense staring wasn't considered overtly polite or acceptable, even by Talia. And Talia even considered herself somewhat removed from the normal need for that kind of things.

"…I am sorry, t'is merely…I had not foreseen what happened earlier…" the with muttered, for the first time taking on an actually humbled tone; "I…would usually consider myself the more knowledgeable one when it comes to shapeshifting and its kin, but...Your transformation will not cease its implicating questions. I find myself… _unable,_ to understand what happened…"

"_Pfff_…you and me both." Talia grumbled, blowing stray hair from her face. The whole ordeal had seen her braids undone, and now had her once-pristine hair going all over the place. Now, she wasn't overtly focused on her appearances when it came to actual priorities, but…her braids were important to her. If nothing else then because they'd originally been done by Onmund in their first year attending the College.

Sentimentality, and all that.

"Look, I don't really yet know what happened." She admitted when Morrigan's expression began taking on the likeness of a sad…well, she couldn't pull of the "sad puppy" to save her life, that much was evident, but…a sad cat maybe? Really, Morrigan just didn't have it in her to be adorable, and that was actually sad enough to be endearing, twisted as that line of thought was; "Why don't we just…when we get back to Orzammar, or even better Redcliffe, you can poke and prod all you like, if we still don't have a clue, okay?"

"You would…allow me to examine you?" Morrigan seemed more taken aback than merely thankful, and Talia wasn't sure which part of that grated more on her nerves; the fact that Morrigan didn't expect her to be cooperative, or the fact that she seemed more interested than merely concerned. Or something along those lines.

"…I figured it would be either that or you'd ambush me in the bath at some point, and I'd probably end up getting the wrong message at the last one…" she huffed in resignation, though a toothy smirk was mere inches below the surface, threatening to break through; "…and then _you'd_ be the one ending up getting a deep examination and that'd just be all kinds of awkward if you tried stopping it halfway through and-AH!"

Brelyna had stuck her foot in front of Talia's, just enough that the redhead almost tripped, and definitely enough to interrupt her awkward ramble. And really, she was actually pretty grateful for that one, because what had started as her just wanting to _tease_ Morrigan ended up with Talia imagining just the kind of scene she'd been describing.

And it was actually kinda hot enough that she had to force her mind back on putting one foot in front of the other. Damn her hormones, damn her mind's reaction to stress and _damn_ Aedan's absence to every plane of Oblivion there was. And then some. Because now _Morrigan's_ darkened cheeks just didn't help one bit. _Oh dear gods help me, I can't take this kind of crap much longer…_

"Hey, if the two of you're done hitting on each other, could we get _back_ to this?" Oghren grumbled, hitting the tip of his axe's shaft on the ground. Talia, finally brought fully back to the here and now, realized just where they were.

A massive collapse had seemingly been cleared trough what appeared to be an entire section of the Deep Roads that had collapsed onto the main road. It looked as if the collapse had effectively blocked the whole thing until someone, or _something_ had blown a hole straight through the rock. It was a tunnel within a tunnel.

"The Legion's been through here." Oghren pointed out, sounding both proud and irritated at the fact. Talia frowned, as did Brelyna, she noticed. Probably for entirely different reasons, since she didn't remember the Dunmer ever asking about the Legion of the Dead. Then again, the name was pretty much all she knew about them herself.

"Legion?" Brelyna inquired, causing the dwarf to cock a big, bushy and red brow. It almost looked like an extension of the man's beard, really, which in and of itself was quite amusing, and Talia would have laughed at the idea if her side wouldn't have punished her for it.

Some injuries even magic couldn't just up and heal. Not straight away, at least.

"Aye, the Legion of the Dead, girl."

"That sounds…rather morbid." Red eyes widened in innocent curiosity; "_Are_ they morbid?"

"Well, they all have this thing where they join by dying, so yeah…" the dwarf grinned as if amused by some unspoken joke; "Wait'll you see 'em though, _that's_ when things get morbid."

"Sound like right cheery fellas, eh?" Daveth grinned, rolling his shoulders.

"Right…Oghren, the road splits off up ahead." Alistair drew their guide back to the job he actually had, much as it seemed he followed them just as much as they him. Once again happy that she had absolutely no responsibility in leading them - really, she had _no_ idea how to lead people _above_ ground, much less under it. The Deep Roads were more or less a giant maze, and much as she admired the craftwork, she couldn't wait to leave again - Talia looked ahead, seeing where Alistair was pointing.

The corridor did indeed split up, which meant either way was the same to her. Hopefully that didn't count for Oghren.

"Well, thát way goes to…I've got no idea, really, but the right is a sort of detour to get to the Ortan Thaig, since the dragon-lady there probably drew every single Darkspawn within six miles to the sodding bridge." And he actually managed to look annoyed at that, as if it was somehow Talia's fault Hakkon had decided to grab the reins and introduce himself - itself - without her knowledge or consent; "Which means I don't actually know if the way's still open."

"What's in Ortan Thaig?" Daveth pondered, giving the dwarf a sideways glance; "…thought we were tryin' to find that anvil?"

"That's…the gist, yeah, sodding nug-humpers..." Oghren grumbled; "Since ya don't seem to _know_ anything 'bout dwarven history, lemme tell you that Ortan Thaig's where Paragon Caradin was born. And since it's _his_ anvil Branka's been tryin' to find, there's soddin' good chance that's where she'd start looking."

"So…we're going to the last place you _know_ she would have been, to see if she might have left a clue?" Brelyna spoke up, causing Oghren's expression to settle into what could almost be…well, it was pretty hard to see, what with that beard covering everything sans his eyes and nose, but acceptance, maybe?

"Aye, Stone that's pretty much it. If we don't find Branka in the Ortan Thaig, the only choice left'd be to guess what way she _could_ have gone, and then just…sodding go from there…"

Well...that sounded fool-proof...

* * *

**So...three things I learned while writing this chapter, one of them something I should really have known before even beginning the story.**

**1\. Oghren is EXTREMELY hard to write in-character. I don't know who the Helheim did it in the game, but to pull of that combo of drunken loony and badass berserker...I'm not sure I can even _do_ that. I'll still try though, because I love Oghren.**

**2\. the Titans are really, really big and really, really _real_. Yeah, that one took me by surprise. **

**3\. There is a dictionary for Dunmeri, consisting of four digits' worth of words. It's all, from what I could garner, fan-made, but based on what was given in the games, so I'm going to call it credible. **

**Right, so this chapter was...grueling, to say the least. I wasn't actually sure where to stop, and even for a brief minute contemplated simply slapping it onto the previous one and making it a full-length chapter, but then I remembered the logistical hellscape _that_ is, and decided to just put this up here instead. I'm not really sure what else to say, really...Finals are approaching, which means this will probably be the last thing you hear from me until _after_ Friday the 18th. I'll still reply to pm's and reviews and that, but no updates in that period. **

**Also, right I should probably get this out since I_ did_ apparantly worry some of you with the whole "weird unknown illness" thing. You ever been to a C-scan? It's kinda like what they do to pregnant women to let them see the babies. Anyway, so I was at the hospital to get checked, with a doctor whom I _think_ was from Afghanistan? Anyway, he had a very strong accent, so I wasn't actually entirely sure what he told me of the results until I got it on script. Apparantly, and here's the kicker, I ride my bicycle too much...**

**Yeah...that's a thing. Because I ride my bike too much, one of my arteries in...well, you know, had ended up larger than the ones in the right side, which means that it gets...sore sometimes. Which is annoying as Hel because it means I'm basically handicapped while it's going through that phase and there's not a lot I can do aside from taking pain-killers - because believe me, for a guy that's pretty crippling - and it also means horseriding gets very, very awkward.**

**So yeah, not dying, just...weird arteries.**

**And on that note, I'd just like to thank the people who've stuck with me up until now, meaning those of you who haven't run away screaming when my updating-schedule got screwed six ways till Friday. Why am I saying this now, of all times? Well, there's a reaosn for that, according to my calculations and estimations...**

**We're halfway through Book 1. **

...Also, does anyone know WHAT THE HEL is up with Fanfiction's image editor? I've been unable to do jack with it since May!


	42. Mysteries of the Deep Roads

_So…I no longer have a laboratory._

_I'm basically writing this as the town is attempting to evaluate whether or not the - rather expensive - materials can still be salvaged from the ruin…though calling it a crater seems more appropriate, if I am to be honest._

_I put the Drakestone too close to the bowl of Lyrium-sand. It's my own mistake, and I'm putting it on writing so that I can point it out if I'm asked…Not sure how wise that actually _is_, in hindsight, but…_

_Funny thing is, I _knew_ Drakestone carries a small electric charge when in contact with liquid of any kind, as long as it contains water, for some odd reason. Still haven't figured out thát one yet, and frankly, looking at the state of my workplace right now, I might as well not bother with it at all. The conclave is set to begin within the month, which means I wouldn't be able to set up a new laboratory anyway. _

_I also wouldn't be able to procure anywhere near sufficient amounts of Lyrium-sand again. Not when both the Templars and mages need it. _

_So…I no longer have a laboratory. _

…_but the possibilities for non-magical havoc is real here. There is no doubt about it that Lyrium-sand on its own is volatile and powerful, but adding in new elements, there is the potential for something truly revolutionizing here…_

_Maybe we can finally one-up the Qunari without actually having to snivel up to their Gatlok. I will admit, on a personal front I am absolutely giddy like a little girl at the prospects here. _

_If only there was a way to properly control the amount needed, and its composition, we'd be on to something here that is, to repeat myself, the potential for something truly revolutionizing._

_I will try and see if I can find any records from Tamriel on the use of explosives like these. I'll be damned if the dwarves get the edge here. My pride as a researcher and a Breton forbids it._

* * *

**Mysteries of the Deep Roads**

* * *

The Deep Roads held many great mysteries, certainly, Talia knew that to be truth at this point. Most of those "mysteries", granted, consisted of trying to figure out how the Darkspawn could tunnel through what was in essence solid mountains, something she could hardly comprehend even the most organized of _human_ expeditions doing without some seriously heavy magic being involved.

Then again, the Dwarves couldn't use magic to save their lives, and they'd dug the bloody Deep Roads themselves, hadn't they? That didn't really count though, because according to Oghren they'd blown their way through the rocks with some sort of exploding lyrium.

Lyrium, as in the same things mages on the surface seemed perfectly willing to chug down like it was cheap mead. It was, she decided, just another reason to be thankful she'd been born on the other side of the ocean. She still didn't really understand how magic could just change fundamentally because of geography, but that was for people like Mirabelle Ervine to understand, or Tolfdir. Not her. Talia would, quite frankly and honestly, be perfectly content with never having to piece together why magic worked the way it did.

That wasn't to say it didn't _interest_ her, but the calculations going into figuring out where a trebuchet would land its shot _also_ "interested" her, and yet she felt no desire to sit down and break her mind on her.

All of this was, she realized, just her mind going off on a tangent as their de-facto guide was pointing at what looked suspiciously like a dead Ogre. She wasn't even sure why a dead Ogre, of all things, was making her overthink everything around her. Maybe it was lingering effects from effectively sharing her mind with some sort of draconic entity. Again, she didn't want to try breaking her mind on it.

"Yes, Oghren, it's an Ogre. A dead one, thankfully." Alistair consented, as if that was a major revelation. Their waist-high companion huffed with what sounded quite a lot like genuine exasperation. Genuine exasperation, coming from the self-proclaimed perma-drunk.

"C'mon boy, don't you think something's weird about this thing just lyin' here?" Oghren grumbled, kicking the carcass with the tip of his armored boot. Talia squinted at the dead body, trying to discern what exactly the man's beer-goggles were showing him that remained hidden to them.

Well…if she had to point something out, then it'd be the general lack of wounds on the bloody thing.

"…You mean aside from the lack of anything else dead around it?" their leader mused, earning himself something between a laugh and a scoff from the dwarf; "I'm guessing that's not the "weird thing", then?"

"It has suffered no apparent injuries?" Wynne stated it as a question, but Talia realized with a start that the old woman was right. Weird and unusual as a dead Ogre lacking apparent victims was, a dead one lacking apparent _wounds_ was even weirder.

"Hah, see? The mage gets it."

"…gets what?" Alistair muttered, looking over the body. Talia followed, climbing onto its chest. Dear gods, this thing _reeked_. And yet, it wasn't purely the stench of Darkspawn on it. It also smelled suspiciously like…like lyrium, of all things. Tracking her eyes all over the dead Ogre, she finally found a single wound on the great beast.

"Take a peek at that thing's face, will you?" Oghren chuckled with some semblance of pride. The rest of the group closed up, finally seeing what Talia had just now spotted, and what Oghren had apparently known before he even got close; "Tell me if you see something, heh, _interesting_."

"…It's missing an eye." Daveth was the first to note aloud; "…why's it missing an eye?"

"Ask rather, why is the missing eye its only injury." Wynne stated, as if she _knew_. Talia shot the old enchanter a look, trying to figure out what the woman knew that they didn't. When their eyes met, Wynne merely blinked; "I just find it prudent to contemplate."

"I am curious too." Brelyna mused, stepping closer to the Ogre's face until Daveth held an arm in front of her, preventing the Dunmer from getting any closer; "…right, the taint."

"It's a sodding Legion Scout kill, that's what it is." Oghren grinned from ear to ear, hefting his axe over his shoulder; "Blondie, try sticking your hand into that wound there. See what you find, eh?"

"Right, I'll just…" Alistair paused, both mid-sentence and mid-action which was him actually _reaching_ for the wound; "…what? You want me to stick my hand…_in there_?"

"Not like it's gonna bite, you know?"

"That's…_not_ the point." Their leader exclaimed, grimacing; "Why by Andraste's knickers would I stick my hand into the head of a dead Darkspawn? Even for Grey Wardens that's just asking for trouble."

"Pff, _fine_…" Oghren spat on the tiles, then stepped forward. With a heave, he swung his axe down into the Ogre's face, splitting the frontal skull like a rotten log. Talia instinctively winced when black ichor spewed from the wound in a small geyser, dwindling down into a small stream of reeking bubbles before the dwarf struck it again, shattering bone and spilling liquefied brain onto the ground; "Have it your way, sissy…"

A repugnant stench like rotten eggs and rotten blood assailed the group.

"That is _repulsive_." Wynne gasped, one hand over her mouth as she pointedly _averted_ her eyes from the sight of an Ogre's insides. Frankly, Talia felt like retching too, and did her level best to breath only through her mouth. _I've never agreed this hard with anyone in my entire life! Gods that's just fucking gross!_

"Well the blondie didn't feel like being handy." Oghren muttered, using the blades of his axe to rummage and ravage the shattered mass the Ogre's head had at this point become. No one else felt like speaking, mainly because most of them were fighting the urge to vomit, Sten included.

Then Jowan finally lost it, and the sounds and smells of his stomach greeting the tiles was enough to cause Talia, Daveth and Brelyna to follow in his shoes. Brelyna quite literally, as she did not manage to turn away from her fellow mage in time.

"Jeez, _that's_ what you surfacers get like all of a sudden?" the dwarf grimaced; "Sodding beats me how you ever lasted four Blights…"

"We didn't…_Gah_, we didn't _desecrate_ the Darkspawn, you know?" Daveth heaved, sounding like his nose was stopped. Talia did her best not to image it, already fighting the fires burning from her stomach to her tongue, as well as in her nose; "The fuck did you even do that for?"

"Gimme a sec…" Oghren muttered, scraping around pieces of bone on the ground, until suddenly there was the sound of metal against metal; "Ah, there we are. Look at this little beauty, will ya?"

Resting on the broad side of Oghren's axe, was what looked suspiciously like a ball of metal, with the diameter of a standard Septim. It had clearly seen some impact on one side, where the metal was more or less pressed back and spread outwards just slightly. Talia blinked, unsure of what she was looking at.

"…is that a weird dwarven arrowhead?"

"I'll just pretend you said that as a sodding joke, right?" the dwarf grumbled, discarding the metallic object with a _clink_ as it hit the ground. It sounded a lot heavier than it looked, actually; "Tell you what, Red: if we meet the Legion, you could ask them what kind of arrows lack shafts, aye?"

"…I'm starting to not like you very much, you know." Talia grumbled, holding glowing her to her stomach as the smells wafting around her threatened to unleash something more. She'd already lost her last meal to the tiles, she didn't fancy seeing what else would come up.

"So?" Oghren shot back, hefting his axe back over his shoulders; "not here for popularity, girl. Let's get a move on, we've wasted enough time as it is."

"W- _you_ were the one who wanted to stop!" Talia yelled at him. Her reply was a mere shrug from the Dwarf as he already walked ahead. Practically forced to follow their guide - however uncouth and _rude_ he might be - the group set forth. Ortan Thaig was, after all, their only real lead on finding the Paragon, as well as the supposedly fabled "Anvil of the Void", whatever that might be; "Gods, for fucks' sake I'm _sick_ of this place."

"That's not an isolated opinion…" Alistair grumbled next to her, trudging along with his sword over his shoulder. His heavy armor made surprisingly little sound when the plates slid against each other, something she supposed was a credit to the craft of…whoever had forged it; "The Deep Roads aren't exactly _liked_ by anyone, you know?"

"No, I mean I _really_ hate them." She bit out.

"How much'd you say you hate them, eh?" Daveth mused, coming up on her left side. His breath smelling of vomit would likely have disturbed her if her own nose wasn't still more or less clogged with the same shit. She still shot the archer a flat look, replying in a voice so flat water would have stayed where the fuck it was if put on it;

"If I had a _cock_, the Deep Roads could get on its knees and _suck_ _it_."

"_Yeah_, pretty much my feelings too on that thing…" Daveth huffed, seemingly unperturbed by her choice of words. She wasn't sure if that was a sign of him simply becoming numb to her swearing, or never having cared at all; "I mean, shite, you see how he just…"

"Daveth. If you with even a _single_ word describe what happened, I'm going to nail your legs to the floor with three-foot icicles and leave you for the Darkspawn." Brelyna said it as if it had been a friendly piece of advice, her voice barely raised above a casual tone. Yet, the fact that it was _Brelyna_ saying it, as well as the fact that the archer apparently hadn't even heard the Dunmer walking up behind him, served to make Daveth visibly shiver as he took a long step ahead, pulling his feet as if avoiding actual icicles.

"Brelyna, the poor boy just threw up." Wynne admonished her.

"So did I..." the Dunmer replied, for but a moment glancing at where Jowan was walking, his legs stained and shoes making wet sounds with each step he took. Talia couldn't help it but cringe, which just made her insides coil up again; "And I would like _not_ to do it again."

"Won't say nothin'. Promise." Daveth grimaced; "I'd like to keep me legs whole."

It wasn't until an hour's worth of walking later that the group arrived at the first signs of actual civilization apart from the tiles on the ground they walked.

* * *

Back in Orzammar, a certain young noble was cleaning blood off his blade.

Aedan had, as his wounds only excluded him from the Deep Roads and not actual action in itself, joined J'zargo, Cullen and Cíada in doing what basically amounted to favors for Daveth, without the archer's actual knowledge of it.

Gorim, the princess' bodyguard, had informed them of the chance that taking a look around Dust town would be the best place to look for the sister of Warden Dela. Rica Brosca was, far as he had understood it, the concubine and lover of now-deceased Prince Bhelen, and had apparently even fallen pregnant with his child. When Bhelen had been killed, the girl had for some reason fled back to Dust town, and now they were trying to actually _find_ her.

In the "city of the casteless", as it was also known, Aedan found himself more than a little shocked to realize that more people lived in these cramped quarters than probably the rest of Orzammar combined. It was as if there was a sort of joke being played on him, trying to confuse him into thinking half the city lived like this, but if it was a joke he couldn't tell who was playing it.

One thing he _did_ understand though, was why Daveth seemed so deeply hostile to the very idea of the dwarven caste system. Aedan knew to a certain degree that those two had known each other for some time before the Joining, but no more than that. If Dela had shared details from this…place, a lot of the things Daveth had said and done since arriving in Orzammar suddenly started making a lot more sense.

Well, the reason he was currently cleaning blood from his sword was because they had been ambushed when asking around for Rica Brosca. When walking down one of the alleyways, the shadows had basically come alive with waist-high thugs, armed with axes and knives and cutlery, and armored in scraps and rags.

Aedan was grateful for the latter, as it let him slash them open with barely any hindrance from armor. Their crude weaponry also meant they couldn't get through his, even with the barely repaired hole in his chest-plate. Still, they were fast, much too fast for his liking, and their knives had found more than one gap in his armor where only the tightly knit chain underneath prevented them from outright gutting him.

And now, they found themselves in what could without exaggeration be called a "secret underground" in Dust town. Tunnels upon tunnels crossed throughout the mountain underneath Orzammar proper, and for reasons Aedan was not yet entirely sure of, this was where Rica Brosca seemed to have gone.

"Remind me never to do Daveth anymore spontaneous favors, will you?" he muttered as they trudged down dimly lit corridors with all the stealth available to one in plate.

"Oh? J'zargo thinks this is by far the most fun he has had in Ferelden yet." The cat grinned, flexing his claws with that same electricity Aedan had seen him use time and time again. It was more than just electrocuting his enemies when the cat used them, he had come to realize, and more about ripping through armor with an ease that simply should not be possible.

"Are we certain he is sane?" Cullen muttered, keeping his sword at the ready. Templar armor, if anything, had seemed to give the Carta thugs more pause than that of a Grey Warden, and Aedan didn't know if that was a bad thing or not.

"You know…I'm still undecided on that one." Cíada chuckled light-heartedly, as if her swarms of summoned insects hadn't just eaten a man alive in the span of mere seconds.

And Aedan realized that the seemingly callous joy and disregard for life was something he recognized in the elf because he had seen it in another mage before. Talia seemed to share it, and yet didn't. Aedan wasn't entirely sure if it was even the same thing.

He just prayed she was safe.

* * *

It started as small things, like insignificant carvings in the walls, more level ground and somewhat higher to the ceilings. Then the tiles of the Deep roads gave way to simple rock-floor, completely plain with little to no cracks or divides whatsoever.

They were coming up on Ortan Thaig proper, which ironically meant that the degree of civilization was being replaced with ruins and cold, dark cavernous halls. The floor might once have been pristine and plain with marble or maybe simple stone, but now it was covered in rubble and broken frames, revealing just how devastated the Thaig truly was.

"This is…Ortan Thaig?" Brelyna whispered, craning back her head as her eyes tracked towards the ceiling, where luminescent minerals provided all the light there was. Buildings that would have once been imposing and impressive instead now stood as ruins, testaments to the power of the Darkspawn swarms that had overwhelmed all but a few remnants of the once mighty dwarven empire. Each ruin as dark and foreboding as the next, they nevertheless did not stack up to the sight which greeted the group as they neared the bridges spanning across Ortan Thaig's river; "…these constructs?"

Before them, frozen in time as if a spell had locked them there, three statuesque beings stood, arms reaching in different directions, the bridge before them piled with skeletons clearly both dwarven and Darkspawn. Pieces of the rocky beings had crumbled off, and the humanoid faces of stone now seemed deterring to any who would dare cross their assigned bridge.

Talia stared, eyes wide at the sight before them. Even more so, as Oghren wordlessly walked forward until he stood before the center construct. The rude, loud-mouthed and drunken dwarf then lowered himself to one knee, the wooden stock of his axe planted into the rock before the trio of bridge-keepers and started to whisper.

"_Atrast tunsha. Totarnia amgetol tavash aeduc…"_

Those were the only words Talia could pick out from the dwarf's whispers and mutterings, almost as if he was offering prayers at an altar or a shrine. Yet, she understood enough about dwarves that she knew they didn't actually have any gods or deities, only "the Stone".

"…Oghren?" Brelyna murmured, sounding as confused as Talia felt.

"We call them the Sha-Brytol ne Aedros Ortan, or "the guardians of Ortan Thaig's River", you see…" he grumbled, getting back on his feet; "…back in the day, these three Golems held back the darkspawn horde on the bridges here, so that the Thaig could be evacuated to Aeducan Thaig…sod all difference it made when _that_ too was overrun and half the population slaughtered, but…"

"Your people hold them sacred?"

"…_Aye_, something like that." The dwarf muttered, quickly nodding his head at each golem, before walking past them; "Considering their sacrifices, it's considered impolite not to offer them some form of tribute when passing by. Few other than the Legion does these days, and they tend to need all the equipment they carry…Wardens are usually exempt too, considering your job'n all…"

"I see." Brelyna mused, though it was fairly clear that if she did, she was the only one of the group. Even Wynne seemed somewhat confused, though perhaps that was from the sudden change in Oghren's behavior. To be fair, Talia's confusion was half 'n half because of that as well, so she really didn't have a right to judge the enchanter for that one. Not that she wanted to, because suddenly seeing the dwarf being _serious_, was confounding; "It coincides with your veneration of your ancestors because each Golem contains the soul of a dwarf, right?"

"…you got a good head under that hood of yours, elf." Oghren gave her as they crossed the bridge, almost sounding surprised at it too. Each step caused bones to scatter and drop over the sides, and into the rushing river below; "Who told you 'bout that?"

"She's a smart cookie, she is." Daveth grinned, picking his way through the skeletons of fallen dwarves and darkspawn. As his eyes were at his feet, it was likely the archer missed the slight darkening of the Dunmer's cheeks;

"Oh, I…T-Talia told me about the Spirit crystals and I visited the Shaperate earlier and I just sort of put two and two together…" she stammered, sounding as if the words refused to come out; "I just assumed it was common knowledge."

"…not exactly, no." Oghren sighed, stopping where he stood as the bridge came to an end. Before them, almost as if acting the role of guardian, a massive statue of a Dwarven warrior stood, hammer raised in both hands in support of the ceiling; "Most of them nug-humping Nobles in Orzammar talk big about how the Warrior-caste held back the Darkspawn when they first appeared. Funny thing though, is no one ever asked the rest of us about that before it was hammered into lyrium. So according to the Memories, far as _I_ know, hardly anyone actually knows what the golems really are…_were_."

"So…does that mean you know how they're made?" Talia finally asked the question that had nagged her ever since discovering the soul gems. Oghren turned a flat look at her, one which ended up with the dwarf wearily shutting his eyes.

"No idea. Don't really _want_ to know either, really…" he grumbled, before adjusting the axe on his shoulder and leading them onwards through Ortan proper. The Thaig was nowhere near the size of Orzammar, but Talia could still see it being a functioning city, back in the day. It was easily the size of Whiterun, if not bigger, which meant hundreds could have lived here. Probably more, seeing how dwarves lived in stories above each other; "I'd prefer returning to-"

"…what?" Brelyna asked, when the dwarf cut himself off and raised a fist into the air as a signal to stop. Talia stared at their surroundings, trying to use her Joining-given abilities to sense whatever Oghren had. Even then, all she felt was a crawling sensation along the ridge of her spine, like something was watching her. Watching them. Following them, perhaps even.

"…we're not alone in here." Oghren grumbled, hefting his axe into both hands.

Footsteps, like a man dragging himself through a drunken stupor, echoed throughout the otherwise silent cavern. Every pair of eyes and ears in the group turned towards every direction they could find, whenever the sound was tossed back and forth between the walls of the Thaig. A faint tingling in the edge of her vision was all Talia could perceive before her fellow Wardens had turned in the same direction, swords drawn.

"Y-y-you, go - go away!" a man's voice rasped in desperation from somewhere in the shadows. It was both angry and afraid at the same time, and even as stunted to sensing the taint as Talia was, she could still feel it emanating from him. From wherever exactly he was.

"Who's out there? Show yourself!" Oghren growled.

"R-Ruck wants - wants strange people to leave, yes, yes _leave_!" the man rasped again; "Leave! Leave! Leave Ruck alone with his baubles! They're not yours, they his! Ruck found them, drove off the crawlers and the dark ones with stones and bones. Crunched, crunched their bones with stones!"

"…what in the sod?" Alistair muttered, taking a step forward. Immediately, a stone sailed from the shadows, impacting his helmet with a _clank_ before dropping harmlessly to the ground. Whoever this "Ruck" was, he had a solid aim, Talia had to give him that much.

He also sounded like he was utterly batshit.

"I figured we'd come across this eventually…" Oghren sighed, as if whomever Ruck was, he was a mere irritation. _Talia_ could sense taint from that direction, meaning the others could _definitely_ sense it too. Yet, Oghren didn't seem at all worried as much as being annoyed; "Quite a few expeditions have gone missing over the years, and it's not unheard of that some survive by…well, survive is a strong word, see?"

"He's tainted, but…not a ghoul?" Alistair asked quietly, probably squinting at the darkness behind that helmet of his. There were times when Talia honest-to-Zenithar wished she wore one.

"Dwarves take longer than your surfacers to turn, far's _I_ know… Still, we leave him like this and he'll definitely end up a ghoul."

"We don't have the time to take him back to Orzammar, Oghren, and I don't think there's a spell for curing the taint." Alistair said, then seemed to glance at Talia; "Not…completely, anyway…"

"Wasn't suggesting either of those, Blondie…" Oghren grumbled, taking a deep swig from his ale-skin before hefting the axe over his shoulder; "…You lot stay here, I'll be right back…"

And so he left, wandering into the darkness while the rest simply stood, unable to take the step to follow him. Talia felt unnaturally dizzy, as if the air was getting thicker in her lungs. Her heartbeat sped up and she realized what it was, this sensation rushing through her veins.

It was fear. Fear and dread for Ruck in the darkness and for Oghren who wandered in there, seemingly without a care in the world for his own safety. It was muddy and confusing and it was messing with her head that she couldn't figure out to take that single, simple step forward that would bring her towards wherever Oghren was heading. He was their _guide_, wasn't he? He was supposed to stay with them, not leave them in the darkness of the Deep Roads or lost Thaigs where the sun didn't reach.

She felt trapped, caught and held underneath thousands of tons of stone and rock and mountain. Held down, unable to move while her chest stung with searing agony and the world around her started to fade away, her vision becoming muffles and fluffy and discolored and grey.

Fear rushed through her veins, yet now it was no longer the fear for the safety of those around her. It was fear, fear coming from inside her deepest pits, her deepest corners, yet it also was not inherently hers. The dread and fear and anger at being caught and trapped under the mountain, held in the darkness, it was not hers. Yet she felt it, every ounce of it as it burned the blood in her veins and spots of bright blackness danced across her vision.

Oppressive chains of magic kept her grounded, refusing to allow her even the slightest of movements. The force was indescribable, a magic older than anything she knew, unaffected by the very workings of time itself. She could not move, could hardly breathe, could only writhe in silent agony and fear and mounting rage at the tormentor who so shamelessly kept her confined and contained, forced her to remain underneath the mountains, in the darkness, in the-

"_Talia_."

Hands grabbed her shoulders _hard_, and the world returned. She gasped, desperate for the air which now flowed freely through into her lungs. She heaved, each intake of air burning white-hot through her body as the dancing spots of blackness went away, and her vision cleared. Her head was swaying around inside itself, threatening to tumble to the ground until pleasant warmth coursed throughout her very being, soothing pains and fears and rage.

"Talia, Talia look at me."

A familiar voice. It was warm and sounded like fireplaces, books and sweet-rolls and ale and headaches in the mornings.

It was familiar, and it was a source of warmth and safety and comfort that drew her away from the darkness, shattered the chains and sheltered her, even as the stinging heat in her chest remained for anguishing moments. Then her world ceased to be the cave, and became warm, red eyes and skin like polished marble. Concern etched around eyes holding intellect and wisdom beyond her age.

"Talia, take deep breaths."

"…I, I could…" she managed to force from between paralyzed lips.

"_Deep breaths, Talia. Look at me. Deep breaths_." Brelyna repeated sternly, almost like she was her mother, and Talia obeyed her. Breath after breath was taken in, scorching her soul with fiery intensity as it reached her lungs and was pushed back out. She realized with a start that her breath probably still smelled like puke, yet Brelyna hardly seemed to notice it.

"I- I'm sorry, I thought- thought…"

"Hey, Warden, you okay?" the voice belonged to Oghren, coming from somewhere behind her. Talia turned, one hand still clinging to Brelyna's arm for support as her legs remained as likely to buckle as before. The dwarf stood a few feet away, his axe resting across his shoulders. There was not a drop of fresh blood on it; "Kinda seemed like you'd up and drop there."

"Whah…what…you're back." She stated, but couldn't even manage to word it as a question. Her mind was still numb with irrational terror from whatever had just assailed her. It wasn't something she'd experienced before, being afraid of going underground. She'd been in Dwemer ruins more than once, and they usually reached deep beneath the mountains. _What is__** wrong**__ with me? Is it whatever Hakkon did to me? _

"Usually people are annoyed to see me…First time it's surprise instead." Oghren grumbled, adjusting the position of his axe-shaft; "Wasn't even that far away, girl. Blighter had a den over there, looked like an abandoned camp from either the Legion or Branka."

"…Did you…"

"Aye…" the dwarf sighed, averting his eyes. For the first time since he had joined them, Oghren showed regret; "Couldn't leave him like that. Did it about as painless as could be done…Let's get a move on, _okay_? I'm not in the mood."

"Where to?" Alistair spoke up. Talia wasn't sure if it was the first time since Oghren had returned, namely because she had no idea _when_ the dwarf had returned. Her mind still swam with uncertainty on that point. Her chest no longer stung, but she could still feel the irritation in the skin on her chest.

"Branka and her house was here, alright." The dwarf nodded, pointing further into the darkness; "I found some…directions, from her. They went south, which means _we're_ going south."

"What's south of here, then?" Brelyna asked, lightly stepping up next to Oghren as he walked on. Talia, even in the dimmed lighting, could see specks of red covering the soles of his boots, leaving behind faintly red footprints on the rock where he walked. He could still be heard grumbling and growling over the sound of armored feet against stone;

"The Dead Trenches…"

"Oh…" Alistair muttered; "…sounds like a fun place."

* * *

**So yeah, a lot of stuff happened. **

**First of all, personal stuff. I passed my finals, which means I am **_**not **_**going to be wallowing in a drunken pit of depression and desperation.**

**Still got drunk though, but more as celebration than drowning my sorrows. **

**This also means I'll be able to update more often again, though perish the thought that I should ever be able to uphold a regular schedule for my chapters. They come when they do, and none regret that more than me…I really do envy those with the willpower to post at regular intervals…**

**Anyway, so the other stuff that happens is that we see the group more or less split up, Oghren being serious-as-can-be, what happens when you open up a darkspawn and other things and Talia has just about had enough of the Deep Roads. It also is not a mistake when Oghren knows about at least some degree of what makes a Golem. He's drunk, not stupid.**

** So…I'm somewhat struggling with implementing some rather major changes to the crossed universe or whatever you want to call it, meaning that when I do reveal something insane, something that would ordinarily make little to no sense for either verse alone, please have faith that I - still - know what I be doing.**

**As a rather amusing addendum, I am sort of basing the Fereldan army on its counterpart in Medieval 2, which is England crossed with Denmark. **

**As the day's question - because let's face it, it's been a while since we did one of these - what do you think happened to the Ogre at the start of the chapter? Or, whatever the Hel just happened to Talia?**


	43. What was Seen, Said and Sought

_Well, it is good that my laboratory blew up when it did._

_Currently, the newcomers - and by Magnus they just keep coming! - have been directed to the growing army of tents appearing outside the village's walls. I am starting to contemplate just what would have happened to these hundreds and hundreds of tents if they had been there when my workplace decided to test out its ability to enter into orbit around Secunda._

_Probably a lot of dead people. _

_And a pissed-off Cassandra._

_And a severely disappointed Divine. Much as I still to this day do not intend to follow or adhere to the Andrastian faith, I can't help but respect the woman who has kept the continent, bar Tevinter, from ripping itself apart at the seams. I am fairly certain I would have pulled my hair out or blown someone up if I'd been in that position._

_Dear gods does this mean I'm starting to think like Anders?_

_I wonder if we'll see dwarves here though, aside from the few dignitaries sent to observe. I can't imagine there's not a single dwarven merchant not wetting himself with excitement at this many Templars and mages in one spot._

_If there is one thing I truly miss about Tamriel, and that I find lacking in Thedas, it is that none of the holidays or feasts I grew up with are celebrated here. _

_I had to drag Josephine from her office to get drunk with me, under the pretext of "diplomatic sharing of cultural understandings", though I don't think she really got the point. _

_Well, Happy New Life's Festival, Ferelden, and a happy new year. _

_Let us pray for a good one, devoid of fear._

_Morndas 1__st__, Suns Dawn, New Life Festival, 9:41 Dragon_

* * *

**What was seen, said and sought in the Trenches.**

* * *

"You know…for something called the "_Dead_ Trenches", this place seems rather…lively." Alistair quipped, resting on his chest-plate as he, Daveth and Talia were watching the valley below, only their heads poking above the raised cliffs.

"Fuckin' Hell, that's a _lot_ of 'em…" Daveth swore, watching wide-eyed as the horde of Darkspawn far below marched on, oblivious or uncaring as to the presence of their group; "that mean the horde at Ostagar wasn't even the biggest one?"

"…seems like it." Talia muttered, trying to rid herself of cold sweat as she watched hundreds of thousands of torches simply merge together into a sea of bright colors; "Pretty sure Ferelden's fucked if that group gets top-side…"

"Welcome to my world, girly…" Oghren grunted from behind her, sitting on his ass with the tip of his flask held against his lips; "That down there's Orzammar's reality, much as the Nobles don't wanna admit it."

"That is not exactly comforting…" Brelyna whispered as she crawled up next to Talia; "what do we do, if your wife is on the other side of that gap?"

"Bownammar's close by. It's the only bridge across the trenches without backtracking almost all the way back to Orzammar." Oghren nodded; "The Legion should still have something of a foothold this side of the bridge, so hopefully it's gonna be clear of Darkspawn."

Talia was about to reply, to mutter her annoyance with the situation, when something like a tingle started running bony knuckles down her spine, then up and up until it thrummed at the base of her skull. Her eyes widened in a fear she couldn't understand, and an underlying sense of trembling rage.

"Let's hope that. With the amount of Darkspawn down below, I couldn't sense a Hurlock if it was right next to me…" Alistair sighed and crawled back, as if afraid to be spotted from below. Then, with a suddenness that surprised all but Talia, he snapped frozen; "Wait, do you hear that?"

The air was _trembling._

The very _air_ around them war _trembling_ as if in fear. Something terrible was born along the gusts of wind from within the deepest blackness of the Deep Roads. Dust started raining from the ceilings and pieces of rock tumbled from the sides of the trenches far below.

"_Stone preserve us…"_ Oghren whispered, for the very first time since he had joined them, _terrified;_ "Get away from the ridge,_ get away from the ridge_!"

Of the group, all but Talia obeyed, scrambling into cover from a threat none of them truly understood. Talia remained where she was, frozen in abject terror as the tendrils of Hakkon started snaking their roots back into her mind. Her mind was already becoming less and less her own, mingling instead with almost bestial fear and rage at what was approaching. Hakkon knew it, knew the scent, knew the signs and the sounds. Knew what it was, and so did Talia, even as she did not understand it.

A great shadow rose from the deep, sweeping above the darkspawn horde like a sparrow would an army of marching ants. It was so much greater than even the towering Ogres below, and Talia could not help but stare in terrified fascination, part her own, part Hakkon's, as the monster rose from the deep.

"TALIA! _GET AWAY FROM THE RIDGE_!" Alistair yelled, even as strong hands grabbed her shoulders and started yanking her back; "IT'S THE _ARCHDEMON_!"

Talia found herself pulled behind the cover of a crumbled column, even as the rest of the group was scrambling to whatever cover they could find. Oghren, previously so loudmouthed and full of bravado and indifference, now sat with his axe clutched to his chest, whispering prayers none of them could understand.

Despite the suicidal idiocy of it, the moment she was let go of, Talia pulled her head out from cover to observe the beast as it sailed into the cavernous ceiling, arresting itself before it impacted. And she finally was able to see the great and terrible beast that had visited the nightmares of every Grey Warden before her.

And what she felt, more than anything else, was sorrow. It was a bestial _wail_ of sorrow and grief, the likes of which she not even felt at Onmund's death.

Sorrow, at seeing skin once pristine like the smoothest silk and clad in gemlike scales, now covered in rot and jagged edges. Of claws once gleaming, now matte and brown with neglect. Of eyes, once regal and full of majesty, now rotten, red and dark with taint.

_Urthemiel, oh Urthemiel! What has been done to you?! What atrocities have been wrought on your once pristine being?! What sacrilege has occurred that your form now makes the world tremble, not with awe but fear and revulsion?! _

As Hakkon cried out in sorrow and rage within the confines of her mind, Talia remained wide-eyed in disbelief at the gargantuan monster resting upon one of the arcs crossing the trenches far above them. It was even larger than Kulaas, for Zenithar's sake! How by Mundus and Nirn, by all the Aedra, were they supposed to kill this being? It was less a dragon and more like a force of nature, a force of corruption given form!

Then she was yanked back behind the column, and a hand smacked her across the face.

"I said '_look at me_'!" it was Brelyna, of all people, who had slapped her. Talia snapped back from her trance, realizing that not only was Brelyna currently holding onto her shoulder with a vice-like grip of iron, but the rest of the group was watching her with almost as much fear as they had the dragon; "Snap out of it, _Azura_, snap out of it!"

_"W-w…wha…you…you_ just…" her mind was not being in the least cooperative in understanding what had occurred. She was still reeling from the mind-breaking sorrow in her mind, and the fact that Brelyna had just slapped her. Her _best friend_, had just now slapped her so hard that it remained a burning sensation on her cheek; "you…you just…_Brel_…lyna, _you_…"

"You're back…_She's back_…thank the Maker, I thought we would die here…" Alistair fell back on his ass, his armor clattering as it hit the ground; "Andraste's mercy…"

"Whatever you just did…_never_ do that again…It was unnatural." Sten growled, fingers dancing on the grip of his claymore. To see the great Qunari so disturbed, Talia wasn't sure what was going on anymore. The Archdemon had flown on, seemingly unaware of their group, and the Breton realized she had no idea how long ago that had been. Seconds? Minutes?

"What…what happened?" she managed to stutter out, her heart still in her throat. Her chest was seething with heat, all centered around the draconic brand; "Why…why did you…"

"When everyone else ducked into cover, Talia, you just…you stood up and, and _howled_ at the Archdemon. Your eyes got the…the thing in them and we thought you were going to transform." Alistair explained as he visibly calmed himself down the best he could. Hakkon's wails did not cease, however, and tore through her mind with blinding sorrow.

_Urthemiel! They have vandalized her! They have committed the utmost of atrocities upon her! They have infected her, diseased her! Made her abominable!_

"I…I…" she wasn't even sure _what_ to say. She hadn't even realized she'd done half the things Alistair just said! "I don't know what just…I didn't know I…I stood up or…"

_My peer! My comrade, mate, companion! My love! My sister! They have destroyed all that she was, all the glory which she was! All her beauty now rotten, all her majesty, DECAYED! Her form is now but a mere shell, a corrupted visage! The travesty! The humility! The insolence of the tainted ones! MAY THE FIRST-BORN DEVOUR THEIR SOULS!_

She could feel the rage flowing through her veins as Hakkon's thoughts merged with her own through the bond. It felt so real, so personal that she couldn't help but clench her fists until the fabric of her gauntlets creaked in protest at the strain. It was like a drug, almost, overpowering in its intensity.

"I'm just…there's this…" she had to heave for air to continue as Hakkon's mark started burning her skin, causing Brelyna's eyes to widen in concern; "…I just…think it's…another downside to the ritual in Haven."

It was not a lie, and it was not compromising to her master. It was just a shorter, less detailed version of the truth, something which…Talia almost hammered her brains out on the column when she realized she'd just mentally referred to Hakkon as her "master", of all things. It was humiliating, and a sign of his increasing influence over her mind. _Dear gods, please, don't let him take my mind!_

"I don't like how more and more of these "downsides" start appearing recently…" Alistair grumbled, clearly not taking her words at simple face value. Even Morrigan could not have expected him to be that stupid.

And in a way, for once Alistair's intelligence was infuriating. Talia just couldn't put her finger on the why's of it, which could be even worse than it seemed, actually; "Still, I trust you, Talia. If you feel like you can go on, we go on. If not, we return to Orzammar and leave you there, then return here. I don't want you doing this if you don't-"

"I can do it." She rebuked him, almost snapping at him; "I can do this shit, I _can_. For _fuck's_ sake, Alistair, I'm _not_ going back just because some _fucked_ _up_ priests in Haven made me swig dragon-blood. I _refuse_ to let them bend me over and _fuck_ me like that!"

"Yeah see, _that_'s the Talia I know." Her senior replied with a nod, relaxing his stance, even as faint explosions seemed to echo down the chasm from further ahead, she wasn't sure how many miles; "Pretty sure it's not my wisest decision though…"

"Would that imply you ever made _any_ wise decisions?" Morrigan scoffed.

"Oh hah _hah_, see? We're back to normal when Morrigan starts making fun of me…" Alistair dead-panned, leveling a flat stare at the witch, who merely seemed amused at his reaction. Alistair's annoyance lasted for just a few seconds, before dissolving into weariness; "Okay…if there's no more surprises being yanked out of the proverbial hats…can we get a move on?"

"You seem…" Talia started, at a loss for words when the former Templar simply started walking down the road which hugged the side of the cliff and offered a mere railing against the abyss of the Trenches; "…very calm?"

"Oh don't you worry, I'm actually soiling my drawers after that little stunt you pulled back there." He replied with a smile, which was about the closest she had ever come to finding Alistair creepy as fuck; "I'm just getting better at looking like I know what I'm doing. You seriously scared the living hell straight out of me back there."

"…sorry."

"You do realize, the moment we get back to the surface and somewhere safe, I'm going to want to know what exactly is going on, right?" he continued with that same smile, which failed to reach his eyes; "I'm not dumb enough to just accept your dancing around the subject, even if you _are_ good at it."

"…I know. Didn't really think you were." She muttered dejectedly. Brelyna was smart enough to figure out a lot of what Talia wasn't able to say, and accept the rest as being her friend simply being unable to say it. Alistair, on the other hand, had the responsibilities of not just their group, but possibly the entire country on his shoulders. She couldn't even really be mad at him for that, seeing how he was also doing his best not to bother the rest of them with the strain; "I stopped thinking that a long time ago..."

"Figured as much. Don't suppose you'd tell me now, then?" he smiled when he asked, even as his eyes betrayed that he really didn't expect her to; "Didn't think so…Anyway, it's not going to help us right now, either way, so as long as you think you can keep…_whatever_ it is, in check, we don't have a problem."

"_Yeah_…" she sighed, rubbing her neck with the hand that wasn't holding her staff.

* * *

They found the Legion outpost before they could even actually_ see_ the bridge to Bownammar. It wasn't even because they could hear the telltale steel-against-steel a battle would often reveal itself by. Instead, it was the smell of lyrium and fire drifting on the gusts of wind which lazily ran through the Trenches.

"Smell that, eh?" Oghren grinned, regaining some of his more boisterous mood. It had been coming back to him ever since the Archdemon had vanished again, if slowly; "Smells like the Legion's been doing some work."

"Again with the smell of Lyrium and the Legion, Oghren." Wynne sighed; "What is this secret you seem so gleeful about us having to guess?"

"'Cause it's a_ secret_, duh." The dwarf smirked; "Can't just tell any surfacers what's been keeping the Legion alive this long, or you'd start hogging all the damn veins."

"It's thát big a deal, huh?" Alistair mused, raising a brow at the dwarf, receiving only a toothy grin in turn; "Here's ten coppers on it being something that blows up. With a lot of blood."

"That's both very specific and very vague…" Brelyna noted.

"Yeah well, figured it'd have to be, to make him so excited." He replied with a faint grin. An explosion, barely noticeable against the never-ending uproar down below, rang out through the cavernous expanse. It was followed by another, and then another one again. Oghren hardly seemed to notice, while Sten grew visibly tense. More so than usual;

"You cannot have discovered it." He demanded more than stated, to which Oghren, once more, simply replied with a toothy grin; "The Qun _forbids_ all trade with it."

"Whatever you say, big guy." The dwarf chuckled; "I have _no_ idea what you're talking about."

"We shall see…" and that, it seemed, was the end of that particular discussion. Talia was just glad she'd finally escaped the scrutiny and wary eyes the rest of the group had levelled at her ever since her…slip-up. If Hakkon did that again, she doubted they'd let it rest at a mere 'I can do this'.

When the bridge finally came into view, the smell of burnt lyrium had started to fade away, and was replaced instead with the more subtle sounds of whetstones on steel, and mutterings amongst soldiers. It was actually _comforting_, to hear something she knew what was again. Even if it was the sound of people preparing to butcher or be butchered.

Dear Magnus, did she _miss_ the College. Compared to the current shit-fest that was her life, her three years at the College of Winterhold almost seemed…it almost started feeling more like a pleasant dream, or a childhood memory. _I really need to get wasted one of these days. Thát will bring back memories._

"Here we are." Oghren announced, even as the right side of the bridge came into view. Talia, as well as the rest of the group bar the dwarf, stared; "Welcome to Bownammar."

More than a few heads rose from their tasks, though the vast majority of the Legionaries seemed intent on either mending their equipment, or outright napping in the far corner of the small compound that made up the entrance to the Deep Roads. _Huh…wonder if we're going to take that route back…_

"Oghren? That your sorry ass back so soon?"

"_Sigrun!_" Oghren laughed, albeit somewhat awkwardly as a female soldier vaulted from her place on elevated ramparts, clad in the same style of armor Dela had also worn, though with fewer plates to match. She looked more like a hunter than a soldier, really; "Hey…ah, is, is Kardol around?"

"He might be." The woman offered, resting against her shoulder the most peculiar contraption Talia had ever seen. It looked like a metallic pipe, roughly the length and width of her thigh, with bands of metal reinforcing or simply adorning it from one end to the other. It was quite possibly the weirdest and most impractical club she had ever seen; "_So_…Who's these guys?"

"Grey Wardens. Told you there they'd end up down here sooner or later." He grinned, causing the Legionaire - Talia assumed they'd be called the same as the Imperial soldiers back home - to scoff with irritation and dig into her pockets, before throwing a few coins at the bearded dwarf; "Always a pleasure doing bets with ya."

"Don't get ahead of yourself; I was hoping never to see you again, didn't matter whether or not the bet was bad."

"Aw, you know you missed Oghren, Sigrun." Another dwarf nearby grinned, showcasing a mouth retaining less than half of its teeth; "Though wasn't he supposed to be married or somethin'?"

All in all, the Legion seemed both well armed, armored and organized, and was holding what appeared to be a choke point. Oghren_ had_ said the bridge was the only way across the Trenches for quite a distance, so any Darkspawn crossing would be forced to cross here, wouldn't they?

"So, this is the Legion's foothold, then?" Alistair mused as his eyes wandered around the dozen or so resting dwarves, all uniformly clad in thick, black plates, with only their heads exposed. The ones walking around had the box-like helmet dangling to their waists with a string, while those sitting simply had it on the ground; "I kinda expected…you know, more soldiers here."

"Don't need more soldiers, Warden." Sigrun replied smartly, adjusting the…thing, on her shoulder; "Kardol's got this place locked down tight. Unless the Archdemon itself makes an appearance, we're holding fine with what we have."

"…really?"

"Yep."

"Huh…" their leader muttered for lack of better words; "So…Oghren, you mentioned someone named Kardol?"

"Aye," Oghren nodded; "…that'd be-"

_"Me."_ A new voice joined in, and Talia was frankly surprised no one had seen the man approach, considering that he was about as inconspicuous as an Ogre. The dwarf, who apparently was Kardol, did not wear a helmet, nor was one tied to his waist. Instead, a thick, golden beard flowed from a face adorned with skull-like tattoos, and a pair of deep-set eyes narrowed in irritation as they passed over Oghren; "Atrast Vala, Grey Wardens. I am Kardol, commander of the Legion here in the Dead Trenches."

"Atrast Vala, Commander Kardol." Alistair replied in turn, one fist over his heart. The others followed his example, including the non-Wardens; "I am Senior Warden Alistair, and these are my fellows Daveth, Talia, Sten and Jowan, as well as Wynne of the Circle, Morrigan, Brelyna and Leliana."

"Not all of you Wardens, then?" Kardol muttered as his eyes wandered through their lines. He stopped, as Talia had more or less expected him to, when he saw Brelyna; "Tits of the Paragons, what's wrong with _You_?"

"I-I…There's n-nothing wrong with me, I assure you." Brelyna stammered defensively as the dwarf seemed ready to shove his way through the group to get to her. Luckily he seemed just as intent on staying out of Oghren's reach - which was most likely the radius of smell - and so remained where he was; "I am_ not_ an abonination or a demon or, or anything!"

Kardol blinked.

"She's an elf, Kardol." Oghren added in; "She's not sick or anything, so shove off with those eyes, eh?"

"Aha?" the man grumbled, squinting at the Dunmer. Talia could feel her morsels grind at the back of her mouth, irritated by the man's straightforwardness. This was starting to feel too much like the times when people on the surface thought Brelyna was an abomination; "Well, as long as you don't add to my pile."

"Trouble?" Alistair asked, seemingly grasping the first chance to change the subject. From the way Talia noticed the tenseness of his stance, maybe he had caught on as well?

"Aye, but nothing we can't handle." Kardol sighed, gesturing for them to follow him. Sigrun more or less just added herself to the group as the commander gave them the rough equivalent of a tour. It was informative, if nothing else, and served to highlight just why the dwarves in the Legion were so damned effective at their task, unlike the Fereldan army, to mention some.

"Don't you think this is a bit…underwhelming, for a defense against the Darkspawn?" Wynne asked as they stopped near the bridge once again. With the smell of burnt Lyrium now gone, the aromas from several cooking-fires now wafted through the air instead, making the whole place resemble a camp more than a stronghold.

"The Legion's always undermanned and underwhelming compared to the Darkspawn, that is true." The man nodded grimly, resting his back against one of the bridge's wall-struts; "However, as long as the Nobles in the Assembly can't even figure out how to smack a crown on a girl's head, we're stuck where we are. At least the chaos up there's not been affecting our supply-lines as much as the Deepstalkers do, or the giant spiders, so we're not running out of equipment or ammunition for the foreseeable future."

"Endrin's death wasn't even a week ago, Kardol, how'd you hear 'bout it already?" Oghren asked; "Plus the sodding succession?"

"Word travels, even in the Deep Roads." Kardol replied curtly, almost as if unwilling to part with a secret; "That said, the numbers of recruits pretty much dried up months ago. Sigrun's our newest addition, and she's been here…Sigrun?"

"Three months, more or less."

"Meaning that we're not going to be making any pushes against the Darkspawn until we get some reinforcements." Kardol nodded; "We're all that stands between the Darkspawn and Orzammar, right here at this bridge. We can hold, but that is all."

"Why not just blow it then?" Talia asked, glancing at the bridge in question. It already had some holes in it, bringing it down shouldn't be that much trouble. Plus, if they did it now they'd be able to hit the fuckers marching down below. _Then again…we kinda need it to get across…Shite._

"You'd think that'd be smart, wouldn't you?" Kardol shook his head; "You're not the first to suggest it, Warden. The problem is that Darkspawn are very simple creatures most of the time: as long as the bridge remains where it is, they'll try crossing it no matter how many men we put on our side, and how many _they_ lose. If we blew it up, they would find another way across, and we'd have no idea where from then. The Legion prefers knowing where the threat comes from."

"I think I can get behind that line of thinking." Talia sighed; "Listen, we're looking for a Paragon, Branka."

"Aye, I'd guessed she'd be involved when I saw Oghren in your group." Kardol groaned and gave the red-headed dwarf an irritated stare; "And I'll tell you the same thing I've told him the last six times he's been down here. Branka's dead. Dead, gone and at this point probably not even a skeleton remains. I wasn't kidding when I said this is where the Darkspawn try to cross into our territory; everything beyond it belongs to them. You cross this bridge, you're most likely dead within the hour."

"But Branka wasn't alone." Oghren growled; "She came here with her entire house!"

"One less house in Orzammar, then." Kardol shrugged; "Look, Branka's dead. And I'm not risking men trying to find a dead woman, and neither should the Wardens, if you ask me."

"Aside from Branka…" Alistair interjected before Oghren had the chance to punch Kardol in the nose; "Princess Aeducan also sent us to find the Anvil of the Void. Does the Legion know anything about it?"

"Anvil of the Void…?" Kardol sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose; "Ancestors, I knew the girl would feel pressed to find something, but _that_? The Anvil's about as real as endless Lyrium or talking Darkspawn. Even if Caradin really _did_ use something like an anvil to make golems, there's no way it hasn't been destroyed when the Darkspawn took the other thaigs. You're looking for a myth, Wardens, something that doesn't exist anymore."

"Why'd she send us to find it then?" Daveth mused with a hint of clear annoyance to his tone. Talia wasn't quite sure what it was directed at though.

"Sod if I know the minds of the Nobles. Royals too, really…" Kardol shrugged; "From what I know of the Princess, she's a smart one. Don't see why she'd ask you for something like this."

"Could be, she believes the anvil to be real?" Leliana mused; "After all, _something_ allowed Caradin to make his golems, no?"

"That's…true, I suppose." The commander sighed; "Look, _if_ the anvil exists, good for you, and Orzammar, _probably. I'm_ not holding my breath though…Still," Kardol clapped his hands together; "...now that you're here, and we're not under attack, how about joining us for some food? Legion might get some news from Orzammar, but nothing really gets down from the surface."

Alistair, being their leader, seemed to pause at the offer. Talia would have jumped at the offer without hesitation, but then again, Alistair wasn't her - thank the Divines for that one, too. Still, in the end he accepted the offer with as much curtesy as could be spared in the Deep Roads.

Which was good, because she was _hungry_.

* * *

Dinner, or as much as hurriedly stuffing one's face with rations in the company of "dead" people, miles underground, was a surrealistically cozy affair. More or less.

It turned out that, with not one member of the Legion being anything but soldiers, each soldier in turn also had to be able to make the Legion continue its efforts. This meant being able to mend equipment, repair armor, clean and heal wounds and - most importantly - cook a proper dinner.

It wasn't as much a dinner, though, as it was the most nourishing meal possible with as few ingredients as possible spent making it. The result was some sort of cheese-like abomination, mashed flat and fried on pans over open fire, before being mixed up with water and eaten like porridge. Each soldier even had his own spoon, resulting in Alistair cursing the fact that they'd left pretty much every piece of non-essential gear in Orzammar. Still, Talia found it easy enough to drink, and so for once didn't bother trying to complain, when the others were either doing it for her, or exchanging news with the Legion.

She had other things on her mind. Literally.

While the others fell into a sort of familiarity with the commander of the Legion, as well as those of his soldiers on duty and not asleep in their armor - and really, could dwarves actually do that without their backs promising bloody murder later? - she withdrew a little, and settled into a corner of the compound with the final drops of porridge lingering in her bowl.

_Hakkon?_

It was the first time _she_ would be the one to initiate what could generously be called a conversation with the dragon, and she wasn't even sure if she _could_ start a conversation with him - _it - _ from her end of the bond. Honestly, she wasn't even entirely sure _why_ she wanted to try it in the first place, seeing as Hakkon was a definitely malevolent entity with nothing but her servitude to him in mind.

But then…there had been the moment where she'd seen the Archdemon.

When she had seen the tainted dragon, the Old God, as some called it, she had been terrified. It had been pure terror, unabated terror and fear at the sight of something so massive, so abominable and so utterly _evil_.

…_Hakkon?_

And then, she had felt sorrow. It wasn't even her own sorrow, but instead sorrow and grief and then rage, flowing through the bond she unwillingly shared with Hakkon. Hakkon, whom had introduced himself by taking over her body and using it to slaughter hundreds of Darkspawn, had cried out in sorrow at the sight of the Archdemon. He had even used words like '_companion'_ and '_sister'_. It was disturbing and confusing to no end because that just did not match how dragons were supposed to act. Even '_love'_, something she had never thought dragons even capable of, had been amongst the words Hakkon had wailed at the corrupted being.

_Hakkon? Can you…does this work? _

It was fucking weird, and Talia wanted none of it. She wanted nothing to do with dragons or Archdemons or magical brands or any of the supernatural bullshit currently doing its level best to utterly mess up her life. It was something she'd rather tie to a boulder and kick off the side of a ship than have anything to do with. And for exactly thát reason, she had never really _had_ a choice to begin with...

_Hakkon?_

It had all just been forced upon her by batshit cultists and some sort of magical mirage of herself, tricking her into drinking blood from a creature she had already had fairly solid suspicious of being the same kind of dragon bringing death to Skyrim. It was just one thing after another, and only now, when she had a chance to sit down and listen to muffled conversations echo off into the cavernous abyss, did she realize just how tired she was.

Talia was tired. She was sick, and she was tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll between entities so powerful that she could never hold a candle to them anyway. She was tired of being treated as a threat by the very people she had already risked her life and sanity to save more than once, and she was tired of being stuck in a country which treated mages like criminals from the day they were born. She was tired, so very, very _tired_, of being involved in a war against an evil older than possibly even the Septim Empire.

She had not had a chance to realize all this before now. There hadn't been a moment where she could just sit down on her own, alone and undisturbed, and realize just how deeply she had gotten herself and her friends involved with a conflict that inherently did not concern them. And yet, because of choices made beyond her influence, by people misunderstanding intentions and identities, she had been forced into this, and as a result, so had her friends.

Now, she was sitting in a corner of a ruined compound miles underneath the surface of a foreign continent, licking morsels of porridge from her bowl surrounded by veteran, dwarven warriors, a member of an organization dedicated to combating an army of pure-bred evil, trying to keep her friends and loved ones safe…all the while with her mind attempting to commune with her draconic overlord who may or may not be in a state of emotional break down…

…and she wondered, when the world had gone so completely insane.

* * *

**Holy shit am I glad to be back to writing at full force once again! :D**

**I'm seriuously not even kidding; the period throughout my finals where I had to shelve all my writing was just about the most excruciating three weeks of my life since returning from New Zealand. that being said, I haven't been under a lot of duress _before_ that, so it's not really all that out of proportions. If I'd been confirmed with some sort of tumor back in November, _then_ we'd be talking serious shit, but luckily for me - and you, I suppose...maybe - there was nothing wrong and as such I can bring you this chapter, which I like.**

**Also, ridiculous as it may sound, I finally got my hands on Inquisition today. Yes, I haven't actually played the damn thing before today, and had to rely on LP's and the wiki to get the info I needed for the story. Which had its ups and down, mind you, because while LP's can be unreliable in their updating, at least the one I found was funny as Hell, so I'll probably keep watching him - Jesse Cox - even though I now own the game myself. Plus, my pc can't run the game as smoothly as he can, so I have to focuis more on staying alive than actually just living the game. Still, at least now I have the "physical" manifestation of Talia down to boot, which is nice, though it took me a few tries to get something that didn't look like Daenerys had intercourse with a Leprechaun.**

**And just because I am born horrifyingly curious by nature - and because you need something to review me about, or not? I don't know... :3 I was wondering...what is your impression of Hakkon, taking into account both what has happened so far, and his "short" role in "Jaws of Hakkon"? I was actually quite pleased with that expansion because it meshes quite nicely with what I have planned.**

**Well, Roku is signing off here, and since I probs won't get another chapter out before the year is, I'll just wish the lot of you a Happy New Year, and a happy New Life Festival - because I actually have to keep track of Elder Scrolls holidays and festivals too - and hope you don't go blowing off those fingers of yours: you need them to open chapters, don't you? ;3**


	44. An Empire gone, and an Empire to come

_Seeing as my laboratory went up in…well, I suppose in flames but also very much shrapnel and bits and pieces flying willy-nilly…I did not just write…I really, __**really**__ need to get my hands on an eraser. Paper is far too expensive for me to just rip a page out and I can't hire a scribe because they can't write or read Imperial common…_

_Seeing as my laboratory __**blew up**__ \- honestly that should just be the term instead. Makes it easier - and I therefore do not have a place to carry out experiments, never mind the resources required for doing so, I asked Cullen's permission to instead assist in the drilling of what soldiers are currently here. That is to say, of course, that I was allowed to resume the training of my kids._

_I know it would seem childish or silly, perhaps even immature to others, that I consider people not of my blood, and some of them not five years my junior, to be my kids, but…Grey Wardens don't have kids. Tried and proven theory, with emphasis on the tried part. Well, mostly. It depends on how long the taint has been in your body, so...a year or so after the Joining? _

_Plenty of chances, to put it mildly. _

_The axillaries, at least, have not been slacking off in my absence - I would have had them running the length of the Frost backs if that had been so - and I am almost feeling…I'm not sure, but perhaps sad that I have missed so much of their growth. When I left, it felt as if I was leaving behind staggering infants and toddlers, and now…now they have improved __**so**__ much._

_Perhaps they will even be ready when the war breaks out._

_Because a war is coming, and something in my bones tells me it'll dwarf the current conflict..._

_Tirdas, 2__nd__, Suns Dawn, 9:41 Dragon._

* * *

**An Empire gone, and an Empire to come**

* * *

…_Hakkon? Hakkon?_

"Can't sleep?"

Following dinner, or lunch, or…maybe it was breakfast - Talia honestly had no clue what time it was on the surface when they'd eaten - Kardol had offered to let them rest in the compound. It might just have been simple curtesy or maybe out of respect for his fellow killers of Darkspawn, but the Breton could see Alistair's expression lighten up as if someone set his hair on fire.

In hindsight, that probably wouldn't improve on his mood.

Still, falling asleep in the Deep Roads…Talia had done a lot of things in her just about six months in Thedas at this point. She'd killed Darkspawn, tried drinking their blood, escaped dragons, then tried drinking _their_ blood, been imprisoned on misunderstood grounds, lost friends, seen the dead walk, seen _dwarves_, of all things, and even ended up indentured to a draconic…she was pretty sure Hakkon wasn't a deity, but was also getting the impression he was more than a simple dragon too…yet after all this, trying to fall asleep in what was literally the Archdemon's hallways, had her on edge.

_Hakkon? _

It didn't even improve much on her mood that the Legion had spare sleeping rolls. They'd belonged to killed soldiers - though somehow they'd been dead the moment they entered the Legion, which was just plain weird - which meant they now had comfortable, if slightly too short wrappings to fall asleep in. Sten didn't even bother though, after finding out that he couldn't even get both legs into the damn things, and instead just slumped against the wall.

Talia grimaced with irritation and weariness, repeating the draconic being's name over and over in her mind, struggling to find whether or not she could get through.

_Diinaan-Yol? _

"You guys catch some shut-eye." Sigrun - and wasn't she a peculiar woman? Seriously, Talia had to stop herself from calling her 'Dela' half the times the diminutive girl addressed her - had assured them, hefting her weird weapon over her shoulder; "We'll make sure nothing gets past our lines."

"We appreciate this." Alistair had replied with a sincere smile and nod.

Talia had followed the exchanges between the on-duty Legionaries from her roll, trying to find something to shut her brain off from the very real issues threatening to pummel her mind, namely Hakkon's behavior. She'd been trying for nearly an hour to get through to him, to no avail, which probably meant the bond was one-way only.

Which kind of sucked.

She nodded at Brelyna's question, trying to gauge her friend's expression in the dimmed light offered by the canvas separating the sleeping-compartment from the main compound. The Dunmer, like herself, was coiled up underneath as many blankets as she could get her hands on. It wasn't because it was particularly _cold_ though, but more for the odd sense of safety they brought.

"Something's on your mind, isn't it?" Brelyna asked softly.

"…yeah." Talia huffed, pulling her knees up along her chest, finding some measure of contentment in the fetal position; "…no…not…not really…I'm just _sick_ of this place…"

The others, from what the Breton could gleam of her comrades, didn't seem to share in her trouble of falling asleep. Alistair was already snoring away, armored plates stripped off to his padded coat. Daveth, likewise, hadn't taken long to go under, but seemed to be shifting uncomfortably in his sleep. Everyone else just seemed to be quietly sleeping. Sten, surprisingly, didn't snore at all.

Morrigan did, however, which was more funny than it really should have been. Maybe it was because she always had her tent a bit removed from their camp that no one had noticed it before. Because Talia was fairly sure Alistair wouldn't have been able to abstain from nagging her with it if he knew. _Notice to self…Keep Alistair alive, keep him ignorant…_

Or something…really, her mind wasn't the most capable thinker right now. She was buzzed from the constant walking, the fighting and more than anything else, the thunderbolt of terror, grief and rage that had been unleashed upon her mind when seeing the Archdemon for the very first time. The monstrous beast had absolutely _dwarfed_ everything Talia had ever seen. Just a force of rot and scales and possibly some sort of really disgusting fire as well - because there was _bound_ to be something like that -, there was no way they could bring that thing down with nothing but Alistair's proposed "_stab it 'til it stops moving_" tactic.

It would be tantamount to hunting giants with cutlery. _Gods…that thing was massive…how on Nirn are we supposed-_

A pair of warm arms, gently snaking their way around her waist, was the first warning Talia got of Brelyna having moved. She instinctively stiffened for but a second at the unexpected contact, which had little to no effect on the Dunmer's embrace. Slowly, Talia managed to get over the surprise, and adjusted her legs a little to intertwine them with her friend's, and felt a sigh of relief roll from her lungs. Warm breath came on her neck, accompanied with whispers in her mother's tongue.

"_Close your eyes, oh sweet one, I am here. No harm befalls you, no nightmares wreck their havoc, for I am here…close your eyes, my sweet one, Azura watches you. Close your eyes, sweet one, for with her your dreams are free…"_

It was a Dunmeri lullaby, and it was one her mother had sung to her more times than she could count. The nights had flowed together, merged in the haziness of her mind as the words, well-known and welcome, coaxed her into relaxing. It didn't even matter that the Dunmer signing it now, voice so soft and gentle, was younger than her...

"..._find in the darkness, naught but warmth. Find in the land of sleep, naught but the comfort of home….Close your eyes, my sweet one, the Princess watches you…"_

…and it was nice, and warm, and most of all, it was a sense of familiarity in the darkness of the Deep Roads. Snuggling a bit deeper into Brelyna's embrace, Talia managed to forget about the Deep Roads, the Darkspawn and the dragon in her head, and drifted off.

* * *

"What's the password?"

Aedan wasn't entirely sure how to react when, after having forced their way into the Carta's hideout, they were challenged by a trio of thugs who, more than anything, seemed bored and disinterested with the newcomers.

The leader didn't even raise a brow at the Khajiit. Aedan felt like a walking cat should have raised at least _a little_ curiosity. He still had to stop _himself_ from staring, whenever J'zargo licked his arms, or pivoted an ear. But the dwarf before him, right now, didn't seem to care whatsoever.

"Well…._shit_." J'zargo growled.

"Bugs!" Cíada then exclaimed, stepping up next to the cat. Her wide smile, combined with what Aedan suspected her to be planning, was downright chilling. The guard furrowed his brows - the only hair on his head - and glared at the elven girl, even as she spread her arms out in a welcoming gesture.

"Looks like we have- _wha_-?"

The first time Aedan had met Cíada, more than anything he'd assume she would be pretty much like her mentor, Wynne. He'd seen the somewhat smaller girl, her frail build and delicate features, and assumed she was more shy and non-aggressive than women like Talia or Morrigan, both of whom never really hid their capacity for magical murder.

In this, Cíada wore a mask. Underneath that mask of innocence and slight cheek, was a summoner and entropic mage of high caliber. And not just thát, but a somewhat inhumane one at that too. The thugs started drawing their weapons, even as her form glowed with radiant green, and her outline seemed to dissolve.

Then the insects started spawning, appearing out of the pools of energy visible all across her body. Thousands upon thousands of tiny, insignificantly small creatures summoned from Maker-knows-where. Aedan wasn't nearly as interested in that specific detail as he was in trying to keep his distance to the devouring swarm.

The thugs stopped where they stood, having but a second of contemplation before the first set of tiny mandibles and pincers bit into their skin, followed immediately by their brethren. The noise of the swarming insects actually managed to more or less overpower the screams - which died out fast as the insects entered their mouths - and when the room finally quieted down, and the insects dispersed, Aedan was more than just a little uneasy at seeing the skeletons now scattered on the ground, bones picked clean of meat, with what armor hadn't been leather still coming to a rest on the tiles.

"J'zargo will admit…" the cat started, nudging a cleaned skull with the tip of his boot; "…he might have underestimated the elf…"

"Don't beat yourself up, cat." The girl grinned, rolling her shoulders as she walked on the bones, snapping a few scattered ribs; "Just compensatin'. No fireballs, you know?"

"Look, if Dela's sister is actually here…maybe hold again with the terrifying swarms?" Aedan tried, popping open his visor with the back of his gauntlet. It was _Hell_ trying to have a conversation when your own words were slammed right back by the metal face-protector; "If we just killed indiscriminately, we risk her as well."

"Daveth's damn well better be grateful as Hell we're doing this…" the elf groaned, kicking aside a dropped dagger. The sight of her doing that, while wearing Circle robes, was in its surrealistic oddity _not_ lost on the young noble; "Does he even _know_ this girl?"

"…I don't actually know." Aedan had to admit, picking his way through a crate of medicinal supplies. He wasn't a _thief_ \- namely because the Carta were thugs and in principle you couldn't _steal_ from thugs - but he knew not to underestimate the value of healing potions, and organizations like the Carta were _bound_ to have them lying around. He did find three small flasks, too, so he was at least justified in that; "I'd honestly think this is as much for the princess as for him."

"…the princess?" Cíada cocked her head, just a little in confusion; "Why?"

"J'zargo thinks it is because the girl is pregnant, yes?" the cat mused; "He understood as much earlier."

"Sounds about right, I'd say." Cullen muttered, breaking his silence at last; "the lady Aeducan is the last of her line as it is. She might prefer having the line of inheritance secured with prince Bhelen's unborn child."

"That's…pretty perceptive, actually." Aedan couldn't help but be surprised. So far, Cullen hadn't struck him as a man particularly interested nor knowledgeable on the workings of blood lines and heirs; "Did they teach you that in the Chantry?"

"Not exactly…" the Templar smiled thinly, a note of discomfort expressed in both his eyes and voice; "…one of the mages I knew in the Circle was from a Noble family…"

"You mean Simon?" Cíada asked, her expression growing somewhat more sober; "He died a few days before Talia arrived at the Tower, didn't he?"

Aedan blinked, this was news to him. Cíada had been there when Talia arrived at the Circle the first time? While in hindsight obvious, it was still something he hadn't considered, and caused him to wonder, just what kind of impression the girl he had fallen in love with, made when she arrived? Probably not a positive one, and he didn't blame her for it.

"This one was not aware the elf was present when Talia and Onmund were taken." J'zargo, as if the cat had been sharing his mind, spoke first, the slightest edge to his normally suave voice; "You did not mention this before. _Khajiit_ wonders why."

"Didn't think it was important, seeing how I didn't even speak with her at the time, plus I don't think I even saw 'Onmund', so…." Cíada shrugged, the soberness somewhat leaving her voice again. Aedan was starting to get the feeling she didn't know how to stay melancholic for long, or at least just contemplative; "Cullen did, though."

Two pairs of eyes, a cat's and a nobleman's, turned to the young Templar. J'zargo's ears flexed with visible agitation, something Aedan realized was a sign that maybe they shouldn't be doing this right now, in the middle of Carta territory. Cullen seemed to realized something along those lines himself, shifting on his feet with clear discomfort.

"Khajiit is curious…did Talia not protest the imprisonment? Did Onmund not? J'zargo seems to remember his friends being quite…vocal, when the Templars challenged us in the Wilds…" The edge was still there, ever present in the cat's voice as he offered Cullen nothing but a flat stare.

"Look, maybe we shouldn't be doing this right now, while inside the Carta's hideout?" Aedan suggested, trying to disarm the situation he could well imagine blowing up in their faces. Far as he knew, Cullen had been around Talia when she had been imprisoned, and knowing Talia, Aedan could not imagine her _not_ protesting what she viewed as at best a mistake. _Actually…it's something of a miracle she didn't just kill them all…do Templar abilities even _work_ on her kind of magic?_

"I…oversaw their harrowings, both of them, as a spectator, mostly…" Cullen hesitantly muttered; "I _swear_, we thought they were just apostates, _every_ apostate we bring in _always_ makes up stories, _always_, we just…I don't know, I didn't make the decisions…"

"Cullen, you're _not_ to blame for what happened." Cíada assured him, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder. Given the difference in height, the sight would have been amusing if not for their situation. J'zargo 'hmmm'ed, as if being indifferent to it all.

"J'zargo does not place blame for things he did not witness..." The cat muttered; "But he has known Talia for years, now. The girl does not forget things like these. And J'zargo has…not known her to forgive easily, either."

Aedan remained quiet, throughout the exchange, even as the elf started bickering with J'zargo, who for once seemed entirely unamused with her antics. He wasn't sure what to say, really, and decided to just make do with putting one foot in front of the other, seeking out threats as they advanced through the tunnels.

He really hoped things were going better for Talia and Alistair's group.

* * *

"Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the Deep Roads?"

"I'm pretty sure you have, yes…" Alistair sighed.

"I _mean_ it." Talia bit out, wincing with mental pain as one of the Hurlocks impaled her familiar through the side, dispelling the wolf with a cry of pain. Talia snarled and rewarded the shitskin with a fireball to the face, scorching flesh and puss from the skull before repeating with a similar attack to its chest, blowing the corpse back into its fellows, crowding the narrow bridge; "It's full of darkspawn and Archdemons and crazy people and dead people… and whatever the _fuck_ those things are."

She accompanied her last words with a gesture to one of the less common variants of Darkspawn, if that was indeed what it was. It certainly seemed to like hanging with them, but behaved…more intelligent, than them, somehow. The thing stood about as high as a Hurlock, but looked more like something avian than a human. Almost as if an Argonian had been…_darkspawned_, she supposed. Each hand was adorned with long, raking claws that didn't seem to mind armor whatsoever. Alistair now had some deep scratches in his back-plate to show for it.

They'd killed the damn thing alright, but it hadn't been the only one of its kind, sadly. What was worse, they seemed to share in the unnatural ability of their archers to simply melt into the shadows, as if it wasn't even there.

"Think they're called 'Shrieks', actually…" Daveth observed tersely as he let fly another arrow, the head passing by Sten's shoulder with inches to spare, before burying itself into the eye-slit of an Alpha's helmet. It didn't kill the bastard - it really did seem like mortal wounds didn't actually apply all that much to Darkspawn in general - but it allowed Sten the window he needed to grab the Alpha by its neck and throw it over the side, into the darkness below; "All the more reason Cíada's not here, I'd say."

"Being?" Talia asked, right before flinching and ducking as a ward sprang up to her right, moments before a corrosive spell of some kind impacted on it; "Son of a-!"

Looking around at first, she spotted Brelyna maintaining the spell, and then the Darkspawn responsible for having thrown the corrosive bolt in the first place; "Okay, we've got an Emissary!"

"Daveth, Talia, deal with him!" Alistair yelled over the sound of fighting, even as his focus never left the Hurlocks, two of them at once, trying to take him down with their saw-like blades; "Sten, _shift_!"

'Shift', as their glorious leader had dubbed it, was a method for controlling the flow of battle when severely outnumbered or facing a singular foe of far superior strength. Right now, it was the former, and the Qunari was nothing if not adept at memorizing pretty much everything with just the slightest ties to combat. Sten didn't even pause to nod, instead just taking a step back, keeping his sword abreast as the Darkspawn came for him, only for Alistair to sweep in, slamming his shield into one, effectively knocking them both to the ground for Sten to curb-stomp. Brelyna's atronachs more or less just did their own thing, acting more on some sort of instinct than actual intelligence.

There was no arguing with the results, though.

That was about as far as Talia's attention was allowed to linger on the melee, as she and Daveth now had their own objectives. Objectives, as in multiple ones, as the first Emissary was now joined by two of its kin, both Genlocks. Which was - she supposed - a good thing. Genlocks tended to have less punch than their larger buddies.

That wasn't to say they weren't lethal though, oh no. Talia hadn't survived half a year as a Warden by underestimating the Halflings, frail as they seemed. It might just be the knowledge that they were actually once dwarves, somehow, and stronger than regular dwarves too. They didn't even lack the same spells as the Hurlocks, and were actually _harder_ to hit.

Daveth let out a swear next to her, as the first of his arrows bounced off of a shimmering barrier springing into life around one of the Genlocks. Talia grit her teeth at that, realizing that the damn things actually possessed the brains to expect an attack. Which was bad, because it meant they were getting smarter. Still, she wasn't about to be outdone by any of those undead midgets.

Sweeping her staff through the air in a broad circle, she gathered the energies into the round stock, using the centrifugal forces to really drive home to the point that all the magical destruction was to be focused in just one blast, before bringing the bladed end down first, borderline _slinging_ the bolt of concentrated inferno at the central Emissary. It connected with a powerful _floosh!_, but beyond that seemed to do little to actually damage the bastard's barrier.

Right, she realized with a frown, partially concealed behind her splayed hair, even if magic wasn't the same across the oceans, fire would always be fire, regardless of how it was created on the fly. It didn't even matter whether the fire was made magically or by hammering a pair of rocks together for sparks, if it could be thrown it would be stopped.

She _didn't_ stop, however, because the three emissaries now seemed more than keen on wiping her from the bridge. While the central caster maintained those unfairly powerful shields, the two at its side started flinging fire, brimstone and lighting at Talia and Daveth, but mostly Daveth. Barriers, like a bubble of hardened air, encompassed the archer as the first of the corrosive bolts impacted, splashing across like a pinprick to a soap-bubble. Wynne, expression hardened with effort, was busying herself with not just protecting Talia and Daveth, but also their frontline fighters. Talia, even as she was occupied with slapping aside firebolts with her own staff, couldn't help but find that more than just a little impressive._ Dammit…I've definitely underestimated that woman. _

Relief came, in the shape of two tons of ice, conjured to appear on the same bridge as the emissaries. Brelyna had barely released the spell before turning back to the fray before her, frost and fire spraying from her hands in a bright display of magical showmanship. But Talia already knew her friend was _good_, and didn't need to linger on it before taking advantage of the now distracted emissaries. Funnelling magicka through the fire-runes along the hardened oak of her staff, she released a flurry of firebolts, each no more powerful than what an apprentice would be able to dish out, but with a rate and precision that would have made Faralda proud.

She hoped.

Honestly she'd never really been quite sure whether or not the Aldmeri instructor was a pacifist or no, and it had led to some quite awkward moments over the years. Still, pacifist or no, at least the woman would have to have been proud of the way Talia used the still-glowing runes on her staff to mentally drag the firebolts into a curve before slamming them vertically downwards into the central emissary, overwhelming the barrier with ripples that in the end caused it to burst and shatter.

With the loss of the barrier, so did the emissary lose its concentration for but a moment, but a moment was all that was needed for the barriers of its fellows to fade, and for the lumbering atronach to wither the bolts of fire, acid and corruption, and strike back, kicking the closest of the emissaries from the bridge. As the first fell, the Genlock behind it levelled its crude staff at the construct, and a torrent of flame splashed across the icy giant, forcing it, if not back, at least to stop its advance.

A fresh arrow met with renewed resistance as Daveth attempted to take down the caster. The Genlock farthest from the atronach had taken over the role of providing its fellow with a barrier, and was maintaining one over the both of them. In a response to this, Talia shifted her fire and started pouring the last of her magical resources into, quite simply, bombarding the supporting darkspawn with fireballs, each strong enough on its own to remove a man from the face of Nirn.

Each met the barrier, splashing across and rippling the surface of the arcane bubble, causing stones and tiles to loosen from the bridge itself, before vanishing soundlessly into the vastness of below. Or maybe they did make sound, but the noise generated from Talia's exchange of absolute hellfire was more than overpowering any other source of sound in the vicinity, and she felt as if the staff was trembling in her hands, as the magicka flowed, pulsated, through it like the blood through her veins.

Even as she kept up the barrage, there was a detail which escaped her notice. Mind zeroed in on simply destroying the darkspawn with magical fire and flame, Talia hadn't even realized that the dust raining from the opposing bridge had gone form simply being "dust" and into fully formed chunks of the masonry raining down with each fireball impacting on the stonework and its occupants.

Therefore, she was more than a little surprised when the bridge, without really offering any kind of further warning to either her or the Darkspawn, simply seemed to dissolve, dropping into the darkness below, more like a shower of bricks than a dropping construction. It actually left her guffawing, blinking hard as if the sight had been a mere illusion.

Yet, the bridge remained missing a central piece, and the darkspawn previously occupying it now remained…somewhere, down there in the darkness.

As Sten, Alistair and Oghren finished off the last of the Hurlocks before them, Talia allowed herself just a moment to catch her breath. She hadn't actually realized just how taxing it was to keep up a barrage like that, and wondered if it would even have been physically possible for her before becoming a Warden. She knew the Joining her increased her reserves alright, but this, today, was the first time she really felt like she'd hit the wall.

"That…was some show, that there…" Daveth breathed, somehow as out of breath has her. She wasn't sure why, since he hadn't really been doing much more than simply shooting, but it could probably be written down to adrenaline; "I mean, Andraste's _nipples_, I'm pretty sure that'd count for like, you know…at least a fekkin' grand enchanter."

Talia had to stop herself from glaring at the archer for his comparing her with a member of the Circle. She knew, however, really, that he was just making a complement, and didn't deserve to be glared at. Shit, if he'd been pro-Circle, she'd have found out before now, if nothing else.

"Yeah, well…" she breathed, using her staff as support; "That…might have been a bit more than I should just throw around. Last bit _really_ got me a bit…dizzy."

"Talia?" Brelyna asked from her side, looking ready to offer her support, if needed. Far from being annoyed with the elf - because really, who _could_? - Talia just shook her head and forced out a smile as she waved off her friend;

"I'm fine, fine, just…need a moment." She groaned, feeling her arms protesting every motion she put them through. Yeah, she'd _definitely _strained them with that last one. It'd almost felt like she'd started pouring her _actual_ blood out with the magicka, something she was fairly sure would not be a good idea; "Alistair, you guys okay?"

"What, you mean we could have been _hurt_ by the Darkspawn?" their leader grinned underneath his helmet, which just made his words come out slightly distorted; "Why, that would never have occurred to me."

"I'm going to take that as a yes and just stop listening, if that's okay with you?" she muttered, pulling back the errand strands of red from her forehead and -_sniff-sniff-_ did something smell burnt? "Hey, anyone else smell that?"

"Ah, that'd be me…" Daveth groaned lightly, rubbing at his leg where fire seemed to have hit him at some point. The light plate protecting his thigh had been scorched more or less into non-existence, revealing the layer of padding underneath, which had been singed and blackened; "You ah…wouldn't happen to have one of those "pepper-things" on you?"

"…no." Talia really didn't care if Daveth was about to develop a new strain of taint right there on the spot. She was _not_ going to even _contemplate_ giving him a pepper-up, never mind the consequences of such an irresponsible action. He was enough of a pain as it was without adding drugs into it.

"That a 'no, I don't have it' or 'I'd never let you touch it' no?"

"Yes." Because both were right. She'd been woefully unprepared for just how extensive their work in Orzammar would be, and had barely brought any potions or poultices with her from Redcliffe. And what she had, she'd either left in the city with Aedan, seeing as both herself, Wynne and Brelyna would be unavailable, or it had already been spent by Alistair or Sten throughout their fights.

They'd made the crossing over the Dead Trenches after waking up, waiting only for as long as it took Kardol to sketch up his best estimates on the layout of the area beyond the Gates of Bownammar. That short time had also been when they'd eaten their last meal with the Legion. That left them with just enough rations for three more days, and then, as Oghren had put it, they'd have to start hunting Deepstalkers and Nugs. Luckily, the latter were quite abundant, even in the Darkspawn-infested parts of the Deep Roads.

Now, as they found themselves on the opposite side of the Gate, Talia managed to take a moment, and just appreciate how _big_ it was. Black and wrought in metals she could only make guesses at, the gate was a pair of massive doors, barred from Kardol's side with a metal-slide the size of a full-grown oak. If that was a testament to what the dwarves had once been capable of putting up, then truly, a remarkable culture had been lost.

Maybe, once they beat the Blight, the Dwarves could take back their homes.

* * *

The White-Gold Tower was, as it had always been throughout the ages, the central point of not just the Imperial city, but of the Empire itself. Even as the Thalmor had lauded themselves for the highly advantageous concordant, the Imperial city retained its sense of majesty, awe and power. The city was a fortress of more than just military means; it was the stronghold of Imperial culture, knowledge, fashion and history. It also held the center of magical studies in Cyrodiil, which mean there was rarely a shortage of mages and apprentices to be found.

While the citizenry of the Imperial city, and indeed, every town and village for miles around would see the city, and see most of all its centerpiece, the White-Gold Tower, they more often than not failed to comprehend that the Titus Mede II, Emperor though he be, did not rule the Empire with an unchallenged hand. The Elder Council existed as the main center of governance, the high hall were the heads of the Empire met to decide the course which was best for the realm.

To the uninitiated eye, the Elder Council Hall was…somewhat drab. Formed around the central table, the atrium was ringed with columns, each standing as tall as any tower of the city's walls, supporting the internal structure as much as giving off a sense of imposing awe.

It made up for this with the sheer political intrigues always taking place within its marble halls, as well as the debates held within the main atrium, where the representatives from all across the Empire would gather, deciding the course of the realm under the rule of its Emperor, and for the benefit of its people, in theory, at least.

In reality, of course, most everything taking place underneath the atrium's domed and cavernous loft, was to the benefit of three things. Trade, the military, and the Imperial nobility. Most remarkable of it all, perhaps, was that priorities were actually arranged in just that order, with the prosperity of the merchants, and the ease of trade being foremost on the minds of most elected officials.

All of this, the Emperor would oversee, manage and either approve or dismiss. Though each official at the table represented vital aspects of the Empire, as well as each of its provinces, they did not hold these posts for life. Rather, it was a system of elected representatives that had begun as a mere notion in Valenwood. When the Bosmer joined the Empire, their ideas of leadership followed.

The Emperor, Titus Mede II, was alone in the permanency of his duty.

Titus Mede the Second was a man well up into his years. The hair had long-since receded from his head, and a thick, grey beard adorned him, only further adding to the impression of a man weary of his charge. In contrast to many of his contemporaries and predecessors, the Emperor was not an opulent man, nor fattened by a life of luxury and privilege. He carried himself with the regality expected and demanded of his station and birth, and highly valued what little actually intelligent council was offered him on a regular basis. Weary, weathered eyes scanned the table before him, taking in the placid expressions of the councilors and chancellors. _There are far, far too many of these men and women who content themselves with aye-saying…_

They didn't seem to fully comprehend what had just been told onto them. By a King and Arch-magister, no less.

"Arch-Magister Omluard Aulus." Titus acknowledged the man as permission for him to proceed. Or, in the case of many of the present humans and elves, likely repeat himself. Aulus was a man clearly possessing of power, more than what just entailed by his station as king of Bankorai, and its grand city of Evermor. A thick beard, worn in braids and well-kempt, reaching but the top of robes more fit for a mage than royalty, it all added to the image of a man more arcane than most could ever hope to be; "You propose that Akavir, the dark continent, is, what exactly?"

"Populated by humans, my Lord." Aulus stated reverently; "In my observations, and in the search for my daughter, I found our understanding of Akavir to be…misunderstood, mildly speaking."

It _was _mildly speaking, the gods would know that much. The Arch-Magister before him, a man of both wealth, respect and power, was challenging centuries, nay, _eras'_ worth of accepted knowledge of the continent to the east. There was no _mild_ way of speaking those news, especially not to the governing body of the Empire, and the Emperor himself!

"Arch-magister, if I understood your explanation correctly, you have known about this…for three months, now?" Titus asked slowly, deliberately so, meaning to be absolutely certain of the Breton's words. In matters such as these, there was no room for misunderstandings. Aulus nodded, to which the Emperor sighed inwardly; "You did not, however, come before the Elder Council with this, before now. Why?"

"…a personal failing, my Lord." The man spoke lowly, as if afraid to be heard. It was not consistent with the man Titus knew, if not personally then by reputation, to shy from attention of those with power. The Emperor leaned forward over the table, supporting his chin on the back of laced fingers.

"…Yes, you said your oldest daughter was the initial cause of your discovery." He had been paying attention, never let otherwise be said of him; "You admitted to have utilized an organization of blood-possessors to track her down, and in doing so found her in…Thedas, yes…" he was not yet certain of what to think of this detail. Did this mean that an empire similar to, or even stronger than his, existed beyond the seas? "And you claimed that not only was this land inhabited by humans, but also by elves and even the _Dwemer_?"

It was that last one that still had the rest of the Council mimicking landed fish, eyes wide and mouths ajar. It was a less than intelligent sight, and not one he appreciated. Aulus seemed to hesitate before speaking, a sign of either contemplation or simple worry, Titus knew not which.

"I would like, if you would approve of it, my Lord, to let my daughter speak for herself." The Arch-magister started, opening his palms. It was clear, even to the non-magical members of the council, that the Breton was asking for permission to use magic before the Emperor; "When I spoke with Talia, she revealed the true cause of my dread. I do not believe there is a single member of this Council who does not know of what events transpired at the Tribunal, with the sacrilege committed by Dagoth Ur. A plague was spread by this madman..."

"The Blight and Corprus, yes…" Titus answered, cutting off those who would likely have begun to yell. Someone always did; "What ties are between your daughter in Akavir, or Thedas as you mean to call it, and these stains on the history of our Empire?"

"If my Lord will allow me to show it…" Aulus nodded, clearly asking permission. The Emperor nodded in return, awaiting what would come. Bretons always managed to bring surprises with them, regardless of the occasion; "This is what my daughter answered me upon my request that she find a way to return to Tamriel…"

The room darkened as the mage started casting his spell. Before them, positioned in the center of the table as if it was a theatrical play, a single shape appeared. At first at blue haze, the form condensed and became that of a young woman, hardly above twenty-five winters, and dressed in what he dimply recognized as the robes of an apprentice mage, but to which institution no clue was given.

She was clearly agitated by what had transpired previous to this.

_"Yes, but the point is, I cannot return. Not now. Not yet, at the very least."_

So, this was the oldest daughter of Omluard Aulus? She sounded assertive, if nothing else. Her stance was locked up as if she couldn't even comprehend herself how to proceed, which _was_ curious, he would grant that much. Running an Empire did not leave him the time to get acquainted with his subjects beyond those who served his immediate needs. This was interesting.

Then again, this day in its entirety seemed to be interesting, even at its most dull.

_"There is…an evil sweeping across Akavir. They call it the Blight, an army made up of horrible, twisted creatures. There also is a special order dedicated to fighting these monsters. I have…joined them. I won't return home until this is completed. I made a pact, that if the gods saw to the safety of Brelyna and J'zargo, I would…do my part to help. The gods upheld their part: my friends are safe, and I feel like I should uphold mine as well."_

Aulus closed his open palm, and the visage of his daughter vanished from the table, allowing the return of illumination to the room. Titus Mede turned his attention from the table to the girl's father, rubbing at his greying beard while trying to contemplate how best to handle such a situation.

A citizen of the Empire, and a very highly placed one at that, was missing in Akavir. That in itself would not warrant him sending aid, even if her loss would mean some upheaval in High Rock's noble houses. Insensitive as it might be, he could not afford to care whether or not the girl lived. Rather, it was the Blight she had mentioned, the creatures she had mentioned, and the order apparently dedicated to combating it, which had him at a momentary loss.

This was…it was unexpected, certainly. It was not what he had foreseen when he rose this morning, that he would find himself faced with the knowledge of another human nation, and perhaps empire, across the sea. The notion was nothing if not attractive, but with it followed this "Blight" Talia Aulus had mentioned. It was distressing, if it was truly what it sounded like, to realize that a plague with its origins in _his_ Empire had spread to another, and was now wrecking untold havoc.

But maybe…maybe there was a way to use this.

* * *

**So, Emperor Titus Mede II makes his entrance *looks at chapter-count* and about damn time.**

**Writing the Emperor is...well, it's a bit peculiar. First of all because I never personally did the Dark Brotherhood quest - I played Skyrim for the roleplay, not to do and join absolutely every faction, just like I didn't join the Thieves...although apparantly one of the thieves has ties to the Septims...huh...Anyway, so the Emperor comes across - to me - as a more or less reasonable man, and not a tyrant or a warlord, but just a regular ruler, which is also how I hope to portray him. **

**I actually had this whole long rant written down last night about a long string of things I was going to talk about (rd. rant about) but then my connection went haywire and I lost the AN before I had a chance to save it. which sucks. Oh well, not much to do about it now, seeing as I remember about half of it...so yeah, one of the reasons my updates have really been slowed down recently is - for once - not because of work or school, but...well, to provide some context, I am a very involved person, meaning I involve and take a personal interest in what happens in my country, and the countries near me.  
So, I had a very...agitated week, to put it mildly, as I watched one case of mass-molestation after the other crop out of the wood-work from Germany, first Köln, then in Zurich and then in Malmø - which is Sweden which doesn't really help my mood - and found out that it had all happened New Years Eve, but the police had fuckin' covered it up because it was done my immigrants...not even refugees, just immigrants from all over the damn place...now, this isn't to incite political debates in the comments, or pm's ranging from support to accusations of racism - frankly I don't think such a thing exists on Fanfiction - please do not prove me wrong - but merely to explain why I have been somewhat absent. **

**I just don't work well when my blood is boiling.**

**Anyway...*sighs* let's move to less infuriating topics. **

**Brelyna is adorable and caring and I just wanted to get it off my chest that I absolutely adore her. There. **

**One of the things I quite enjoy with Talia's diary-entries is that it provides a bit of a peek for you guys, while also being just so vague that it probably - hopefully - sends some of your minds into overwork, trying to figure out what the deuce she has been up to in the span of ten years. Hell, I'd actually love to hear your thoughts on it, and anything else in general, since your response is basically my bread and butter. The more you feed me, the fatter I...wait, no that...bugger...the more you feed me, the...better, I get at writing, I think...honestly I don't know what happened to that metaphor, or idiom or...dear gods I need sleep...**

**...and reviews. I always need reviews. X3**

**Roku, out.**


	45. Majesty Forgotten

"_A stranger is simply an ally you have yet to encounter, but should be thought of as an enemy until such a relationship has been established. For he whom for peace wishes, should always prepare for conflict. Extend one hand in peace, but arm the other with plentiful firepower..."_

_General Algrub-Tho, Orzammar, 2__nd__ Blight_

* * *

**Majesty Forgotten**

* * *

"Oghren, where…are we?"

Alistair's question, though asked somewhat as a mix between humor and confusion. Not that Talia blame him - and for once neither did Morrigan seem to - considering how the lot of them were more or less confused about the setting they know found themselves in.

It was a foundry, that much was pretty obvious going by the large cast-iron forms, the smithies, the mountains of coal and the furnaces stacked around the center of the cavernous room, itself easily covering the area of the College. It was _big_.

What was the source of so much confusion, was that there was hardly a sword or shield in sight. Nor their forms in the stone-casts, which didn't help the situation one bit. What was supposed to just have been an alternative route through Bownammar, had turned out to be Oghren's big chance to brag, though so far only he seemed to know of what. The dwarf was positively _giddy_, which was somewhat unnerving to watch, and couldn't stop himself from running between the forms, foundries and materials, almost as if he expected to find his wife amongst them.

In hindsight, maybe that _was_ the most likely place she would be, Talia realized. Branka, far as the Breton was aware of, was a super-smith of some sort, and would then of course have been right at home in a place like this. So, with that in mind, Oghren could be forgiven his enthusiasm, even if it did die down somewhat when he finally seemed convinced he wasn't going to find her here.

"This is Bownammar's main foundry and forge." The dwarf explained, a clear note of pride in his voice that still did not conceal his disappointment that he was the sole dwarf around; "A few centuries back, before the place fell, this was where the Legion of the Dead had their headquarters, and where their weapons were produced and maintained."

"Don't see any swords or axes though…" Daveth commented; "Plenty of armor, but…"

"Aye, Bownammar's got its own foundry, but…not for what you'd expect." Oghren nodded, trudging back towards the group. Talia looked around at that, finding more unfamiliar objects as she went. First and foremost, were those peculiar clubs the dwarves seemed to be using. She still had _no_ idea what for, since they didn't seem very effective for smashing Darkspawn. She couldn't imagine them being anywhere _near_ as useful as a sword or a spear, and yet, they lined racks upon racks in the foundry, covered with the dust of ages worth of neglect; "Used to be, smiths in Orzammar and Kal-Sharok held the contracts for supplying the Legion with the standard arms and armor. Then Bownammar got expanded and the Legion made its own standardized armor, you know, the black plates."

"Then…what are all those clubs, if Orzammar still makes your swords?" Alistair asked, grabbing one of the items from its rack. The wood of its holster snapped off like a dry twig, leaving the Warden with an awkward handle; "Unless…Oghren, this thing has a trigger…Why does it have a trigger?"

Talia was about to comment on the idiocy of a club having a trigger - because really, she couldn't see the use to it - when she realized that Sigrun's club had also sported a trigger, in much the same manner as a crossbow would. But even then, there was no bowstring, no arms, no way to draw up the string and not even a crank or a foot-hold. _What am I missing?_

"Ey, careful with that thi- and _don't point it at me_, dammit!" the dwarf exclaimed, yanking the odd weapon from Alistair's hands, before gingerly leaning it against the wall where its holster had broken off; "Look, when things get left behind _this_ long, there's no way of knowing if the rune's gone defective. So _don't_ play around with it."

"It's a weapon, I get that much, but it doesn't look like anything I've ever seen." Talia noted, coming to stand next to the dwarf; "Not even in the Imperial weapons guides."

"…the what-now?" Oghren muttered, putting his beard-like eyebrows into a frown worthy of a Nord. His entire persona really seemed to lean towards being raised in Skyrim, which pretty much contradicted the whole "dwarf" thing.

"History books" Brelyna supplied; "So, what are these things, then? From the trigger I would assume them to be ranged weapons of some kind, yet I see no bowstring and no manner of drawing one such back."

"Well…" the dwarf rolled his shoulders in a weary sigh; "It's called a Rune-lock. It's basically what the Qunari are using to hump the Tevinters, just a few centuries older in design, and it uses lyrium-dust instead of…what _do_ you big guys use anyway?" the last one was directed at Sten, who merely replied with a heavy glare, as if the dwarf had done him a personal wrong. Oghren didn't seem to mind though; "Anyway, so the designs changed a bit over the years, but the basic idea's that you shove this thing full of dust-form lyrium, shove in a bullet and blow the head of whatever's pissin' you off."

"…what's a bullet?" Daveth asked as the first, while Talia's mind was working itself into overdrive. If she was understanding the dwarf as well as she hoped she was - and sod it, he was speaking _the same language_ as her - then this thing, this 'Rune-lock', used an explosion to propel a 'bullet' at something, instead of a crossbow-bolt.

Still, it wasn't until Oghren procured a small object from his belt-pouch that her mind more or less flew into the loft. And there was a _long_ way up there.

"Remember that thing I scraped outa the dead nug-humper?" he huffed, though a grin seemed somewhere behind his bushy beard; "_This_, is a bullet…or, used to be, since you really can't fire it more than once."

Holy shit.

Literally. Holy _fucking_ shit.

"Wait…that thing, came out of thát thing?" Alistair muttered in disbelief, while Talia felt as if her skin was growing way too cold and way too hot at the same time. She realized the sensation for what it was, after a few dazed moments; "So…you…blow up lyrium…inside the hole, and then that thing comes flying out like an arrow?"

Talia was pretty sure that sensation was her being pretty much in awe.

"A lot faster, actually, if you'd believe it." The dwarf nodded, stuffing the small object back into its pouch; "Never fired one myself, 'course, since they're only ever known to be handed over to the Legion."

"But…how does it even work?" Jowan muttered, peeking around Alistair's shoulder; "I mean, you say it blows up, but Dwarves can't use magic, so how?"

"…no idea, really." Oghren's reply could, in a less serious environment, have been the cause of sardonic laughter. It really was extremely ironic, or something else in that area, that he was telling them about something so _unique_, and then he wasn't even in on how it actually worked? "Think it uses a rune to do the trick, but dunno how or how it's triggered."

"Oghren…" Alistair spoke in a low, surprisingly calm voice, considering how Talia could feel her own body being ready to burst with excitement. This was…this was actual technology, and it was _advanced_. Far more so than anything else she'd seen yet in Thedas. Maybe even more so than anything in _Tamriel_. Had the Dwarves actually overtaken the Dwemer here? _Holy shit-Holy shit- Holy Shit! _

"Aye?"

"Why haven't the dwarves ever sold this to any of the surface-nations?"

"Sod if I know, you'd have to ask the Shapers for thát one." Oghren shrugged as he walked on, seemingly headed towards what looked like a wrongly proportioned, six-wheeled carriage. Wrong, in the way that the harness and its bars seemed reversed from the carriage-compartment itself, which was even weirder in appearance; "I'll be a nug-humping son of a Duster…"

What was even weirder than the wrong proportions, however, was how a larger version of the "Rune-lock" seemed to be pointing out backwards from the compartment, like a chopped-down log of metal, resting snugly through the only actual opening in the compartment's front. The whole thing was made of metal, and plates as thick as her thumbs seemed to encase especially the front…or maybe it _was_ the back? Was this some sort of dwarven siege-engine or armored carriage?

"…'can't believe they left one of these behind…the locks I get, but _this_?" Oghren's mutterings reached her ears and brought Talia from her mental solitude of over-thinking everything. Their dwarven friend was busying himself with examining the…carriage. For now, she'd just avoid another mind-freeze and simply call it that. Easier that way, even as she was about to _die_ from curiosity.

Just like with the Rune-locks, the carriage seemed to be covered with ages' worth of dust and filth, as if the gods themselves had attempted to make it become one with the rocks behind it. The entire thing looked like you could ram an Ogre with it and come out on top. _Actually…it looks a lot like a battering ram…the thick barrel there could be the ram itself, and the rest would be some sort of manner in which the dwarves pushed it?_

That, or she was completely lost.

"…amazing, really, now that you think 'bout it…"

"Another artifact, I presume?" Wynne mused, gazing at the contraption with wizened eyes. Talia sometimes wanted to kick herself for forgetting the old mage was actually with them. Wynne moved so silently that unless you looked at her, there was little way of knowing where the enchanter was. Doubtless, it was an enchantment of some kind. She knew J'zargo had done something similar once, when he'd been caught trying to peek into Urag's forbidden sections. Oghren shuffled on his feet as he stood, idly kicking one of the wheels with the side of his boot.

"Aye…artifact'd be the word alright…" he hummed uncertainly; "I've never really seen these things used before, only heard of 'em…It's a steel-hide, one of the oldest weapons still around from the days of the dwarven empire…"

"What's it supposed to do?" Daveth wandered around the "steel-hide", as Oghren called it, eyes showing clear interest. Particularly in the battering ram-like protrusion; "Looks like a bigger version of them Lyrium-things, don't it?"

"You know a ballistae?" Oghren scoffed, earning an affirming nod from the archer; "Well, it's kinda like a ballistae is to a crossbow. Same thing, just bigger version, think it was used back…huh…maybe, a few generations before the third Blight?"

"…your people could have conquered the surface with things like these." Talia noted quietly, finding it hard to comprehend just how old this thing was supposed to be. She knew the Blights came with some centuries in between them, so that'd make this thing, this "steel-hide", at least half a millennia old. Back then, the Empire was only halfway on its rise to power, and if the dwarves had been a threat then, could the Empire have held them at bay?

It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Hardly." Oghren grumbled, giving up on whatever he had wanted with the wagon of war before them; "That time, most of the Empire was already lost or losing to the Darkspawn. Think we still had Bownammar back then, before the Blighters took it the first time…Now…doesn't work now, so it's just a useless pile of scrap…"

When they left the foundry, Oghren in the lead, Talia was of her own will at the rear, casting long gazes at the wondrous machines of war.

She had once thought the Dwemer unmatched in their engineering and machines of destruction, that nothing could hope to match the power of a Centurion. But this…the dwarves of Thedas possessed weapons as ancient as the Dwemer themselves, and far more powerful, if just half of Oghren's words were true. _There is so much technology here, lost to the dwarves. I can't imagine just how far they have fallen from their Empire._

Mere hours later, Talia would realize that she could very well indeed imagine just how far the dwarves had fallen, and farther yet again.

"Just…let it out. I've got you…" she was muttering it as gently as she could, holding Brelyna's trembling frame as the Dunmer vomited on the wall. There was really nothing else to say, save for that she herself was close to follow her friend; "…I've got you…"

The sight, the sounds, the _voice_ \- _that woman's voice_ \- were still clinging to the walls of her mind, scraping at her skull with the most horrifying realizations there could ever be. The dwarven woman they'd come across, a woman from Branka's expedition, had been…Talia didn't know.

She had been…Hespith, the decaying woman whom Oghren had addressed by name, had been a ghoul. She'd been a ghoul, and yet she'd still been able to speak to them. It was horrifying, and made even more so by the sight she had greeted them with, as the woman had been in the process of devouring a half-rotten corpse. Talia had been able to swallow her own vomit at the sight, her resistance likely born of the Joining, she neither knew nor cared.

"_That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us... that's why they feed us. But the true abomination... is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed." _

Brelyna…hadn't been so lucky, and had soaked the front of her own robes in the remains of their broth. No one had dared to touch Hespith, even as she simply walked away, leaving the group stunned. Talia's mind being on her friend and her own discomfort, she failed at first to notice how Oghren's expression had simply… _died._

In hindsight, she couldn't fault him for it.

Talia would be the first to admit to knowing very little about Oghren. He was abrasive, rude, loud, seemingly always drunk, violent and uncouth…but he had spent years searching for his wife. He hadn't given up, even when everyone else had told him it was hopeless, that he was being a fool, that she was dead or that she'd probably just left him for someone else.

He hadn't given up, even when Kardol had impressed upon them all that beyond the bridges of Bownammar, everything belonged to the Darkspawn. Oghren hadn't given a damn, and had made sure the Legionaire had been made well aware of that fact. Probably the only reason he himself hadn't crossed those bridges already was that, all his faults aside, he wasn't suicidal._ A group of Grey Wardens looking for a guide must have been like a gift from the gods in his eyes…We were a means to an end for him, and I can't blame him for it. Mara, I could never blame him for it._

Now, after having spent years trying to find his wife, dedicating _everything_ to it, Oghren seemed to have…broken. He hadn't yet moved from the spot he had occupied when Hespith revealed Branka's actions, hadn't uttered a word, hardly even showing signs of breathing. He had, for all intents and purposes, seemingly died where he stood.

"…_she_…B…_Branka_…"

Correction: Oghren _was_ speaking, though it was hardly above a whisper of disbelief. No one else seemed to notice, even Alistair, who in hindsight didn't seem able to notice, scowling at the doorway Hespith had left through as he was. Talia was, for all she could garner, the only one who heard him.

"…Oghren?" she wasn't entirely sure why she tried. He didn't like her, had made that clear earlier and had not really made any indications that it had changed. She also didn't like him much in return, but…no one deserved to be told of how their wife had led their entire house into a deliberate death-trap, turned the women into darkspawn, and fed them the men.

It was pretty much the worst thing she could imagine.

"…_entire…every single…sodding one…she just…"_ she could barely pick out what few words were loud enough to be heard, and he seemed utterly unable to hear _her_; _"…w…why…mad…madwoman, madwoman's quest…madness, just…Branka…"_

Without even pausing to let the others know, the dwarf started moving again, following the trail of bloody footprints left behind by Hespith's boots. One hand still one Brelyna's shoulder, Talia had to give her friend a squeeze to let her know they were moving again. Right now, there was little else to do but to follow the dwarf, unhinged though it seemed he had become…

* * *

Within the towering fortifications of Redcliffe castle, there was little to suggest a civil war was in the making.

The servants went about their restored, daily lives, and the inhabitants of the castle itself lived in what would by most standards be considered "peace". There were no soldiers running the hallways, no long-drawn nights of planning - in the open, at least - no clandestine meetings and no requests for the newly appointed and installed Castle smith to produce hundreds or more so of arms and armor to supply the influx of soldiers necessary for an armed uprising.

This, of course, was because one did not allow even the servants to know of such things. Eleanor Cousland could not boast of having experience with this kind of things - truly, something would have been very much amiss if mounting a civil war was in her repertoire - but she knew that while few ever saw or heard the servants, the servants most certainly heard and saw everything that transpired around them.

Even now, after everything they had brought to light on Loghain and Howe's treachery, as well as their involvement in the nightly assaults Redcliffe village had suffered under, there was no way to be quite certain that amongst the servants did not exist…elements, certain individuals to whom the Blight mattered less than either coin or old feuds.

If Howe truly did have men here, there was little doubt as to which of those reasons said men would adhere.

Still, she had not survived this long if not for the fact that she knew whom she _could_ trust. Ser Gilmore, the ever-present protector, was walking quietly at her side, content with simply being around to offer his protection. So was she, though in truth, she did not mind him for his company either. Gilmore was a good man, better than she believed any noble family could ever deserve in their retain. There were times when she honestly could not explain just how she and Bryce had been so fortunate in their choice of mentor for Aedan.

That was…another thing, she had on her mind. Eleanor knew perfectly well that it was out of her hands, that her sons' lives were out of her hands. Fergus, though she prayed with every breath that he was alive, was nowhere to be found, and as the Darkspawn advanced from the south, the hope of finding her eldest son alive dwindled daily. She felt herself growing quite mad, more than once a day, frustrated and desperate with the realization that both of her children might leave this world before her.

She had already put one of her children on the pyre. She did not know if she would survive doing so again.

But…even so, she knew she would be no good to her son, either of them, if she allowed herself to sink into this pit of depression. If there was a single thing she could focus on to make light of the world as it now stood, it was that while Aedan was putting his life on the line for the good of the world, at least she knew he was among people she could trust to keep him safe to the very best of their abilities.

Was it odd, and even irrational, that the person she trusted the most beyond Ser Gilmore, was a foreign, heathen mage? Eleanor didn't know whether any of those details were even important at all at this point. Talia wasn't from Thedas, that much she had strangely never had trouble accepting. The young woman had simply radiated a kind of persona that conflicted far too steeply with anyone born, raised and found to be a mage within the lands overseen by the Chantry. Adding to that, Talia had never attempted to conceal this from her, not even in Highever. _But then, if what Aedan told me was true, then her homeland shares its borders with so many of differing religions, she might not even have been aware that the Chantry accepts no dissent._

Instead, Talia had acted as if she had felt out of her depth, yet fully familiar with so many things that should not be trivialities for a mage. She was even a noblewoman, if Talia herself was to be believed. And, Eleanor did. So far from her own homeland, the girl had nothing to gain by making up a story, and everything to lose if one such was found to be a lie. Eleanor still vividly remembered her first impression of the Warden, back when she had only just arrived with Duncan. She had in no way attempted to conceal her magic, and had even summoned a familiar the size of Aedan's Mabari, a fiercely appearing wolf-spirit, only for it to roll over and beg scratches from Oren.

Perhaps it had somehow felt Oren's yet barely manifested magic?

Or, perhaps it had simply been as Talia said, that the wolf was a true Familiar, and tied to the girl's soul in a way Eleanor couldn't even begin to comprehend. She did not think so much of herself that she believed to know everything there was to the fiery girl, but…she found herself almost willing to accept that there would always be things she would not know, even when it came to the girl who so obviously had claimed the heart of her son. It was, Eleanor realized, most likely because she could see just how unprepared for it Talia had been, that she trusted her honesty in the matter.

And now, she was entrusting her son to the girl, knowing that Talia would do whatever she could to keep him safe.

It was, indeed, something the Teyrna had never seen coming. Yet now that it was here, and clearly manifested, she could not find it in herself to refuse it. With all the upheaval her life had been through this year, Eleanor wanted at least one bit of change to be positive.

"My Ladyship?" Gilmore sounded more curious than concerned, and his voice brought her back to the present, where they once more stood in the office of Arl Eamon. The Arl himself was, as most of the castle and its village, currently still asleep, but Eleanor had always been a terribly light sleeper, and Gilmore had, bless his soul, simply adjusted to that without prompt; "You seemed to be deep in thought?"

"It is…nothing much. Yes, it is…" she corrected herself, looking at her knight with a mild expression upon her face. Gilmore would never ask if he believed to be intruding, Maker bless his parents for that upbringing, so she knew he merely asked for the sake that, should she be concerned, he could offer what help he…could offer.

"I see."

"Ser Gilmore, do you remember when Warden Talia first arrived at Highever?"

"Of course, though…" the knight paused, gazing though the window with his one good eye; "I will admit, I did not speak with her until the fight in the main hall...she called me a brave man, of all things, after she had healed my injuries. In a way, I suppose I owe her my life; had she not helped me then, it is likely I would have died in the hall…and…"

"…and I in the pantry." The Teyrna finished for him, knowing the knight would likely be unable to. She sighed and rested in the large, stuffed chair behind the desk, turning her head just slightly to observe her knight; "Ser Gilmore, if I might ask a question of you?"

"My Lady?" the knight turned, regarding her with an expression of simple acceptance, even though he was clearly curious. It felt as if he was watching her with both eyes, though now one was a mere hollow, covered with a patch of black leather. The times since Highever had changed him.

"Redundant though I fear the question might be, I wonder…what is your impression of Talia and her fellow students?" even if Gilmore agreed with her, hearing new points would still be helpful in further forming her own opinion of the Warden that loved her son. To this question, Gilmore actually seemed to hesitate, as if uncomfortable with the subject. _Did I mistake something?_

"Talia is…unique, I think." He started, eye searching the room as if for eavesdroppers; "I have not met a lot of mages in my time, but even so, I doubt any would be quite like her. She…has a free spirit, one I have rarely encountered, anywhere in fact. Actually, I think it would be more accurate to say that she _is_ a free espirit, rather than possessing of one. I will be the first to admit, I don't understand a lot of what she has told of her homeland, but…I find myself unable to mistrust her. Perhaps I am biased, after all, in seeing how she has taken care of Aedan, ever since…"

"You trust her." It wasn't a question or even an observation, but simply a statement.

"I do, yes." Gilmore nodded; "while it tears at me that I cannot accompany your son and offer my protection, it helps that I know _she_ can."

"Then, what about her fellow students, the…_Catsiit_, and the young lady Maryon?" it was odd, how the latter of the names seemed to cause a slight jitter in the knight. It had not been Eleanor's impression that he disliked the dark-skinned elf, but maybe she had been mistaken?

"J'zargo, the Khajiit, is…I am not quite sure how to feel about him." Gilmore hesitated. Eleanor made it a note to remember that name, if only because it would not do for her to remain ignorant when it could be helped; "Truly, it is not that I mistrust him or suspect him of malicious intent, but…he strikes me as less forthcoming than his peers."

"I would have said he seemed shifty." The Teyrna mused, quite enjoying the knight's momentary surprise at her words; "However, both my son and Talia, as well as Serah Maryon clearly put their trust in him, despite his appearance and behavior."

"Aedan has always been a good judge of character." Gilmore nodded; "And I find it hard to think Serah Maryon easy to fool."

"She is quite the soft-spoken girl though, would you not say?" Eleanor glanced at the knight, trying to garner if there was a reaction to be found with his expression; "I seem to remember her being quite fond of your company?"

Gilmore's expression was, thanks to his ever-thickening beard, partially concealed, and this managed to lessen the effects of his uncomfortable frown. Still, the Teyrna did not fail to notice it, and found it immeasurably amusing that the smallest inquiry concerning Brelyna Maryon would cause her knight to react like this.

"…I…that is…-" Gilmore started, his voice somewhat more distant than usual, as well as strained to maintain its composure. _Is there really so much wrong with what I see, even if he does not entirely wish to accept it, I wonder? Maryon is not an unattractive young woman, and she strikes me most certainly as a diligent, studious individual. Her affections are clear as day, so…is it improper for me to take an interest?_

A series of hurried knocks on the door to the office was all the warning she received, as the entrance swung open to reveal Bann Teagan. The man looked for all the world to see as if he had seen a ghost, or maybe a dragon. His expression was set in disbelief, and his eyes in stone.

"Bann Teagan." Eleanor rose in greeting, as Gilmore offered a respectful nod of deference. The Bann barely stopped in the door, instead moving to the southern window in the study; "…is something the matter?"

"We have visitors." He muttered, eyes focused at something in the distance, outside of the Teyrna's field of view; "Maker's breath there's a lot of them…"

* * *

**So yeah...I'm kinda being a dick to Oghren. Don't think he actually found out about Branka's doings until he saw her face to face in Origins, but here...I like to torture my characters, and Oghren is probably the only one I can do so with on a deeper emotional basis. Dunno if it'll end up working, but...I'm going to try, at least, and let the lot of you be the judges of it.**

**Also, yes, dwarves are freaking scary.**

**No, they do not have steamtanks.**

**Alright, that should about cover it all. I enjoy Eleanor's pov, for some reason, maybe because she's a chance at writing in a different style? She's an interesting character because she was seen so little in the game.**


	46. Strangers

_I remember, back during the "civil war", as we called it, Redcliffe more or less became not just the Warden headquarters, but the gathering point for every Bann and Earl sympathetic to the Wardens and the fight against the Blight, rather than the insanity that was focusing all the attention of Ferelden's armed forces on keeping out Orlais. _

_Somehow, they never figured people would simply cross over from the sea, which in hindsight was somewhat naïve, what with just how narrow the sea is, which I suppose gives grounds to the name. _

_If anything, the gathering of nationalities in Redcliffe served as a valuable piece of insight into the mentalities and cultures of the nations of Thedas. _

_It would seem we were all so naïve back then, believing simply in the enemy we could see, not the one below the surface. What happened then was just us paying for our single-mindedness, and the consequences are just a few amongst those leading to the current conflict._

_Andraste got thát one wrong. Magic was never the real danger, nor were the mages locked up in towers._

_Man has always been a threat to himself and others, we just refuse to see it when there are scapegoats on hand…_

_Middas, 3rd, Sun's Dawn, 9:41 Dragon_

* * *

**Strangers**

* * *

"Teagan, what…is going on?" Eleanor turned as the last member of their triumvirate, Arl Eamon himself, came upon the battlements turned towards the village proper. The Arl was, for better or worse, accompanied by his wife, and Connor. The boy seemed to still be somewhat skittish from his trials, though the Teyrna could hardly fault one so young for it. His mother seemed to be in a rare state of being more perturbed than actually outraged, which was a definite improvement over the manner with which she usually carried herself. Eleanor, as a Teyrna, believed it the responsibility of the Nobles to take care of their subjects. The Arlessa had…_failed_, in that regard.

"Arl Eamon."

"Brother, have you _seen_ this?" Teagan asked with disbelief and confusion clear in his voice. Eleanor did not fault him for that, herself having some problems understanding what had come to pass. And why it had come to pass _here_. The Arl looked fresh out of bed, though already fit to speak before a Landsmeet. It was sometimes easy to overlook his age, when one realized how much energy still resided in the old man. Even compared to Eleanor, Arl Eamon was far her senior.

"Lady Cousland, Teagan, Ser Gilmore…do you know…what _this_ is?"

The Teyrna held her tongue for a moment, trying to figure out a proper response. To be fair, there was none to be had. Looking from the battlements, they could see the Hinterlands beyond the walls of Redcliffe. Now, what would once simply have been an expanse of woodland, huts and farms, looked as if it had become a town on its own, actually dwarfing Redcliffe Village itself. Hundreds of small constructions, not unlike boats with autumn-red sails and the way they seemed to be gathered in circles around already smoking campfires, had just…appeared, and no one seemed to actually know why, or wherefrom.

It almost looked as if the pine-trees of the Hinterlands had suddenly turned a deep shade of orange overnight.

"Do we have vagrants?" Isolde inquired of no one in particular, though most likely her husband was the target; "Refugees from the South, perhaps?"

"…if they're villagers from the south, it looks to me like they brought the village with them, houses and all…" Teagan muttered; "We should go see what this is, before some of the mercenaries in the village decide to do the same."

The Teyrna did not doubt the Bann was referring to the Orlesian Free Companies that had been arriving lately. Free Companies, as the name implied, did not owe allegiance to anything or anyone but coin and the ones supplying it. That they were Orlesians was only tolerated by the rest of Redcliffe because of their equipment, which seemed on par with what Eleanor knew of Chevaliers. Thick plate, curved and crafted so as to deflect blades rather than block them, and warhammers, maces and broadswords capable of reducing any one man to a ruin on the ground. They were trained, hardened and disciplined, and as such sadly invaluable, for their moral conduct left much to be desired.

She had also seen more than a few Anders, towering men with thick, comparatively simple plates, wielding massive 'Zwei-Hander' broadswords as tall as the Teyrna herself.

If nothing else, their relative short distance to the Orlesian border meant more mercenaries would join their cause than Loghain's, simply for the ease of travel.

As a contrast, the Fereldans currently gathered under the banner of Redcliffe were mostly peasants and freeholders, men who hadn't seen combat since the battle of River Dane, if ever. They were archers, the vast majority of them, skilled enough with a longbow or a pike that they could threaten even seasoned knights. Adding to that, more than a few handled Mabari hounds as well. Many of the latter had slowly trickled in from the lands around Highever, somehow having heard of their Teyrna's survival.

Hundreds of soldiers, sell-swords and men-at-arms, all awkwardly housed in and around Redcliffe Village, most of them in Fort Connor. Still, it was looking more and more like a real army, if not a very organized one.

Some even resided in the tavern of Redcliffe Village, the one that had been rebuilt from nothing but a smoldering ruin. Apparently, the villagers had realized the profits a tavern would bring in with so many soldiers, and had organized its reconstruction before anyone at the castle had even noticed it's need. _Sometimes, we underestimate the drive of those among us. Far too often, I fear._

As the trio of nobility made its way through the village, leaving Isolde behind - for which Eleanor silently thanked Andraste for Eamon's sensibility - she came to realize that, just as she had suspected, a great many of the mercenaries seemed to have armed themselves, as if expecting a siege. Some even seemed gleeful at the prospect, while others seemed more wary. The latter, she was not surprised to find being Fereldans.

"My Lords, My Lady." Murdoch, the mayor of Redcliffe village and its de-facto link to Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon, approached them at the gates, its walls manned by peasant archers who appeared as confused as they were. Ever since the harrowing nights of slaughter, Murdoch had exchanged his common clothes with scaled armor, looking more the part mercenary than elected official, with the long-shafted axe worn loosely in one hand, while the other rested upon his chest; "I was about to send a runner to the castle, but it'd seem you beat me to it."

"Ser Murdoch." Eamon greeted the mayor, glancing at the fully manned ramparts; "What's going on?"

"Haven't the slightest, your Lordship. Woke up 'bout ten minutes ago, found what'd be half a city camping outside the walls, peasants'n villagers runnin' around like we'd be under attack." The mayor grumbled, adjusting his stance; "Nothin's happened yet, so we were arguing whether to challenge 'em or let 'em do it for us."

"Do we know who these people are?" Eleanor asked; "Are they refugees?"

"_Refugees_?" Murdoch regarded her with wide eyes, perspiration glistening on his face in spite of the cold; "M'Lady, it's the elves, a whole horde of 'em!"

* * *

Alistair had, at some point in his life, made a decision not to let the world and all of its unhappiness bring him down with it. That was usually why he cracked jokes and did his absolute best at being witty, for when the choice was between crying and laughing, he preferred being on the latter's platform.

It had served him well, too, over the years. When he grew up in Redcliffe, he'd been known as "that one kid", primarily because he never seemed to take anything seriously, acted like he hadn't a care in the world, and generally caused something of a mess wherever he went. Teagan had really been the only one to be more than friendly towards him, and not just because everyone thought he was Eamon's bastard. He _was_ a bastard, but not Eamon's, whom had later gone on to marry an Orlesian, of all things. An Orlesian who happened to believe those rumors, and thus hated Alistair's guts for it. Even so, he'd kept up a smile and a sometimes somewhat goofy grin.

It had been all he could do, just to avoid breaking down.

When he'd been handed over to the Chantry for Templar training - as much to his chagrin as it was to Isolde's pleasure -he had lost his composure, lost that façade he'd done his best to keep up, the façade that had, at some point, become more than just a mask. Or maybe it always had been. He'd gotten angry, had smashed his mother's necklace against the wall and generally acted pretty much like a brat. In hindsight, those weren't his finest moments. The Chantry _did_ make sure he received an education most would kill for, after all.

Then Duncan had come along, and Alistair had found something he hadn't known for the entirety of his life, even in Redcliffe before Isolde. He'd felt like he _belonged_ with Duncan. The Warden Commander had become a father-figure almost from day one, and really hadn't seemed to mind. When they'd left behind the chantry, Alistair had been able to feel the years of - as he called it - imprisonment, simply fade away. He could laugh and jest again, and instead of being annoyed, Duncan had seemed to enjoy having a recruit who so obviously loved being taken from his "home", such as it was.

He'd even gotten to see the dwarves, when he had accompanied Duncan to Orzammar a few months before Ostagar. He'd even met the Dwarven king, and promptly ensured his own infamy by making a total ass of himself right next to their princess. It wasn't even like he'd _meant_ to say it out loud, he just didn't have that barrier between thought and spoken thought other people did, and suddenly he'd noticed that dwarven women _didn't_ have beards…and things just kind of went from there.

Then Ostagar happened, and all of a sudden he'd gone from Junior Warden to Senior, without really having received an official promotion. No party, cake or banners. Really, it hadn't been all it was made out to be. Instead, he was saddled with not only forming up some sort of armed force to take the fight to the Darkspawn - because first time had worked _so _well - but he also had to deal with Loghain trying to wipe _them_ out, as well as the very real risk that Eamon was going to want his hind-quarters on the throne. Alistair was, if he was to be honest, not sure which task he dreaded the most.

Still, he'd managed to keep his smile through it all - mostly - even when the world seemed ready to end. He'd done his best to live by his 'cry or laugh' code, even when it had seemed improper or outright disrespectful. Still, there were times where he knew doing so would be downright cruel, and so he'd simply kept his mouth shut.

Like now, actually. Oghren was someone who normally would have been a walking source of joke-material and witty remarks. Yet, Alistair couldn't even make himself comprehend joking about what was going on, especially not with what the dwarf was going through. Being informed that the wife you've spent years trying to find in the Deep Roads had actually fed your whole house to the Darkspawn was…'Horrifying' didn't quite cover it, really.

Since encountering Hespith, they'd come across more and more ghouls, almost all of them men from Branka's house. Alistair didn't say anything about it, even as he cut them down, but he knew why there seemed to be so very few women amongst them. It was common knowledge with the Wardens, and most soldiers from the Legion of the Dead, what happened to any women the Darkspawn got their hands on. Brood Mothers, were in a class of horror all of their own.

He should know, because he was looking at one right now.

There was a Brood Mother in front of them, her…_its_ gigantic mass taking up much of the chamber. What from atop started as somewhat human in appearance, quickly became anything but as the eyes traveled below the neck, and found bulging grey flesh, a multitude of puss-filled, dangling breast-like appendixes, and a slug-like form that simply seemed to merge with the organic mush covering much of the ground. The monster was writhing in its place, agitated and furious at their presence.

"That is…" Talia whispered from next to him. The normally fiery mage had seemed especially meek throughout their time in the Deep Roads, though it was especially since her short bout of possession - something he very much intended to grill her on - that she had appeared actively afraid of being down here. Knowing what he did of what could be found _down here_, he didn't blame her; "…a _lot of tits_…"

Despite the words coming from her mouth, he could see the disgust in her eyes.

"So, this is what occurs to any women caught by the Darkspawn, then…" Wynne shuddered, her staff wreathed in flames; "I suggest we put an end to it."

As if it understood her words, the Brood Mother howled, an inhumane, almost super-monstrous sound that shook the very walls of the chamber, causing flesh-like tapestries to shiver all around them. The howl was, within moments, answered by shrieks and cries of a much more familiar nature, and Alistair had to thank his visor for keeping his eyes in their sockets when Genlocks started emerging _from_ the walls, slipping through the meaty mush like maggots in a carcass.

Actually, that analogy might not have been thát far off the mark.

"I'll get it, _you_ just get my back." Talia snarled, something other than human in the fringes of her voice. With her hood up, he could still see her eyes, and the faint glow seemingly coming from them.

Yet, she didn't appear possessed again. He was equally mystified by this, and horrified by what she was saying. Still, it wasn't as if he had a lot of time to contemplate it, as the Darkspawn didn't give them any.

This wasn't going to be very fun.

"Make ready! Sten, Oghren, we're front. Daveth and Leliana, take the sides, mages at the back." He stepped up next to Sten, the Qunari presenting a much more imposing front than him, even as Oghren made the three of them appear like some sort of staircase. It really wasn't the best time to be thinking like that, but he couldn't help it; "Brelyna, Morrigan, whatever summons you can give us."

And then the Darkspawn were on them, hacking and snarling and generally doing their best at being unpleasant. There was once a time when Alistair had feared them, but now, he didn't even think them all that different from a lump of flesh with a sword. They weren't humans, dwarves or elves, or even Qunari, so they weren't actually people. Just monsters, and he didn't feel any bad about carving up monsters.

Neither did Sten, obviously, as the Qunari was leaving two or three new pairs of owner-less legs with each swing of his claymore. He didn't even waste time with vertical swings, instead focusing on simply incapacitating as many of the comparatively tiny darkspawn as possible. To him, they probably didn't even seem like a threat. Alistair and Oghren, on the other hand, had a bit more difficulty dealing with them, and he was more than thankful when the first of Brelyna's atronachs appeared in the midst of the incoming Darkspawn, pulping, spearing and trampling them underfoot.

As he eviscerated another of the Genlocks. Alistair felt a great, blazing heat from his side, accompanying reddish light, inhuman screams and an absolutely _abhorrent stench_. It was enough to make him throw up a little, even as he managed to shift his eyes just enough to watch as Talia danced between tentacles rising from the mush, her blade swirling between them while whips of fire sprang from both of its ends, cutting, charring and torching everything it touched while her blade sang through the air, cutting and cauterizing in simultaneous motions.

Even against the now immolated Brood Mother - so _that_ was where the smell came from - her eyes stood out like fireflies in the shadows, emerald lanterns nearly devoid of humanity, yet still…_human_, much as they could be. _She's…doing all of that, on her own? Amazing…and pretty terrifying, actually…_

Then again, he'd seen her turn into a dragon. This was nothing compared to thát, and yet it was, because this was her in her human form, dealing out so much more destruction than what would have been possible for the newly recruited mage he'd met back in Ostagar. Back then, a simple fireball has seemed a great feat for her, and now, she was moving like it was second-nature to her, side-stepping the massive arms before they even emerged from the ground, spraying the screaming Brood Mother with fresh gouts of flame in-between her attacks. It was actually almost beautiful to watch.

In the end, regardless of how "beautiful" it was, fire was still fire, and fire encountering halfway rotten flesh still reeked, no matter how poetically beautiful it was. He knew she had a saying '_kill it with fire'_ but he honestly wished his helmet had somehow been enchanted to block smell. He'd have been grateful for that much, right about now.

In the end, the dozens of Darkspawn had not been able to seriously injure even a single of their group, and any injuries sustained had been healed remarkably fast, courtesy of either Wynne or Brelyna. When the last of the Genlocks had succumbed to Sten's boot through its skull, Alistair sheathed his sword, breathing in shallow, quick gasps to avoid getting the fumes down his lungs. There wasn't even a need to say so out loud, as the others seemed equally disgusted with the stench, and really, they just left the room as quickly as possible. There was no need to stay, even as it seemed Hespith was stalking their every step.

"That was…_not_ something I need to see again." Morrigan breathed as the first, heaving for air as they reentered the chasm that was the Dead Trenches, this time further down the expanse from the Gates. Alistair couldn't find it in himself to make fun of the witch right now, and actually felt sorry for her - though Maker forbid she ever found _that_ out - and her next words actually came out with a frightened tone; "That…_thing_, that is what transpires when a woman is taken?"

"Aye…" Oghren nodded grimly, his eyes set in flint; "Brood Mothers are what happens when females of any race are taken by them. They end up like that, and then spend the rest of their sad, sodding existences crapping out darkspawn….it's probably how they started in the first place."

"You _wife_, t'was she who…did _this_, to her own house?"

"…_Aye_…" the dwarf whispered; "…_Aye, 't'was she', alright_…It was…"

"Maker's mercy…" Wynne said, looking as if she wanted to continue, but didn't quite know how to.

"Oghren" Brelyna started, her face a mask of anguish and sympathy; "I'm so…"

"Don't." he muttered angrily; "Don't you even start."

"…I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"Sodding right, you don't…" Oghren growled; "None of you knew, and none of you know what this feels like, knowing _my sodding wife_ did this, so stop even trying to wrap your heads around it. Just keep killing Darkspawn until we find her."

No one seemed willing to ask the question 'what then?' of the dwarf. Alistair sighed, though it ended up more as a groan, and took what comfort he could in knowing that so far, they were all still alive. Leliana was still alive and unharmed, and that alone was comfort. It wasn't enough to actually cheer him up, but it was something. It was actually _more_ than just 'something', but he didn't know how else to put it, and he definitely couldn't _say_ it. Not here, or now, for that matter.

"Alistair, you have the map." Talia said, her eyes once more their somewhat less _glowy_ green. He could see the unspoken words behind them, that she once more wanted to assure him that she was herself, and not an abomination. Honestly, he still trusted her on that one, that mages from Tamriel simply _didn't_ become abominations, purely because Brelyna had confirmed it again and again. If the Dunmer had said it was even just _rare_, well…he would have been a lot more concerned than he was now.

He knew there was something wrong with her, something to do with that brand on her chest. He _knew_ that much, but he didn't know what was wrong, or if it was something actively dangerous. To herself or them all.

"R-right…" Maker's breath, why was he the one stuck with the position of _Senior_ Warden? He wasn't even officially a Senior Warden, it was just something they'd started calling him at some point, and he'd just ended up rolling with it. It had been the easy way back then, but now he was starting to wonder if maybe Daveth wouldn't have been the better choice; "that room wasn't even on the map, but I think I know where we are…"

As it turned out, not that far from the edge of the map. Though to be expected, it was still frustrating when Alistair no longer had even Kardol's rough sketches to go by. Bownammar ended, and the Deep Roads began again, leading to the fact that none of them, even Oghren, really knew what was beyond.

"Oh joy, and here I was thinkin' we'd gotten lost or somethin'." Daveth muttered, tapping a finger on his bow; "But where's a road, there's a way, yeah?"

A few hours later, they struck camp in the Deep Roads, huddling around one of the intact lava-basins for both warmth and illumination, as well as having something extra for the mages to throw at the Darkspawn, should they come crawling. That last one was, surprisingly, Jowan's idea.

Alistair had to give both Talia and the apostate some credit, even _if_ he was a Blood mage: he'd come far since they'd found him in Redcliffe, and there wasn't much doubt that it was because of Talia's almost sheltering nature when it came to how Jowan was treated. Her ideas of actually putting a term like "post-traumatic stress disorder" on what the kid had been through, was both unexpected and logical at the same time.

It was, she had explained, a concept that had started being used about the soldiers who had faced Dagon's forces during their Oblivion Crisis. It was apparently best treated by constantly making sure the person had friendly faces around him, and that positive encouragement far outweighed negative influence of any kind. Alistair knew horrible experiences could make their mark on a person long after it had passed, but to hear it actually put into an official term was something else entirely.

It was just yet another part of her homeland he didn't understand, but wanted to more and more. There was so much he wanted to know, both of their magic, their Empire and the different races living there. If he'd gotten it right, there were even people who rivalled the Qunari in strength, though he had his doubts on whether that was really true, or just Talia taking a jab at Sten.

In the end, it turned out to be Brelyna taking the initiative.

As they were distributing watches for the night, she had asked specifically to be partnered with him, though he hadn't exactly understood why until later that night…or maybe it was day. He really didn't know, beyond the resignation that this was going to severely mess up his internal clock when they came back to the surface. How did dwarves even know when to sleep if they had no sun or moons to go by?

Also, as it turned out, Brelyna still hadn't forgiven him for leaving Talia to fend for herself back there.

"I'm still angry at you, you know." The elf said, not a shred of hesitation in her voice. Right, it wasn't as if he'd expected anything else. He still remembered quite vividly just how pissed she had been at him when Talia still hadn't woken up, so why should she be any less now, even as her friend in question was simply sleeping nearby?

"I'd have been surprised if you weren't, really…" he sighed, planting himself on a bit of crumpled pillar. One of the massive supports seemed to have collapsed at some point during the past, and now simply added another obstacle to the roads; "I can't even offer excuses, because I think I'd have done the same thing again, if I had to…"

"Then don't make excuses, Alistair."

"Sorry."

"I don't need your apologies either." She muttered, averting her eyes and pulling up her hood. A shame, in hindsight, she had remarkably beautiful hair. He knew it was completely irrelevant to the situation, but he'd been unable to help the observation; "I just…need you to listen."

"Yes?" That was…not what he had expected her to say. He'd actually been expecting grumpy silence throughout their watch, not…that she seemed so talkative. He was, however, not one to waste a chance at clearing loose ends, and figured he could clear one here and now, if Brelyna would give him the chance.

"It's about Talia."

"…figured as much."

"…and that brand on her chest."

"…figured as much…" he repeated, because there couldn't be a whole lot of other subjects the elf would be willing to just discuss with him, especially not in private; "I didn't really get a chance to actually see it, you know, because of the whole…'boob' thing…"

"T-that's because…" Brelyna hissed, drawing herself a little away from him before pausing, clutching the edges of her robes; "The brand, I don't know what it says, but I know what it is."

"That's not the same thing?" he mused, raising a brow at her.

"It's Draconic, of some sort, but I don't know its meaning, and Talia either doesn't know or won't tell me." The Dunmer sighed, rubbing at her nose; "I'm just concerned that you'll think she can't handle whatever it is, or that you or Cullen will think she's become abominable."

"…an abomination?"

"Yes, that…" she shuddered, as if reliving something especially uncomfortable; "I don't know if she's told you, but the first Fereldans we met were Templars on some sort of mission in the Kokari Wilds."

"She did. She told me they attacked your group because of you and J'zargo." There was no way he could forget how she'd been absolutely livid at the very concept of the chantry having that kind of authority. Especially because such a thing didn't exist in her homeland, far as he understood; "Because they thought the two of you were abominations?"

"That's right." She sighed, idly conjuring and sending forth a small sphere of hovering light, watching in silence as the miniature star finally vanished into the darkness of the corridor, simply so far down that its light was no longer visible to the naked eye. Damn, there was going to be some serious marching here… "When we say that mages don't become abominations in Tamriel, it's not because it hasn't happened, but simply because it _can't_ happen. When possessions sometimes do occur, it is just as often…let me rephrase that…Nothing separates our mages from our common people in regards to possession. A priest or a fisherman is as likely to be possessed as a mage….more, actually, since the mage can actively defend himself."

"I knew that much already, actually." He noted, earning just the briefest hint of irritation from her red eyes before she looked ahead again; "But I'm guessing you're trying to say Talia isn't likely to have become some sort of ab- of _possessed_ person, then?"

"_Yes_." She muttered, almost patronizingly so; "While I may not seem like it most of the time, the notion of forcing mages through this ritual of yours, no matter how old it may be, and then killing them for failing, is abhorrent and to me the true abomination. It is why I want this dealt with before we meet with Cullen and Cíada again, because much as he has proven himself friendly to us already, he is a Templar. I want to trust him, but until I know where you stand on this, I simply cannot risk the life of my friend."

"…you've really been thinking this over, haven't you?" he knew it was a stupid thing to say the moment the words came over his lips, and wanted to smack himself in the nose for it. He doubted it could be as unpleasant as the glare Brelyna shot him at the comment. Her gaze didn't soften, really, but changed more to one he remembered from the Revered Mother when he hadn't been paying attention.

"You still don't even realize just how close Ferelden came to a war with the Empire, do you?" she hissed, actually _hissed_ at him. Maker, give him an Ogre over Brelyna like this _any_ day, and he'd take it; "I am scared beyond my wits of what is happening with my best friend and near-sister through years, Alistair. But even as scared as I am _for_ her, I actually have the damn sense to realize what would have happened if she had died in the Circle."

"…this is because of the 'princess' thing she talked about in Redcliffe, right?" Maker's breath why couldn't he ever catch a break? As if all the shit he had to worry about wasn't enough, now he had to listen to Brelyna - who was normally so damned _nice_ \- lay it out like he'd personally ordered Talia's Harrowing; "I mean, I get it, her father would probably have invaded, if he even _knew_, but even then, it wouldn't do much, one king against Thedas."

"That's where I fear you are wrong, Alistair." Brelyna shook her head as if amused, and a small smile actually seemed to tug at her lips; "Tamrielan Nobility is extremely closely knit, all centered around the Imperial City. If the daughter of a Bretoni king is murdered by an organization, it will be viewed as an attack on not just that kingdom, but on the province itself, and in extension, the Empire…"

It took Alistair more than a few seconds to process that. When he did, he realized that the Chantry had come pretty damn close to shitting the bed.

"…and if Cullen, a representative of the Chantry was to kill Talia because of her…condition…" he groaned, at that moment wanting nothing more than to test which was more durable, his head or the nearest wall. When Brelyna didn't reply with anything but a nod, he finished his own line; "…it would be the same thing as if the Chantry did it, at least in the eyes of her father, and since the Chantry represents…Great, _fantastic…_"

"You understand, then."

"Why wasn't this brought up, I dunno, before she Joined?" he really wanted to just kick someone in the shin for this; "Maker's breath…in short, we keep this from Cullen if at all possible."

"_If_ at all possible, yes…" the Dunmer nodded slowly, her fingers idly toying with a new sphere of light, balancing it from tip to tip. It looked more like a coping mechanism than her actually enjoying it though; "But if he finds out, I need to know where _you_ stand on this. Where will you be, if Cullen decides she has become an abomination?"

"Assuming he won't just listen to reason, which I have every expectation of him doing."

"Assuming that, yes…" she nodded, light dissipated from her fingers, which were now instead wringing before her waist. Her voice changed its pitch, and suddenly she just looked so_ small_; "I don't…like the thought of harming Cullen, or anyone else, really, but…"

"I get it, you're concerned." He sighed; "Well, scared shitless, more like it, but…even if the Chantry would declare her an abomination, she is a Grey Warden. It has always been the Order's task of dealing with…that kind of thing, so Cullen won't actually have any jurisdiction in the end. It'd actually end up falling to me, whether or not she's possessed."

"…so…does that mean…"

"I don't believe you'd lie to me, Brelyna, even as pissed with me as you are. Which is why I trust your judgement on this. You say Talia's not possessed, she's not possessed." He drew in a breath, even as she let on out of sheer relief; "But I'm still going to have to have a talk with her about this, sooner rather than later. Even if she's not possessed, _something_ took her mind back there, and I can't go on without knowing what it was."

* * *

**As always, this story improves from any and all feedback, especially if I'm called out on getting the Lore wrong - dear gods did I fek up last chapter, which was thankfully noticed by Rhody-Arterius, who at this point more or less has become my beta-reader lorewise. I'm serious, you wouldn't believe the fuck-ups he's caught me making - so don't be afraid of going "Roku! X never went to war with Y!" and that kind of thing.**

**Basically, I'm just doing my best with this story, trying to give you guys something worthwhile to read while simultaniously offering me a way of escaping the fucked up reality we now live in. In that manner, I suppose this story is as much for you as for me...if that doesn't sound weird. I'm pretty much using your thoughts as a way of dealing with the increased apathy I feel growing inside me every day, so...I think Fanfiction could be considered a kind of mental treatment in its own right.**

**Again, I am not really sure what I'm talking about...**

**Writing - and reading what you write, both as reviewers and authors - is my main coping mechanism for what is happening around me these days. It's probably one of the main reasons I haven't lost my mind yet.  
I know, dark thoughts aren't really what you want to see in an Author's note, but...I don't know if it is allowed to do this on Fanfiction, but I would like it if I could spread just a small measure of awareness, mainly by directing you at Sargon of Akkad, a Youtuber I have become quite fond of for covering what the media often won't.**

**Right...I suppose that should be the end of that rant. Sorry if it ended up irritating.**

**Roku out.**


	47. Sweet Mothers, Sweet Mothers

_Mothers __always think they know best._

_This wouldn't really be an issue for me if mine wasn't one of the most powerful women in High Rock..._

A note found scrippled in Redcliffe's study.

* * *

Sweet Mothers, Sweet Mothers

* * *

There really were elves outside.

There were a great many things Teyrna Eleanor Cousland had been prepared to face down at the gates of Redcliffe. Howe or Loghain's armed forces were chief among those concerns. However, she had never in her wildest dreams imagined that she would be standing at the top of the ramparts, resting her elbows on the battlements of Redcliffe's outer walls as she looked over the mass of tents and wagons filling the valleys beyond.

It was surreal, and she could only just now truly start to believe it.

"We should probably see what they want…" Teagan muttered at her side, scratching his chin; "Maker knows I doubt they're here to sell furs…"

"The Dalish are bound by the Warden treaties, are they not?" Eamon pondered, running worn fingers through his beard; "Could be, perchance, that they have simply come to fulfill that vow?"

"…I have never known the Dalish to approach human settlements, and never in these numbers…" Eleanor frowned; "How many do you think are out there?"

"Judging from the number of wagons I can _see_…" Murdoch grumbled, leaning his axe against the stone and mortar fortifications; "I'd say…somewhere 'round a thousand, maybe more?"

"Dalish clans don't usually reach those numbers, do they?" Teagan noted; "Which means that down there is more than just one clan…You don't think…"

"We'd be exhausting every bit of Maker-given luck if they are." Eleanor sighed, though not entirely capable of suppressing her quiet optimism. The Dalish were just _out there_, and so many they had to be either an invasion, fleeing the Blight or here to help. If they were invading, they were doing a bad job of it, and fleeing would have been so much easier if they had never come near Redcliffe, which left the last option that much more likely.

"We should probably see what they want…" Teagan repeated himself, pushing back from the crenellations; "So…who do we send?"

"…perhaps we should simply open the gates?" Eleanor suggested, drawing surprised stares from the men around her; "I realize how that sounds, however…I believe if they were here to lay siege, they would not simply make camp."

"It seems the elves beat you to it, M'Lady…" Murdoch observed, pointing ahead. True to his words, there seemed to be something of a formation approaching the gates, led by a pair of women, though remarkably different in appearance. One wore what Eleanor suspected was the common garb for the Dalish, with leathers and fabric of the forest's colors being the more dominant, while the other seemed to be dressed up in thick, woolen clothes, colors ranging from dark blue to emerald green. Though both were clearly women, only the green-clad one showed her face, while her companion's was concealed underneath a hood.

"If you believe such a course of action wise, My Lady…" Eamon muttered, glancing at the approaching elves; "I will still ensure that, should violence break out, we are prepared for it."

"Of course." The Teyrna nodded, starting her descent from the walls. Frost had already started coming in during the nights, and so she held onto the wooden railings when walking the slobbery stairs. At least the daily hours were warm enough not to warrant winter-cloaks. Yet; "Ser Gilmore, if you would ask the men to open the gates?"

"Yes, My Lady." The knight responded, setting to. The men operating the chain-links did as well, turning the massive cogwheels that would raise the portcullis. Slowly, even as she through the cast-iron grates could see the Dalish approach, the portcullis was raised, and rather than wait for them to come to her, Eleanor took the first steps outwards, followed quickly by Ser Gilmore as he walked at her side, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He was cautious, but at least not overtly so that it would be paranoia. _Right now, more than anything we need allies. There are hundreds of elves before us, and only a fool would not see the contribution they could make._

She stopped a dozen meters beyond the gate, assuming a relaxed, confident stance as the procession made its way towards her. Behind her, first Murdoch, then Teagan and Eamon emerged from the gate, coming to stand at her side as well. The mayor in particular seemed uncomfortable at the prospect, though the Teyrna did not fault him for it: the Dalish did not have a great reputation, regardless of whether it was earned or not, and having so many strangers before his village could not be an easy thing for the man.

Finally, the elves stopped a few meters before them, the group easily numbering more than fifty, and all seemed ready for a fight, though less than eager. Then the two women at its front stepped forward, the hooded woman as confident in her strides as the Dalish mage - for she did indeed wield a staff, so that would make her a Keeper then, wouldn't it? - was not.

"I am Arl Eamon Guerrin, Arl of Redcliffe and its encompassing Bannorns. This is the Lady Teyrna Cousland, Mayor Murdoch and my brother, Bann Teagan." The arl started as a greeting, and despite the situation, Eleanor couldn't help but notice Teagan's huff at being the last one mentioned; "Dalish, you come before Redcliffe in numbers that would rival an army. As the Lord of Redcliffe, I would know your intent."

The elven mage stepped forward first, offering the nobles, of all things, a respectful bow. For Eleanor, she wasn't quite sure which was more surprising; Teagan's guffaw or that a Dalish would actually do this. The elf was young, and would have seemed youthful as well if not for the deep lines underneath her eyes. Brown hair framed a face adorned with the elven tattoos, and spilled onto the black fur covering her shoulders.

"I am Lanaya, Keeper of Clan Revasan." The young woman spoke, both softly and calmly, as if she had been instructed in this. She then gestured at her companion, who had yet to actually reveal her face; "This is…Rhea Mavarano Aulus… I understand your apprehension at seeing us, in numbers that would truly demand an explanation."

"You're fleein' the Blight, I take it." Murdoch grumbled. Eleanor focused her attention on the other woman however, as much as would be polite. _Rhea Mavarano Aulus…_ the last name could of course be completely coincidental, but then there was the fact that this woman was noticeably taller than Lanaya, seemingly on par with a regular human. Even as the hood obscured most of the woman's face from the light, the Teyrna still felt as if eyes of fire were observing her in turn from within.

"Yes" the Keeper nodded; "We…gathered every clan we could find in the Brecillians and set out. We have no intention of conflict, I assure you. We have only come to talk, and to offer the aid of our warriors to the Grey Wardens, as the treaties demand."

Whatever suspicions Eleanor were entertaining, she lost her focus on the taller woman at those words, blinking as she tried to expel the disbelief from her mind. The men beside her seemed of similar reactions. There were very few times in her life when the Teyrna had wanted to boast of being right in an assumption, especially one made in contrast to that of her peers, but this…_this_ was one of those times, and she had to forcefully control her expression to avoid her relief from spilling out.

Murdoch let out a few choice swears.

"…I must admit, this I did not expect." Eamon said, his voice carrying a slight tremble; "Please do not misunderstand; there is nothing we want more than all the aid you can offer to the fight, but…I had never imagined _you_ would come to_ us_."

"It _is_ a time of surprises, I'll give you that much…" Teagan hummed, his lips curled in a small grin; "Well then, why don't we continue this up at the castle, if we're going to be having a proper meeting? Can't very well stay out here in the cold."

"Bann, I…Arl Eamon, our help is not unconditional." Lanaya hurriedly interjected. Eleanor wasn't surprised, only at the small nod Rhea seemed to offer the Keeper.

"I would have been surprised had it been." The Arl mused, something resembling good mood seeping through his façade; "If it concerns your non-combatants, I am certain the village has room for at least the women and children."

"Thank you, that was my chief concern." Lanaya said, an unhindered smile of relief spreading across her face; "I would then appreciate this "proper" meeting that was suggested."

"Murdoch, Redcliffe is under your direct jurisdiction." Eamon turned to the rough man who, it seemed, had been perfectly happy with staying out of the conversation; "Do you think you could find room for the women and children?"

"…hard to say." The Mayor scratched his chin; "Pretty sure we have the resources, but houses? We might have one or two empty huts after…those nights, but other than that and the Chantry, everythin' else's taken up by the mercenaries. We don't even have tents, truth be told."

"There is no need for that, Ser." Lanaya offered; "our aravels serve us well enough as homes, we only wish to be within the walls."

"Well…I guess that's fine then." Murdoch nodded; "Should be plenty of room on the grasslands between the castle and the village. Livestock don't use it this late into Autumn, and it's within the walls. I'll have some men direct you."

"Our thanks, Mayor." Rhea offered the man a nod of gratitude.

* * *

Eamon's study had once been meant for simply the Arl, and no one else. Hardly even his wife or son entered it more than on rare occasions, if what the Teyrna had been told was true, and now it had played scene to midnight meetings, declarations of uprising and talks of familial confidence.

Now, it played scene to what some would call historical. The representatives of what might just be the entirety of Ferelden's Dalish population were stood on one side of the central table, while the resident nobility stood on the other, opposed in placement alone, Eleanor hoped.

While Lanaya was at this point no longer a surprise in and off herself, it was her story that had the room quieted in disbelief. The Teyrna herself had never even believed Werewolves to still linger in Ferelden, after the Couslands of old had thrown them down and out.

She suspected Lanaya was lying by omission on some points, such as why the elves had not simply abandoned the forest rather than stay to combat the beasts. Their hunters had been attacked again and again, and the Teyrna couldn't understand what had made them stay even then. In the end, their Keeper, a man named Zathrian, had simply vanished into the deepest parts of the forest, and as if the Maker or the elven gods had willed it, every man and woman injured by the beasts had simply…recovered.

Zathrian had never returned, however, and as such Lanaya had become the new Keeper of the clan.

"It is a remarkable story, if true…" Eamon muttered. While his words didn't get a visible reaction from the Keeper, Rhea's shoulders stiffened just enough that Eleanor noticed. The woman still had not removed her hood, and something _obscured_ her face even in the light of the study, but more and more, the Teyrna was starting to suspect there to be a definite connection between this mysterious woman and Talia. She just wasn't sure what kind. Relatives, perhaps? But even something thát vague was still a shot in the dark, much more than could be guessed at by simply a shared last name.

For all she knew, 'Aulus' was a common name amongst elves, and if Rhea was not one of them, then perhaps the Avaar, or even the Chasin. It wouldn't be the first time the people of the far south had fled north during the Blights.

"If I may address the Bronto in the room, before we proceed?" Teagan spoke up, even as Eamon opened his mouth to speak. The Bann's fast thinking and wit wasn't underestimated by his own brother, of anyone, and the Arl simply nodded, letting Teagan turn to face Rhea; "I have been wondering since we met, Serah, why you hide your face. You are not one of the Dalish, are you?"

"I am not, no." Rhea answered curtly, and Eleanor could feel the woman's eyes traversing the room; "I have, however, encountered a few too many ghastly expressions at my appearance for me to desire not to conceal it."

"Serah Aulus, if I may?" the Teyrna decided she might as well have her suspicions either confirmed or deflected here and now, rather than waste too much energy pondering them unnecessarily. When Rhea's concealed eyes landed on her, somehow, it felt as if she was being weighed, until the woman finally nodded; "You are not from Ferelden, are you?"

For a moment, the air in the room _stopped_. Teagan stopped scratching his chin, and Eamon's eyes hardened at first, then widened. Rhea, however, showed little reaction whatsoever.

"Have you per chance heard my name mentioned, once or more?" she asked, a tone of urgency slowly creeping into the faceless woman's voice; "…with a young woman, even?"

"…is she talking about…" Teagan muttered, only for the Arl to silence him with a look.

"My daughter is missing, and I was informed that Redcliffe was the center of Warden activities in this land." Rhea continued, pulling down her hood. It was only because Eleanor had already met Brelyna, and trusted the gray-skinned elf, that she could withhold her surprised expression.

Rhea Mavarano Aulus was a Dunmer, the same kind of elf as Brelyna. Skin like marble, and red eyes that shone from a face framed by lustrous, obsidian hair, it was as if she was looking at an older version of the elven mage. Yet there was a glint in the eyes, something so undeniably akin to what the Teyrna remembered from the Bretoni mage. The room was silent, and Lanaya's eyes skimmed between its residents, worry etched into her face. The Dunmer beside her did not move her eyes from Eleanor's, however, and it felt as if those eyes of her would burn the Teyrna with sight alone if she did not answer.

"Where is Talia?"

"In Orzammar, the dwarven capital north of here." Eamon replied, even as the question was not directed at him. Rhea's eyes turned towards him at his words nevertheless, and the Earl drew a visible breath to steady himself under her gaze. _Truly, an imposing woman. If Talia really is a princess, then this woman does indeed strike me as regal enough for a Queen. Even as fantastical as the notion is…Dear Maker, I could end up related to her!_

That wasn't exactly a calming thought. Eleanor was only thankful that the burning gaze was directed at Eamon, not her, at those words.

"She is with others, I hope?" Rhea's voice demanded an answer more than merely asked for it. The Arl's eyes flickered to Eleanor for but a moment, but long enough that it drew it foreign woman's attention.

"The rest of the Wardens, yes, my son included." The Teyrna replied, meeting Rhea's eyes with all the confidence she had; "I entrusted his life to your daughter more than once, and she has yet to betray my trust. Their group shares a strong bond, Lady Aulus, your daughter is as safe as she can be in these trying times."

"…I see." Rhea paused, the fires in her eyes slowly dying out to reveal a less harsh, more familiar glow. It was remarkably similar to how Serah Maryon would often appear when in thought. It struck Eleanor then that she might have been spending too much time around the highly inquisitorial girl if this kind of expression was becoming known to her already; "Then, I must apologize for my forwardness. I have been traveling for days in order to reach this place, and have not heard from Talia since she last communicated with her father."

"So your daughter is one of the Grey Wardens, then?" Lanaya asked, and Eleanor found she had almost forgotten the elven girl was there. Compared to Lady Rhea, the Keeper was as ordinary as Teagan or herself. It did make the Teyrna wonder, however, just for how long the noblewoman had been traveling with the Dalish.

"Yes." Rhea nodded, turning to the young Keeper with a faint, but proud smile creasing her lips; "She joined their order under some…unusual circumstances, on her parts. I am myself not entirely sure of the details, however…"

"Lady Aulus, am I correct in assuming then that Talia was indeed speaking the truth when she spoke of her homeland, that her father, your husband, is indeed the king of a small realm?" Eamon asked, then seemed to take himself in it and shifted his eyes to Lanaya, the elf seemingly finding the whole scene more interesting than overwhelming. Or maybe she was just better at hiding it than Eleanor gave her credit for; "Forgive me, Serah Lanaya, we invited you here to discuss the terms of your aid, yet we have hardly come to it yet."

"We are not in a hurry, Lord Eamon." The Keeper warded him off; "Personally I would very much like to know more as well. I am not as ignorant on Thedas as a whole that I do not know Lady Rhea's kind is nowhere to be found in it."

"Are you certain?" Talia's mother asked the young Keeper - yet again, however, Rhea herself did not look that much older, perhaps somewhere around Eleanor's age when Aedan had been born? - with sincerity in her voice; "You have thousands of your people out there, and I know now where my daughter is, and that she is with trustworthy folks. Surely anything more I should want can wait?"

"I…if you're sure, there were_ a few_ things I wouldn't mind making sure of, concerning the needs of my people." Lanaya sighed, looking for all the world like a child denied a bedtime story, and turned towards Arl Eamon. Eleanor had long-since stopped being surprised when people deferred to him instead of her, despite their social ranks. This _was_ his Arling, after all, and few elves apparently knew the difference between a Bann and an Arl, or an Arl and Teyrna.

Not that she blamed them. She herself only knew what little she did about the Dalish from what few Chantry scholars had managed to get close enough to the clans to explore their culture, and even then many of the official works were ripe with bias.

But maybe…maybe now, with so many of the Dalish entering the city, prepared to help their cause if only against the Blight and not Loghain…maybe now there would be a chance for something positive to come of this. Eleanor was no naïve little girl; she doubted even a Blight could break down the barriers between her own people and the elves, but…it wasn't forbidden to hope, was it?

"How many of your people are combatants?"

"Combatants…I fear we do not have that word." Lanaya admitted with some degree of hesitation.

"He means how many of the Dalish can fight the Blight." Lady Rhea assisted her, drawing an 'oh' from the Keeper; "I thought you understood the word earlier?"

"To be honest I thought it just meant 'men', since…I don't know exactly, but I think maybe…" the Keeper scrounged up her face in thought; "…between three and four hundred, our hunters can hit their mark when it counts."

"I forget, the Dalish do not actually have a military, do you?" Lady Rhea, of all people, asked. She sounded more curious than disappointed; "demilitarized elves is to me a foreign concept, though…" the Teyrna couldn't be sure, but something seemed to pass behind the Dunmer's eyes; "…not entirely unwelcome, elsewhere…"

As the meeting carried on, it ended up centering mostly on Lanaya and Eamon, while the rest of them felt somewhat ignored. Teagan didn't seem to mind, and Lady Rhea seemed mildly interested more than anything, though it wasn't hard to spot the signs of her impatience.

In the end, darkness fell and servants lit fat wax candles in the room, as well as its fireplace, to allow the meeting to continue. Eleanor at that point decided to call it a day, and left Eamon and Lanaya to the details of their discussions. She was not so bereft of faith in the Arl that she had to monitor a meeting she effectively no longer needed a voice in.

Teagan had left earlier, and the Teyrna would have been lying if she said she wasn't growing weary of the ceaseless debate. Eamon on one hand wanted the elves to help dethroning Loghain, and Lanaya rebuked him at every turn, while Lady Rhea provided the Keeper with what could best be described as a source of political guidance. Had she not been this much into her years, Eleanor would have stayed simply for the novelty of watching a Dalish Keeper argue semantics and ethics with a Fereldan Arl.

The sitting room, one of many the castle retained for its guests, was warmed by the central fireplace, and its walls covered in thick tapestries to help keep in the warmth. The air was getting quite cold already, and come night it would be freezing outside. Sinking into one of the cushioned chairs, Eleanor sighed with content as she felt her aching limbs being relieved of their strain.

She really was getting too old for this.

A servant brought her wine she neither asked for nor cared to refuse, and so the Teyrna found herself seated before the fireplace, a glass of unknown vintage held in hand, and felt as if there really was no Blight going on. The room certainly seemed insistent in making everything feel alright, and only Ser Gilmore's presence prevented her from simply discarding pretenses and throwing back the alcohol and falling asleep. The knight remained standing by the entrance, at ease but still the ever protective companion.

In some ways, he was starting to remind her of how Bryce had been, back when they were younger and only just started seriously courting. Or rather, he had started seriously courting _her_. Back then, he had seemed just another pompous brat, albeit a brat of grand standing. She really hadn't given him an easy time at it, back in those days, and yet he had endured every task she could throw at him, picked any flowers she requested no matter how far away they grew or how rare they were.

It had been the fact that he could _cook_, however, that had won her over.

Of all the nobles she had ever encountered throughout her life, which was at this point quite a few years, Bryce Cousland had been the only one she knew who could cook his own meal, if he had to. She supposed the years of campaigning alongside Maric would necessitate that even members of the nobility learned how to survive without servants at their beck and call.

That had all been so many years ago, and now Bryce was no longer at her side. The nostalgia turned to grieving melancholia, and the Teyrna appreciated Gilmore's silence as the tears started rolling down her cheeks. She had had _so_ many more years ahead of her, _they_ had had so many more years ahead of them, yet a single night of treachery had seen fit to end it all.

Howe would pay.

He would pay to the point that he would be at her mercy, squealing like the pig he was as she hung him from his own entrails. He would piss himself with fear as she set his feet above fire and let it char his skin and melt his flesh and fat like so much pork. She would cut him open and salt the wounds.

There would, were the laws of nature and man up to her to decide, be no end to the torment she would visit upon that rat of a man. That maggot, the slime, the-

"I thought I might find someone here, and I did hope it would be you…" a soft-spoken, somewhat cautious voice tore Eleanor from her dark thoughts, and she realized her fingers had been tightened so strongly about the cup of wine that her knuckles had turned white. Upon looking up, she found Lady Rhea standing in the door, a slightly wary Gilmore in the background; "…though from your expression, I take it my intrusion is not desired at the moment?"

"I…" for a moment, the Teyrna was unsure of how to respond. Talia's mother - a woman she had thought she'd never get to meet - was standing before her, presenting quite possibly the best chance of good relations she could ever dream of being offered; "Forgive me, I was just thinking back to some less than pleasant memories…I would be delighted to have your company, your highness."

"Thank you, though if I am to be honest…" the elven woman sighed as she lowered herself into one of the adjourning cushion-chairs. In the light of the fireplace, and in such civilized surroundings, it was difficult to comprehend this woman's arrival with the Dalish. Even more difficult to comprehend was, of course, that she had brought Talia into the world. In at least appearances, the two could not be further apart; "…I would rather you just called me Rhea, if it would please you. My position at home hardly matters here, after all."

"Of course…" Eleanor simply agreed, somewhat taken aback despite admitting to herself that, maybe, she wouldn't be all thát much against less formality; "I must admit, I never expected to see another of Serah Maryon's kind here."

"Ah, Brelyna is still with my daughter, then?" Rhea asked, a soft smile playing on her lips; "I do not think Talia ever had this reliant a friend in High Rock. I heard J'zargo is with her as well, but…"

"She used to have a third companion." Eleanor sighed, having almost expected the conversation to go this way with _any_ representatives from Tamriel she might encounter. The very concept of "Circles" was an unknown in Talia's homeland, it seemed, and as such what had happened to her friend would likely be viewed as nothing but base murder.

"Onmund, yes…" Rhea sighed in turn; "Talia did not write home. She never did, though I suspect it to be more her pride than actual desire to stay in touch. The headmaster of her institution, the College of Winterhold, however, wrote quite often of her exploits and progress. Without her knowing, mind you."

"Aedan, my son, mentioned that there might have been something of a…disagreement, between you." Eleanor admitted. She did not intend to pry, but she had simply been interested in learning more of the redheaded mage her son had at first befriended, then become infatuated with; "He cares for her very much."

"A great many young men have, in her life…" the Dunmer closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose; "I am not sure how the lines of nobility function in your lands, Lady Eleanor, but in High Rock, Nobility is organized in houses, with the kings of our five kingdoms being chief amongst them. As a measure to prevent warfare breaking out between the houses, marriage is often used to bond them together."

"Ferelden shares that much, at least."

"I'm not surprised, it _is_ an effective tool…" Rhea nodded, opening her eyes again; "Talia was, at the age of seventeen, betrothed to one of the sons of a king in High Rock's capital, Daggerfall. She…disagreed with this, and ran away from home. We later received a letter from the Arch Mage at the College that she had arrived and enrolled."

"I can't imagine that must have been easy."

"For Omluard, my husband, no it was not." Rhea smiled faintly; "Personally, however, I was relieved. I had only agreed to the marriage in the first place to ensure Talia was removed from Evermor when the time came for her brother to ascend the throne. Her being in Skyrim, the province the College is located in, removed her further than I had dared to hope."

"My Lady…Rhea, I must confess that I don't understand why you trust me with this." Eleanor admitted. Much as she appreciated the forwardness, had their places been reversed she would likely not have been this open.

"I have been engrossed in politics for more than twenty years, Lady Teyrna." The younger woman mused; "I might not look it, but I am quite a deft hand at reading my opponents. The same goes for potential friends. You have good eyes, Lady Eleanor, eyes that tell of great loss and grief, as well as determination and a drive I have rarely seen before. If I am to put it simply, then I would say that I trust you."

"I…I'm honored, then." Eleanor muttered, not quite sure what else to say. She had truly hoped her emotions were not so easily readable; "But, there is if I might ask, something I don't quite understand…"

"How am I here, you wonder?" Rhea chuckled slightly at the Teyrna's bemusement; "It is not that enticing a tale, though I suppose it would help clear up the confusion. I arrived a week ago, perhaps a day more, south of here. The last place I knew Talia to be was here, as a matter of fact, but…teleporting across vast distances has become more than troublesome these centuries. So, as you might have guessed, I missed my mark."

"…sounds oddly familiar." Ser Gilmore seemingly couldn't help but note from his place. Eleanor wasn't quite sure why he didn't take a seat instead, but the man seemed intent on standing guard. Against what she didn't know. When Rhea turned her eyes at him, he seemed to regret having spoken; "It's just…Serah Maryon mentioned it was how their group came to be in Thedas to begin with."

"Indeed. The scroll that was supposed to take them to the capital, the Imperial city, apparently misfired. It is not a common problem, but it does have its precedents." The Dunmer nodded, a hand gliding down her chin in thought; "When I appeared, it did not take me long to encounter Lanaya's people, and we traversed the distance to Redcliffe together."

"Magic will never cease to amaze me with its versatility." The Teyrna mused, not without a small amount of humor; "Just as one thinks it is understood, a whole new kind appears. When I first met your daughter, she was entertaining my grandchild with her Familiar. I had never seen such magic before."

"I would not be surprised; Talia has always been fond of children, be they boys or girls. Two-Sock, as her Familiar, would share that fondness." Rhea smiled with nostalgia in her eyes; "I would imagine they made quite the impression."

"They?"

"Talia, Brelyna and J'zargo?" the elf's voice became more curious now; "They were not with her, then?"

"…No, I'm afraid that was after they were…encountered, by a group of Templars." Eleanor sighed; "When Talia arrived at our home, north of here, she was with Duncan of the Grey Wardens, the man who recruited her for the Order in the Tower of Magi."

"I see…Then, what happened? Understand, I know very little of what has happened to my daughter in her time here." Rhea folded her hands beneath her chin, and gazed at the fireplace; "At first, we made use of an organization that specialized in tracking people by way of their blood. We…it is common for Nobility in High Rock to have the blood of their family in safekeeping, so we had a sample of Talia's. However, since we last came into contact with her, it has been impossible for us to use it."

"I'm not… entirely sure I understand." Eleanor admitted, setting down her cup to focus her attention fully on the elven woman. Even after having met Brelyna Maryon, it was difficult for the Teyrna to call her an elf as she would the Dalish or the servants they'd had in Highever._ Did any of them manage to escape?_

"Blood calling, abhorrent though it is as a concept, is what you would call a "fool-proof" method of tracking down any individual whose blood you have in your possession." Lady Rhea sighed as if tasting something foul; "Already when Omluard managed to find our daughter a few weeks after her disappearance, we could feel the ties to her blood growing weaker, as if diluted. Our last successful attempt at finding her was a few months ago, and we had at that point come to realize that soon we wouldn't even be able to find her at all. So, we gave her all the material aid we believed she would need."

"I seem to recall Talia started to carry around a very…exotic looking staff after her first night here, in the castle." Eleanor looked up just in time to see a small, relieved smile gracing the younger woman's face; "as well as very well-made robes she hadn't worn before."

"Talia's aspiration has always been to join the Imperial battlemages, much as her Father was against it. The staff is a _glaive_, a bladed weapon used by the battlemages of our province, just as the robes are of their uniform." The Dunmer explained, leaning back in her chair; "But we never discovered the cause of her blood-dilution, if that is even what it was…Tell me, Lady Eleanor, you seem like you have had more than a few encounters with my daughter. Do you know what can have caused this?"

"I am afraid I am not very knowledgeable on magic, even that of Thedas…" the Teyrna shook her head, then stopped as a thought occurred to her. Talia had saved Aedan's life in Ostagar, which was one reason she trusted the mage so absolutely, but what had she saved him _from_, specifically? It had been the Joining, and something to do with the ritual they underwent. Aedan had tried to be as vague as he could, but he'd still let slip what they had been asked to drink; "…but, there might be something."

Rhea's expression hardened as she leaned forward, hands clutching the supports of her chair. It was a silent demand for an explanation.

When it was given, to the best of the Teyrna's ability, the elven woman's face had seemed to lose what color it retained, turning ashen-grey as her eyes closed tightly shut. Eleanor had included the part where Talia had almost died saving her son, anything less seemed an insult to the girl, but now it felt as if she could have spared the younger mother the emotional trauma it was to hear of the near-death of her child.

"I…" Rhea muttered as she stood; "…I need some time to think. If you…will have me excused, Lady Cousland, I…I'll find a room on my own. Good night."

"…good night, then, Rhea." Eleanor replied softly, watching with concern as the previously so regal woman now seemed to stagger her way out of the room. Tonight's revelations may have shed light on her questions, but the truth had not been kind.

When the Teyrna herself returned to her own room, she was not even surprised at discovering Lady Rhea in Talia's room. Whether a servant had pointed it out or it was a motherly sixth sense, the Dunmeri Lady had laid herself to rest in her daughter's bed, without even closing the door.

Eleanor did it for her, once again wishing the younger woman a silent good night.

Maker's mercy, today had been exhausting.

* * *

**What is this, a chapter without the protagonists?**


	48. On the Edge of Discovery

_Pinned between the beastial provinces of Elsweyr and Black Marsh, the city of Leyawiin guards the vital passage up the River Niben from Topal Bay to the Imperial City. Leyawiin is a mighty fortress, with both tall stone walls and strong garrisons._

_Leyawiin is a bright and cheerful, prosperous harbor-town in the midst of Blackwood swampy wildernesses, resting on the banks of Niben's fjord. It contains wide, bright streets, large, comfortable houses, half-timbered or painted stucco of which many are colorful and not too dirty or weather-worn. There are trees and flowering shrubs everywhere, and peaceful plazas and ponds for quiet contemplation. Its population is made up significantly from those of Argonian and Khajiit descent and many other peoples making Leyawiin a melting-pot of cultures from throughout the Empire._

_Since the Oblivion Crisis resulted in the partial destruction of the Imperial City's waterfront, Leyawiin has become the second-largest harbor in the Imperial heartland, and supports parts of the Imperial fleet, as well as imposing a toll on any merchant-vessels traveling inland from Topal bay. _

\- A gentleman's guide to Leyawiin.

* * *

**On the Edge of Discovery**

* * *

"So…that was a thing." Cíada offered as she dumped herself on the steps before the Royal Palace. Cullen sighed and took his place next to her, keeping just enough distance to be cordial. Aedan likewise let himself go, taking a seat on the upper stairs as he watched the ongoings of the Diamond Quarter, every single passing dwarf seemingly oblivious to the blood-soaked Warden and his companions before the palace.

"J'zargo does not understand dwarves at all…" the Khajiit muttered, glancing back at the palace. Aedan didn't blame him, because for all _he_ had been raised in nobility, the antics of Sorella Aeducan and Dela's sister were beyond him.

They'd _rescued _the pregnant girl from the Carta, and in the process eliminated the organization's leadership in Orzammar, only to find that the damn dwarf had actually gone into hiding _from_ Sorella. _That_ had been the surprise of the day, and even more so for the princess herself when she was told.

"_I'm sorry, what?"_ _Sorella stared; "You're saying you were hiding from…_me_?"_

"_I…do not know you, your highness. I thought- feared you would be like Trian and…" the Brosca girl stammered as she stared at the floor-tiles, hugging herself out of discomfort; "and…and it…wouldn't have been the first time a…a competitor was…"_

"_What's she talkin' about?" Cíada stared between the two dwarven women. _

"…_I think I get it." Sorella groaned, rubbing the bridge of her somewhat stocky nose. Dwarves seemed to have those, Aedan had noticed, regardless of gender or age. The princess turned to them; "In Orzammar's history, whenever there was…competition, for the throne, it's not unheard of for heirs to dispose of the opposition." She turned back towards the slightly older girl; "…that's what you thought I'd do, isn't it?"_

_The Duster didn't respond, only nodded as if ashamed. Aedan couldn't decide what was the greater of the oddities he was watching unfold, though in the end he decided it had to be the princess's inability to foresee something like this happening. _

"_Right…Sod it all, but when you put it like that I can kinda understand your…caution." Sorella shook her head as a wry smile twisted her lips; "But I'm not Trian. I'm not Bhelen either, whatever he'd have done in my shoes. Rica, you were my brother's probably only real love, and for that and the child you carry, I consider you to be family. I will not send you back to the slums. Rather, I…feel like I might get lonely here, now that I am the sole remaining Aeducan…"_

In hindsight, it had actually been pretty funny to watch the Aeducan princess redden up as the blushing nearly overtook her. She was, tragedies aside, still a young woman. Younger than Brosca.

"…_would you care to come live here instead?"_

"_I- y-your majesty, I-"_

"_I'll of course have you made legitimate, and should I never have children, your son will inherit the throne." Sorella stated with about as much confidence as Aedan believed _he'd_ be able to in that situation, which was close to none; "That'd be the day, right? A child born to a woman from Dust town, inheriting the throne…" _

_Gorim looked like he was about to swoon. He'd taken most of this in a stride, but thát combination of words apparently nearly did him in on the spot._

"…_now all we need is a damn paragon."_

"Honestly, I barely even understand my own people's royalty at the best of times…" Cullen sighed; "…which these times are not, so I'm not even going to attempt understanding how the Dwarves make things run around."

"Well, at least now Daveth owes us big time." J'zargo grinned; "This one will start planning for ways the archer can make it up."

"I thought we'd agreed not to?" Aedan sighed, glancing at the cat. Sometimes, when he was being _really_ snarky - like now - it wasn't all that hard imagining Talia making fast friends with the feline mage. They were basically each other's' reflection at points.

"Ah, but the archer does not need to know that, does he?" the Khajiit grinned, showing off sharp, thin teeth at the front of his mouth; "J'zargo merely points out that we went through quite a great many enemies to retrieve the girl."

"He also didn't _ask_ us to do it." Aedan pointed out in turn.

"…that is correct." J'zargo sighed, lounging back on the stairs in ways only a cat could get away with; "This one will refrain from mentioning it, then."

* * *

"How far yet?" Alistair asked, marching onwards - ever onwards - alongside Oghren as the dwarf kept them moving. It was less than comforting when he'd found out that the dwarf had hardly slept at all, and still kept them marching at a steady trot, which for someone with so short legs had to be downright exhausting at this rate.

Yet the dwarf never complained.

Actually, he didn't even speak unless directly spoken to.

"…should be another mile or so…the map's old but the Darkspawn don't seem to have caved in this part of the Deep Roads."

"Good. That's good, right?" Daveth quirked from just behind them; "'mean, we're more o' less outa food, and I don't see any nugs in this part, so the closer the better. Right?"

"That about sums it up." The dwarf grumbled.

There was little talk besides that, as not one member of the group hadn't started feeling the effects of forced march for the past few days, as well as the rations dwindling in size with each meal. Alistair was doing his damn best to make them reach _beyond_ when they would find nugs - he was basing their chances on whether or not _nugs_ would be around. Maker's breath this _sucked_ \- but even with Morrigan and Wynne doing what they could to enhance the rations however they could, it was still not going to be enough if they didn't soon come across something edible.

Andraste, he'd even go for a Deepstalker right about now. Fried with glowing, questionable mushrooms and whatever passed for moss this far down.

Following the hours of walking in relative silence, with only the deep echoes of the corridors for ambience, Alistair had started wondering if the Deep Roads were forever when he saw it split into a Y-section, both paths leading into the ever-present darkness of Thedas' bowels. Right now, he was somewhat sure they were either underneath the Frostbacks or had passed into Orlais. _Imagine thát one for an invasion…_

It was, if nothing else, a somewhat funny thought. There weren't a lot of those in his mind right now, what with most of his focus being divided between finding the right way, keeping the group together and keeping an eye on Talia.

That was probably the worst thing right now, from an ethical point of view. Subjective one too, he supposed. Even as much as he trusted Talia, and trusted Brelyna's judgement on the matter of her friend, Alistair could not glance at the redheaded mage and not instinctively tense up the every time she breathed just slightly differently, or even huffed with annoyance.

There had been no warning the first time…whatever had taken her over had taken her over, and he didn't want to suddenly be stuck in the depths of the earth with a possessed dragon-shapeshifter. He desperately, _desperately_ wanted to give her all the benefit of the doubt - especially since _she_ was the one really getting the short end of the stick in the end - because damn it, he _trusted _her with his life. _She_ trusted _him_ with _her_ life, and for the love of Andraste, they'd been through too much at this point for him to just…_not_ trust her.

He'd been telling the truth when Brelyna asked him about where he would stand should Cullen…get ideas. There was no way he would ever let the Chantry take away any or his comrades - not even Jowan, who was an actual Blood mage - and especially not Talia. Mainly because they were _comrades_, Maker's breath, but also slightly because he saw it as saving the lives of whomever the Chantry actually _sent_ to deal with her.

There was no way he'd let the Chantry have its way with her, if she ended up…possessed, for lack of better word. Because if it came to that, if she actually ended up losing her mind and self to whatever had taken it that first time, he knew it had to be a Warden who…_dealt_ with it. It was a nightmare just speculating on, and he felt like the air grew heavier with every breath he took as the thought remained in his mind, that if nothing was done, if somehow Talia turned…he'd have to kill her.

"Silent for more than a minute? What gives?" it wasn't made any better by the fact that she spoke to him, with complete trust in her voice. Trust he no longer knew if he actually deserved. Back when they had first met, in Ostagar, she had made her distrust for him clear more or less from the start, as soon as she found out he was a former Templar initiate. It had taken so much blood and toil and grief for her to finally trust him like she did Daveth and Aedan, but instead of feeling relief, he now only felt shame.

Looking at her face, he saw only open curiosity and mild amusement, as well as the signs that she as well was starting to feel exhausted by their expedition. Her emerald eyes shone at him with uninhibited sympathy, and her wry smile was almost more than he could take.

"Just…thinking…" he muttered, and in the edge of his vision, he noticed Brelyna tensing ever so slightly, as if she actually suspected he would…

"Careful with _that_, might hurt yourself." She grinned slightly, lips parting just enough that her teeth showed. Huh, had she always had those canines? He remembered Aedan mentioning her teeth were special, but they seemed…no, now he was just seeing things.

"Oh hah hah _hah_…" he gave her a flat stare, feeling guilt and amusement mixing together as she stuck her tongue at him in jest; "I might just actually be a lot smarter than some of you give me credit for, you know?"

"Hmph, yeah I know…" she sighed, smiling through tired eyes. It sometimes surprised him how well she coped with everything going on. _He'd_ been raised more or less in the kennels and trained to become a Templar, but Talia had been raised as a noblewoman, and then spent her late youth in their College. She'd never been trained or conditioned for constant danger like this. Yet her eyes still held the unspoiled youth they did when he'd met her the first time; "You're actually a pretty smart cookie, Al. But you're still way too easy to get riled up, so…it's kinda how I deal with things, you know?"

"…yeah." He sighed as they rounded a sharp corner and came upon what looked like a halfway broken gate. Its metal doors had been ripped off their hinges by something bigger than the door itself, meaning it was probably an Ogre; "Oghren, we're going through here?"

"Aye…old runes, but they pretty much read '_Forge'_. We're checking it out, if nothing else there could be a left-over golem or something…" the dwarf nodded, looking into the darkness; "…could use a light."

"Right." Both the Tamrielan mages nodded in unison, and with snaps of their fingers came to life a pair of hovering spheres of light. Right, they could do that. Honestly, with everything going on Alistair had forgotten Talia could do something _non_lethal with her magic. The spheres slowly floated ahead, casting light in the bleak darkness around them.

"How big do you think this place is?" Daveth muttered.

"I can find out, if you want?" Brelyna mused, holding a new source of light contained within her palm, fingers flexed around it like a physical object. When the archer nodded, she shoved it forward, and the sphere hovered ahead, flying faster than a man could run. After several seconds of silence, it stopped, stuck to what looked like a wall far up ahead.

"Looks about right…" Oghren muttered, picking up a sword from the ground. It was, for a change, stained with blood that had only _recently_ dried; "Someone's been through here not that long ago. Not a Darkspawn."

"You can tell?" Leliana asked, stepping up.

"Dwarven sword, custom-made by the looks of it, and the blood's from something other than a Darkspawn." He explained at her confused expression. A small 'ah' seemed to hit the girl, and she nodded in understanding; "Still, no one's here, of we'd have heard 'em by now…Lights up ahead."

"Right." Talia nodded, raising her hand to cast. Oghren shook his head and pointed, and as he said, a faint, orange light seemed to illuminate the far end of the room. They'd only seen it now because Brelyna's magelight had gone out and nothing else broke the darkness; "Oh…suppose it's the Deep Roads again?"

"…dunno." The dwarf muttered as he picked his axe up and hefted it over his shoulder; "Only one way to find out."

* * *

Far, far to the west, in the Imperial fortress-city of Leyawiin, something was underway.

Leyawiin was an unremarkable city, far as cities went in Cyrodiil. It was wealthy from the trade and taxes levied onto ships passing through its waters towards the Imperial City, and its streets were straight and paved with tiles and cobblestones, illuminated by torches and patrolled by the city's watchmen. Its houses were of either wood or stone, some of the wealthiest even of bricks, and its merchants' quarters offered everything a citizen might require, and then some. It housed as well the great chapel of Zenithar, and a bustling harbor-front that had been constructed after the Oblivion Crisis.

To the newly arrived, it might have been hard to tell the bustling harbor apart from any other, the Imperial city's in particular. Yet, to those who called Leyawiin home, there was a markedly different feel to the city than usual. The coastal settlement was normally not on the receiving end of much attention, beyond being responsible for the maintenance of assorted warships and freighters coming up and down the Niben. Broad as the fjord was, for calling it a river was beyond an understatement - it was almost an insult to those who sailed it - it rarely saw as much traffic as these days.

For the past three days, carts and wagons had arrived by road from the Imperial city, loaded with provisions in an amount unseen since the days of the Great War, when the Fleet had been tasked with week- and month-long operations at sea to keep the Dominion at bay. Foodstuff, weapons, tools, textiles, everything one might require for a longer journey at seas came down, both from the road, but also by freighter and barge on the waters of the Niben itself.

Veruin Kratorius, Tribune and commander of the sixth Cohort, Tenth Legion, saw it as the opportunity of a lifetime. Clad in the armor of his station, the steel-plating covering his front and back torso with faint imitations of rippled muscle, he surveyed the sailors and dockworkers as they crawled across the waterfront and ships both. They reminded him a little of ants, in a way, when he watched their ceaseless work to prepare the Imperial warships for the journey ahead of them.

There were ten of them, warships all as one, and equipped with heavy ballistae, onagers and enough ammunition to sink an Imperial Bireme. Their flagship, _his_ flagship, the _Pax Imperii_ was a thirty meter, oak-hewn wonder of the seas. Armed with eight repeating ballistae on each flank, and a Redguard cannon underneath the bow, there was not a thing on the great seas that could threaten her.

Veruin had captained her ever since the Great War, and could not have chosen a better voyage to be her possibly last.

"Tribune Kratorius, sir, the envoys have arrived." A woman's voice reported from the side, calling Veruin's attention away from the ships. He had passed fifty years of age, but his senses, his ears in particular, had grown not a speck less sharp since the war.

Centurion Idoria Mallin had not yet passed her thirtieth year, but she was as capable an officer as he had dared to hope for when she was placed under his command not even a year ago. She was beautiful, true, but most who saw her would only see the stony exterior of an Imperial Officer, face mostly concealed behind her nose-guard helmet. Only her eyes and the center of her mouth and chin were revealed behind it, and her expression gave nothing away. She saluted him though, so her expression could not be less relevant.

"At ease, Centurion." He motioned for her to stand at rest, which she did. In contrast to his full-piece torso-armor, hers was the segmented plates used by most of the Legionaries, with the tasset set apart from the lower ranks by being of layered steel plates as well, and not the studded leather used by the common soldiers. Her helmet came off and at rest in the crook of her elbow, spilling black hair down to the base of her neck. It ended there, as per regulations.

Veruin never had the chance at children himself, but he imagined that had Idoria been his daughter, he would have feared the line of suitors at his door. Then again, he spent most of his time at seas, and few suitors knew how to swim. Fewer still could catch up to a warship at full sails.

"I haven't met the delegates yet. What should I know on forehand?" he asked as much as commanded, though he knew he didn't have to, not with her. He took the first step away from the dockyards, and she was a step behind with barely a moment's worth of hesitation.

"Yes sir." Mallin started; "They are a group of twelve. First among them are Lucatius Catilgoner and Pelagley Factis, diplomats from the Imperial City and from Bravil respectively. They often work together on diplomatic missions to the provinces, and thus were selected for their foreign diplomatic skills."

"That's to be expected, much as Hammerfell can be '_foreign'_ to anyone…" he nodded; "Who else?"

"The delegate from Argonia, Deekos Nidaresh. He is a staunch and known supporter of the current Emperor, and was chosen for his loyalty first."

"Incompetent?"

"I don't know sir, only that he was chosen for his loyalty, and that of his family." The Centurion explained. When she didn't receive a reply, she continued; "Kerha Dhevsa is the delegate from Hammerfell, more accurately from Sentinel. Her family has been employed with cross-continental diplomacy since Hammerfell's induction into the Empire. She refuses alcoholic drinks but will not mind it in her company."

"Hmm…so not the first to get loose-lipped from the spirits, then."

"Probably not, sir."

"We have delegates from every province?" he asked as the thought hit him. Twelve delegates, seven provinces, Cyrodiil included. Now he just hoped to Stendarr that he wasn't going to be shipping a twice-be-damned Thalmor representative across the ocean. He had one of them to _thank_ for taking command of the _Pax Imperii _as young as he was back then.

"Just about, sir. As Skyrim is currently in a state of civil war, a delegate from Solitude could not be arranged." Well, that wasn't really as much of a loss as some would say. The Nords were not exactly the most tolerant of people, and for this mission the Tribune doubted people like that were wanted, especially since what little he had been told involved elves. Still, it wouldn't have hurt the mission in the slightest to have had a bard with them. Sailing tended to get boring for passengers after a while, far as he recalled; "Elsweyr sends Jo'riba Booramnin and Baadirsha Booramnin."

"Remind me, those two are the siblings from Orcrest, right?" he asked with a pair of fingers rubbing his brows; "Why of all people were _they_ chosen?"

"Unknown, sir."

"…of course it is." He sighed, realizing it would have been beyond naïve of the Emperor or whomever was giving direct command for someone as low as a Centurion to know specific details. That _his_ Centurion knew as much as she did was a testament to her observational skills; "So that's six, who's the delegates from Morrowind, Orsinium and the rest?"

"Morrowind's delegates are Aldesi Omeen and Revval Satri. Both were born in Mournhold and studied at the Universities in respectively Balmora and Blacklight. Beyond that they're unknowns."

"Dunmer names…Aldesi would be the woman, then?" Arkay, he hated them. _Not_ the Dunmeri themselves, just their names. At least with the rest of the races, the names would give away their gender, but with Dunmers…it was a coin toss more often than not.

"Yes sir, and her companion is the man."

"Figured as much…Orsinium, then?" he asked, not looking at her at all as he greeted a passing patrol of watchmen, all clad in just the light tunica's of boiled leather, with cudgels and shields always at the ready.

"Murzob Yagish and Rulfa Baromog. As far as my reports indicate, they are as diplomatically skilled as you're likely to encounter with an Orc." She paused for a moment, likely digging around in her memory; "As long as we do not keep them on the same ship as the Breton delegates, little trouble should arise."

"Who are the Bretons, then?"

"Theodsis Chr…_Chrrr_…Theodsis _Chrgine_ and Caitte Matrle, sir." The Centurion scowled ever so slightly at her own inability at pronunciation. Veruin did not bother even raising a brow, as he himself would have likely butchered the name far worse than she did. It did not escape his notice that a few nearby merchants seemed amused at her harking and coughing. From their complexions, he'd mark them as Bretons themselves; "Both hail from Daggerfall and have indirect familial ties to the royal family there. Do _not_ get them started on politics, or they'll never shut up."

Somehow, that sounded far too much like a personal experience, and the somewhat haggard, if brief look in Idoria's eyes seemed to agree with his guess.

"Taken under notice." He nodded and continued walking; "That's Cyrodiil, Argonia, Elsweyr, Morrowind, Hammerfell, Orsinium and High Rock, which gives us…twelve? What of Valenwood?"

"No one's arrived, sir."

"…very well." It was unexpected, but not for him to worry about. If the Wood elves weren't coming, no skin off his back, as they said. It honestly didn't bother him that much, seeing as he'd heard…stories, of Bosmer and their dinner habits. He had no intention of finding the truth for himself, if it could be avoided; "What of our military capabilities?"

"Sir. The Sixth Cohort is assembled and awaiting command just beyond the city's walls. Four hundred and eighty legionaries stand ready and able. We have not been granted mounts for the journey, which frees up room for… the extra storage."

"Extra storage?" he stopped and looked at her; "What are we storing?"

"Cartographers, engineers and four priests from the Temple of the One, sir. Linguists were as far as I know disregarded due to reports of a shared language with…"

"Thedas, apparently, is what they call it…" that had been a surprise, for more people than just him. Most likely, if relations really became a reality with these people, maps and charts would need redrawing and Akavir renamed. Was something like that even doable? It was a foreign concept, sure, but…Divines, it was all beyond what he would usually be bothered to contend with. Regardless of what they decided on calling the place, he knew where to go, at least. Due east, and then just onwards for the rising sun until the seas ended and water became sand; "How are the men, Centurion? We're embarking on the expedition of an era, after all."

"Agitated, sir, but they'll keep discipline." She replied respectfully; "They're Imperial Legionaries, sir, not Khajiit."

"…this is the 'Khajiit dislike water' thing that's going around, isn't it?"

"…yes sir." Mallin nodded, seemingly taken just a little aback that he knew the joke. To be fair, it was more or less universal, and the Tribune could not imagine even the Emperor himself not knowing it. At least by reference; "The men found it funny. I'll make sure they keep silent when the Khajiit delegates are near."

"Good…" he had agitated men, he didn't need an agitated delegate or two to add to his task as well; "How are the supplies coming along?"

"Rations for at least a month have arrived in the city, sir. The workers are loading them onto the ships as we speak. It shouldn't take more than five hours or so from here on out."

"Good. Let's go meet the delegates then, and then ensure the men rest early. We sail before dawn come morning."

* * *

**As you might have noticed, half of this chapter was world-building. Or, world-expanding, seeing how Leyawiin was invented by Bethesda, not me. Every name, however, is my own idea, and I will confess they are completely random. **

**The main reason for this detour is that I wanted to show what's going on in Tamriel, and...Gods! There is almost nothing to find on what kind of ships are used by the Empire. It's freakishly annoying, and I've had to go by what we see from trade vessels in Skyrim to even get an idea. Honestly I started this story out thinking the Empire still used Triemes, seeing how the rest of their culture is based on the Romans...**

**There is a codex of sorts in the works by my Archivist Rhodry-Arterius, so whenever he finishes a section, I'll smack it up as supplements to Talia's diaries - because let's be honest: if I keep doing those day by day, I'm going to end up spoiling the last book.**

**As always, I live and feed from your reviews, response and thoughts.**


	49. A Journey at its End

_Dwarves, for reasons yet unknown, seem to have an inborn resistance towards more than just the lethal effects of raw Lyrium. _

_During my first stay in Orzammar, I witnessed no less than three Dwarven ghouls whom, had they been humans, would have completely succumbed to the taint at this point. _

_Yet, we came across not one, not two, but three ghouls, all of them still in some way coherent enough that they still retained some semblance of themselves. Ruck, the first, had been lost in the Deep Roads for months, and was yet still alive when we came across him, despite the fact that he had outright eaten Darkspawn. Humans would simply have died or become complete ghouls within days of that, to my knowledge._

_The second was Hespith, a member of Branka's house. It is difficult to put into words what she told us, of what Branka had done. To think that such…insanity, even exists, is hard for me to fully comprehend. We encountered her first in the…_

Torn page found in the ruins of the Hanged Man, Kirkwall.

* * *

**A Journey at its End**

* * *

In Talia's honest and probably somewhat personal opinion, there were different shades of 'bad'.

There was 'bad', when she once forgot where the Hell she'd thrown her smalls and had been forced to go through classes in Winterhold without them.

There was 'bad', when Father had once caught her with a stable boy, in a situation that was nothing if not compromising, all things considered.

There was 'bad' when she'd gotten sliced in the leg by a Hurlock at Ostagar, and then nearly succumbed to the taint before the damn Joining even started.

There was 'bad', when Howe had betrayed and murdered nearly everyone in Highever, herself almost included.

And there was of course 'bad' when a demon threw them all into the Fade and they ended up at Sheogorath's tea party.

But still, the kind of 'bad' she was looking at right now…she wasn't quite sure what category it belonged in, if any. They'd investigated the source of light, and found it to be nothing short of the actual entrance to the damned Anvil of the Void, the one they'd set out looking for originally before Oghren had even factored into the equation.

What they'd also found, was a mound of corpses, darkspawn and dwarven both, decorating what looked most of all like an obstacle-course designed by the Prince of Madness himself. A trench led from one end of a long room to the other, turning and bending its course as spikes protruded from every surface, the vast majority of them holding at the least one victim.

There was blood _everywhere_, and the stench from so many halfway rotten bodies was nauseating. Talia gripped her nose and held her breath, and it was all she could do not to vomit where she stood. The absolute worst part, however, was that they'd found their missing dwarf.

A dwarven woman in thick plates covering all but her head, was shuffling across the room, with little evidence to her even noticing them at all. Even from this distance, Talia noticed the unusually pale skin and the black, unnaturally appearing veins showing underneath. Daveth broke the silence.

"…_fuck_."

"…Branka." Oghren's voice was like a soul ripped in two. The dwarf dropped his axe with a rattle as it hit the blood-stained rock, and seemed as if he could only stumble his way forward. No one moved even an inch to stop him, everyone having realized exactly what was going on, what had happened.

"…you…stupid…sodding…_madwoman_, why…why'd you…Why?" Oghren's horse voice gradually descended into open sobbing as he neared the…thing, that had once been his wife. The ghoul seemed to only slowly become aware of the approaching dwarf, and regarded him with milky eyes ringed by black puss; "We…we had…we had so much…so much time, why…why didn't you just…"

All he received in return was a ghastly moan, as the ghoul seemed to try appraising whether Oghren was a threat or a meal.

"…why? Why? _WHY DAMMIT YOU SODDING BITCH?!" _Oghren screamed as he grabbed the ghoul by its shoulders, shaking it like a child would a ragdoll; "WE HAD EVERYTHING! _YOU_ HAD EVERYTHING BUT IT WASN'T ENOUGH WAS IT?!"

The dwarf's agonized shouts were enough to make Talia cringe. She had thought Oghren had been a wreck after encountering Hespith, but compared to this, he'd barely been moved by the semi-conscious woman at all. Here, he was crying his heart out as he shook the surprisingly docile ghoul.

"SAY SOMETHING STONE-DAMMIT! TELL ME WHY YOU LED OUR ENTIRE HOUSE TO THEIR DEATHS! _TELL ME WHY YOU LEFT ME_!" he screamed so the spittle flew and his beard stood in all directions like a madman. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and flowing with tears.

Something like recognition seemed to dawn on the ghoul. The milky eyes remained glazed over, but an expression that could be concentration appeared on its face.

"…_mee…kill…kill meeee…Og…ren" _

Oghren stopped shaking her. The rest of them stopped breathing altogether. No one had missed the ghoul's rasping words.

"_Kill m…mee, Ogh…ren…kill…mee…P-plea…k-kill…mee…"_

"…dear gods, she's…" Talia wasn't even sure how to finish her sentence, so she just shut up. There was nothing she could say or do that would change the outcome of this. Oghren's wife had become a ghoul - in itself poetic justice if one happened to be a cynical asshole - and now the man had to deal with it the only way one could deal with ghouls.

"B-_Branka…_" Oghren was on the verge of collapsing where he stood, even as he reached a hand for the knife at the small of his back. The ghoul didn't move, showing no reaction beyond a simple expression of pained relief; "I'm _sorry_…"

He slipped the blade between her ribs, and the ghoul collapsed on the blood-soaked ground.

Not a word was spoken, nor were any condolences offered. It wasn't out of any lack of respect, but at this point no one present retained the naivety that saying anything would help matters in any way whatsoever.

No questions were asked, and the dwarf then simply started ahead, a very different gait to his walk than before. It was mechanical, like he wasn't even present in his own head at this point. Once more, Talia couldn't even bring herself to speak. What could she say, really, at this point? What could any of them say, or do, that would lessen the grief Oghren was going through?

* * *

Beyond the trench, a large expanse opened up.

Beyond the trench, a suit of armor awaited them, hulking in its sheer enormousness. Talia was the first to actually see it and stop, signaling for the others who hadn't even seen the damn thing yet.

"That's… a golem?" Wynne spoke up, and ceased the step she had been about to take forward as the golem in question, made purely from metal, turned its head to regard them; "Functioning even after all these years…"

"My name is Caradin." When it spoke, Talia felt as if her skin tingled with dormant magic. It wasn't even hers, but seemed instead to come from the golem. The…_Caradin_? "Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar."

Talia stared at the thing, the hulking monster of steel. Even Sten seemed puny besides it. And it was speaking. It was actually _speaking_. No recorded Centurion had ever been capable of that. The dwarves had _actually _trumped the Dwemer. So massive was her surprise that the grief from just minutes ago was abating, and her jaw nearly hit the ground "_…holy shit._"

"If you seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it."

* * *

It was three days now, since the Dalish and Lady Rhea had arrived in Redcliffe now.

For most of Redcliffe, town and castle both, their presence was simultaneously a blessing and a bother. For the Arl of Redcliffe, as well as his brother and undoubtedly the Grey Wardens as well, they were a boost to their forces and signaled a betterment of their chances at beating the Blight.

The villagers, however, were somewhat less enthusiastic.

It was not so much a case of outright hostility that was the problem. The Maker knew Murdoch had made it very clear in no uncertain terms that the Dalish were _not_ to be harassed or chased out of town at first chance. At the same time, he'd made it just as clear to Keeper Lanaya - who had opted to remain with the aravels rather than remain at the castle with the Dunmeri noblewoman - that if any of the Dalish caused trouble, they'd answer to the law, Warden-treaties or no.

Still, where open hostility was not shown, there were cases where it was far more subtle. Eleanor had not seen them for herself, but as Gilmore now dared leave her side for more than an hour at a time, he had returned more than once with reports that those elves who dared venture into the village proper were not exactly welcomed with open arms, and any villager curious enough to come near the Dalish wagons was glared down until he or she hurried off.

In hindsight, Eleanor knew she had been naïve to think something as insignificant as a Blight would end centuries of hatred and bigotry - from both sides. Still, if there was a bright note to add, it was that now the Dalish had entered the village, the fields outside the walls were once again open for the soldiers to train.

Regardless of whether or not they actually improved was second to the fact that training men and tired men did not start fights as often as idle men. Still, as much as she _was_ concerned about the ongoings in the village, Aedan's whereabouts reigned far supreme in her priorities.

It was more than two weeks now since they'd left for Orzammar, and as much as she expected to see them appear over the hills every day, and as much as she trusted his companions, Talia in particular but also Serah Maryon who seemed especially tied to Ser Gilmore, she still worried.

"I have met the merchant Bodahn and his son."

This wasn't the first time Lady Rhea had appeared as if out of the shadows. Having spent her youth as a rogue, the Teyrna knew perfectly well how to do just that, but being on the receiving end of such behavior was…unfamiliar.

"They are indeed unique people, Sandal in particular seems gifted with a mind for enchantment I have rarely encountered." The Dunmeri noblewoman mused, though her smile fainted somewhat when she saw whatever expression Eleanor wore; "…You seem troubled, Lady Eleanor."

Over the course of the days since her arrival, Lady Rhea Aulus had opened up far more than she had on that first night, and had opted for discarding her hood, instead letting her obsidian hair flow like a waterfall down the back of her neck. She was also far kinder than her appearance let on, and never minded a conversation, regardless of how low of status the other part.

It was beyond refreshing to encounter someone who actually deserved the term 'Noble woman' again. The Teyrna had been stuck with the Arlessa as only other female counterpart, and had not found the woman stimulating company. The Dunmeri Queen though, however much she preferred to not be called as such, was Isolde's opposite in every way bar gender.

That she was Talia's mother likely also made her far more likeable, though Eleanor was as of yet uncertain whether this was her own bias playing in.

"Merely lost in thought, really…" Eleanor smiled as a small sigh escaped her; "…I do not suppose it would surprise you that most of my thoughts are directed at the well-being of my son."

"As are mine with Talia, as you know." Rhea nodded, standing next to the Teyrna as they looked beyond the battlements of Redcliffe castle; "I know she is strong, and I have no doubt that your son is as diligent as you say. Still, it does not completely remove the anxiety in my heart until I see her appearing from beyond the hills."

The Teyrna lifted a brow at that, realizing she herself had thought the same.

"When last we spoke, I believe you were about to tell me more of my daughter's time here, before the Arl's untimely announcement of dinner?" the younger woman mused, glancing at Eleanor with maternal curiosity residing in her eyes. Once, Eleanor would have believed any one possessing such deeply blood-red eyes to be an abomination, or otherwise possessed, yet now she found she did not mind them in the slightest.

Likely, it was because she had only known them to belong to good people.

"I was, wasn't I?" she nodded at her own question, and the smile she had possessed started to falter; "Though, I must say before I continue, it is…not a pleasant story."

"Has Talia been uncouth, or inconsiderate?" Rhea asked, her smile becoming somewhat more thin; "It was my impression she had made a positive acquaintance at your first meeting."

"Oh, that she most certainly did." The Teyrna could, despite where the tale was going, not entirely conceal the smile at the memories of watching the young Warden recruit explore the castle. Talia had been childlike, in her obvious wonder. There was also obvious sorrow and caution to the girl's behavior, however, though it was only so much later that Eleanor understood the why's of it; "When she first arrived in Highever, along with the late commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, she was… quiet, initially. We were hosting several guests, among them the man who betrayed and slaughtered our household, Arl Howe…"

"…the man who murdered your grandson, daughter-in-law and husband." Rhea stated softly, shocking the Teyrna. 'shocking' was actually putting it mildly, as she stared with surprise at the other woman; "I inquired to Sir Gilmore as to how he received the eyepatch. I know only of the ensuing fight."

"Y-yes, that's…forgive me, I was surprised, not offended at your knowing." Having Rhea mention the murders ripped open wounds of grief the Teyrna had thought finally starting to heal. Now she knew again what she had known the very day, that they never would; "She arrived with the Warden-Commander, though he allowed her the roam of the castle. Talia…she did not see me, I think. I might have been overtly curious, but I could see when someone wanted to be left alone."

"She was still in grief, then, after what happened to Onmund at the Circle?" there was a tightness to the woman's words, and Eleanor did not doubt the notion of a Circle enraged the woman as much as it had her daughter. They were truly blessed beyond reason, to have magic but nothing to fear from demons.

"Yes…Aedan, however, was never quite one to take a hint unless it was thrown at him, and before I knew it I saw the two of them walking the grounds together." Eleanor mused, thinking back to the utterly uninhibited manner with which Talia had berated him when he spoke of the Circle. He wasn't used to that, not back then, but instead of pulling away, it had only seemed to empower his fascination with this foreign girl; "In its own way, that proved to save his life, and mine."

"How so?" the Dunmer asked, simple and open curiosity in her voice. Eleanor paused, uncertain as to how she was going to approach this. She knew, though it had only been made known to her long after Highever, what Talia had been planning that night. She wasn't certain of how she was going to relay it to her Talia's _mother,_ on the other hand.

Trying to gain the time to think, she let her eyes wonder over what little she could make out of the Orlesian Free Companies training in the fields. Sellswords in heavy armor were swinging their weapons at the dummies, either cutting with swords or pummeling with polearms. She did her best not to think of those dummies as fellow Fereldans.

"Talia was…_is_, a young woman, and…I suppose she longed for company after being trapped in the tower." It was about the most polite and measured way she could say it, and it still felt odd, trying to defend the girl's actions to her mother.

"Ah." Rhea nodded with an understanding that yet again surprised her; "I would not say that surprises me. If I have a fault as her mother, it is that I never truly taught her…restraint. I believed it best she discover life on her own terms, which she…well, did, I suppose…This saved lives though, how?"

"She was with Aedan in his chamber, _not_ doing anything, mind you." The Teyrna interjected before the younger woman - she hadn't asked of her age yet, true, but Lady Rhea could not be above forty; "From what I have been told, she was telling him about Tamriel, more specifically of Skyrim, her College and your gods." She hesitated as a thought hit her, though asking it would no-doubt send any Revered Mother within earshot into a fit; "You have…eight or nine?"

"That depends entirely upon the race in question." Rhea smiled; "But since Talia is a Breton, and I have lived in Bankorai for as long as I remember, we adhere to the Bretoni Pantheon, though I still revere Lady Azura as well. The Imperial Pantheon is the one most widely regarded as the official pantheon of the Septim Empire, which had all of the Nine Divines. The current Mede Empire, however, only has eight, as Talos was removed after the Great War…I must admit, I'm surprised she would prioritize a cultural exchange over…other things. I seem to have sold her short."

"It is the plight of a parent, I fear…" Eleanor sighed; "Talia being with him is why he was awake when the attack started, and she saved both Aedan's life as well as my own when Howe's men…killed my grandson and his mother. She helped us fight through to the main hall where Ser Gilmore was holding the doors…Then we left for the servants' exit in hopes of finding my husband there."

"He was gravely wounded, was he not?" Rhea asked quietly, to which Eleanor nodded as she bit her cheek. The grief was thick in her heart at the memory of seeing Bryce, _her_ Bryce, on the cold floor, bleeding from a sword-wound. It was difficult to breathe for several moments, and the elven woman with her simply waited for her to be ready again. There was little else one could do, really.

"Yes." It was hard to say it aloud; "We found him in the pantry, then Duncan joined us. I had him and Talia take Aedan from the castle. I had them swear to ensure he escaped."

"…I cannot imagine what that must have felt like." Rhea shuddered as a grimace painted her expression; "You stayed behind instead of joining your son?"

"I felt like it was all I could do at that point." The Teyrna muttered quietly. She knew, and had known since Gilmore's rescue, that the right thing to do would have been to go with Aedan. But she also knew that the life that awaited him, the duty he would face, was not something she could have ever assisted him in; "…you would not be telling me anything new if you mean to say I should have accompanied him. It is my greatest shame that at that moment, I chose being my husband's wife rather than my son's mother."

"Eleanor…my husband and I _allowed_ Talia to continue on this path. We at least had the power to actively protect her, _you_ do not." Rhea pressed, turning to fully face the Teyrna; "I know you have a willpower stronger than most regents I have met in my life, but regardless how strong of mind, you could not fight alongside the warriors your son now calls comrades. There is no shame in knowing what you cannot do, no matter how much you may resent it."

"…I know." Eleanor sighed, averting her eyes; "That does not mean I will ever be truly at peace with it."

"Of course you won't, you're his mother." Rhea agreed with a thin smile; "And my daughter has obviously kept her word since that night, if they are still both alive."

"That's one way of saying it." The Teyrna nodded with a small grin of her own; "Your daughter might just be the most brash, unusual and forceful young lady I have ever met."

"Perish the day she would be addressed with 'lady'. I think it would kill her." Rhea chuckled, and the Teyrna found the Dunmer's laugh infectious. In this madness that was Blights and Civil wars, it was nice to just be allowed a small measure of happiness once in a while.

"She kept well to courtesy whenever we've spoken, however." Eleanor noted, her mood significantly improved upon; "She has never even sworn or been uncouth in my presence. I think it might be that she feared my disapproval."

"Because of her fondness for your son, I take it?" Rhea mused, eying the Teyrna with a glint behind ruby eyes; "I should really not be surprised that she spent so much energy rejecting every match we made for her, and then so soon after coming here, found a better match out of her own heart and desires…Shows what little we parents know, I guess…"

"I wouldn't say better, per se…" Eleanor shook her head with a small smile still painting her expression; "Grey Wardens don't inherit titles or wealth."

"Not what I meant, though that is surprising news to me. Ah, so much yet to learn of this land of yours, there is…" Rhea regarded her counterpart with an amused expression of mild surprise; "Talia was never raised nor intended to inherit, which reflects in her personality…all for the better, really…When I spoke of the better match…Tell me, has she mentioned infatuation or outright loving your son?"

"She…did, yes." Uncertain of what exactly the Dunmer meant, Eleanor glanced at the younger woman in deep curiosity; "She was anxious about it, to say the least."

"To my knowledge, that would mark it as her first, then." Rhea sighed with a surprising amount of content; "Talia has…experimented, throughout her adolescence, but never actually been romantically involved. She outright despised whatever matched _we_ tried setting her up with, of course."

"With her personality, I can imagine."

"…you do not sound surprised?" Rhea tilted her head ever so slightly, bringing to mind Brelyna Maryon, for reasons the Teyrna could not put a finger on; "I would have thought such a thing to be scandalous within your courts?"

"Well…I suppose it would be, with most." Eleanor admitted; "My own youth was not all that different from what Talia herself described as hers, so I might have had an easier time understanding than most would have."

"She told you of it herself?" now the elven woman's eyes widened.

"She thought I was confronting her on it, so she more or less just…spilled it, I suppose is the word." The Teyrna smiled at the memory. Talia had been dead-beat tired, as Aedan had put it, so it might have been the exhaustion that had driven the young woman to say what she did. It was still a touching show of honesty from the otherwise so brash young woman; "She as well did not know Wardens are cut off from titles, and feared I meant for her to abandon my son due to his heritage."

"At that time, did you know of hers?" Rhea asked quietly. Eleanor nodded. That night had held a great many surprises, the mentioning of ships that flew not the least of them.

"She said she doubted her social status in Tamriel mattered at all in Thedas, so she herself somewhat completely disregarded it." She said; "…at one point, she suffered a horrific injury - which has healed completely now." Eleanor hurriedly added when Rhea's expression became one of horror; "It left her unable to speak for a few weeks, however. Somehow, I think it was what truly brought my son and her together."

Rhea simply remained silent, watching the Teyrna and wordlessly asking her to proceed.

"They spent so much more time together in that period than I had seen before, and I think it would have taken longer for them, had it not happened."

"How…_did_ it happen, her injury, I mean?"

"From what Aedan told me, she ended up facing what we call a 'Pride Demon'. It is a hulking monster, by far one of the most dangerous of beings we know of…It forced her to attempt fire breathing, and it…did not end as well as it could have."

"…Fire breathing." Rhea seemed to shudder at the mention, something Eleanor wasn't entire sure she understood. Wasn't it just a matter of the mage's skills? "She should never have been forced to do such a thing. Fire breathing is exceedingly dangerous, even for a mage with my abilities. The other races, humans included, should never attempt it if given other options…My kind, the Dunmers, don't face that risk as we are…not susceptible to burns. But Talia survived it, thank Azura…I suppose I should not be surprised if I see my daughter again and not recognize the woman she has become?"

"She _has_ become an amazing young woman, though I cannot claim to have known her long enough to know whether that is who she was already, or if it has grown with her duties." Eleanor smiled softly at the uncomfortably looking woman; "I do not think I could ask my son to find a better person in his life. Not that he'd listen if I ever lost the sense to do so, that is."

"Lady Teyrna, if I may, I have a proposition."

"Please, just Eleanor." She smiled; "I did call you Rhea once you asked it, did I not? In all fairness, I should be the one addressing you with such reverence."

"I know. It is, however, a habit of mine that I have never been able to let go…" Rhea smiled in turn; "As you might have realized, my journeying here was on the knowledge that your land exists, and not as we once thought."

"I _had_ heard mentions of supposedly snake-like people." Eleanor nodded. She remembered as much from conversations with both Brelyna and Talia, as well from what little Aedan had mentioned of it; "I am sorry to be so dreadfully dull as simply being human."

"Not at all. In truth, it was a relief beyond comprehension when Talia informed my husband that Thedas was as far as she could discern, populated with humans and elves. Dwarves as well, though I have yet to see the similarity between the merchant and his son, and the people _we_ called Dwarves." Rhea nodded towards the courtyard, where the boy, Sandal, was running around with the castle's Mabari; "However, the Empire now knows of your culture's existence. When I left Tamriel, my husband was yet in the Imperial city, presenting what little we knew to the Emperor, Titus Mede the Second. Undoubtedly, envoys will soon encroach on Thedas' shores."

For a while, Eleanor wasn't quite certain what she was to say to that. Talia had certainly aired the possibility, but at that time it had seemed more like the wishful thinking of a young girl, missing her homeland and kin in spite of her estrangement to both.

Now, when the same notion came from Rhea, it seemed so much more like a real possibility. In truth, she wasn't sure if the concept making contact with such a different culture, on such a scale, was a good idea or not. She knew enough from Talia and Brelyna that the people of Tamriel considered their pantheon above reproach.

She also knew the history of the Exalted March of the Dales.

Perhaps now would be a good time to share it.

* * *

Westwards, riding the waves of the Padomeic, the Imperial Lanternas _Pax Imperii_ was making good speed, having set out from the Topal Bay now three days ago. It was followed by the nine War Galleys carrying the 6th Cohort, as well as its accompanying engineers, cartographers and the small entourage of priests from the Temple of the One.

They were transports first in this, carrying their crew and passengers to the rediscovered "new" world. The only ship with weapons larger than mounted ballistae was the _Pax Imperii_, their flagship.

Tribune Veruin Kratorius stood at her bow, peering at the horizon. The winds had been with them since the moment of their departure, and they were making headway faster than he had ever dared to hope. With this rate, they might see the shores of Thedas before the truly harsh storms of early winter set in.

No one truly knew how long it would take for them to reach their destination; it could be everything from seeing land tomorrow to a month.

He had spent the past days with the delegates, whom despite his wishes had all been stowed upon his vessel. That meant he had to have men at the ready to separate the Orcs and Bretons, more as a precaution than actual damage control.

So far, no fights had broken out, but he dared not say so out loud for fear that Nirn would punish him for his arrogance. He was getting too old to play chaperone to adult men and women, and was truly for not the first time glad that his Centurion could be delegated at such tasks.

She was also far better with people than he was, no doubt thanks to her upbringing. Being the daughter of a baker, she was more than just capable of dealing with folk of every kind; she was a symbol that even the common man or woman could realistically aspire to relative greatness within the Legion.

"Tribune, sir, rations." One of the sailors approached him, carrying a loaf of bread with dried beef and mashed potatoes. It was like eating stiffened oatmeal with meat, which was a less than fortunate combination, but it was nutritious, and the potatoes helped prevent scurvy. No man daring to call himself a competent sailor would risk scurvy upon his ship.

Turning to regard the man, the Tribune nodded his thanks. The waves hammering the hull of his ship deafened all but the closest of conversations. As such, he never knew the bird was there before a splotch of white and yellow landed perfectly in the center of his ration.

The sailor seemed to not know whether to be amused or horrified, and looked to want nothing more than simultaneously offer Veruin a new portion and run away. In the end, the Tribune acted faster than the sailor, staring into the skies.

The waves still deafened their cries, but now, floating in the grey skies, he could see them clearly.

Seagulls.

* * *

**And the Empire stands at the gates of Thedas!...sort of.**

**So, somehow I've been able to get a lot of work done recently - don't ask me how, I have no idea - with the result that I can give you this already, instead of the stupidly long wait I usually make you go through. **

**While writing, I more often than not find myself distracted. Sometimes it's an anime, sometimes it's a youtuber updating, and sometimes it's finding another really good story. Funny thing about the last one is, I have this weird aversion to reviewing if the story has crossed the 1k review count. Not because of jealousy, though that's probably not entirely out of the picture, but because at that point, reviews become less personal, and more of a statistic. **

**I deal with statistics on a daily basis in school. I don't care to bring it to Fanfiction. So, more often than not, I just read the whole thing and leave my thoughts on the final chapter. Kinda hypocritical, I know, since I ask you to review every chapter I put out. Still, it's more because I'm actually pretty fond of what few readers and reviewers I have. Might not get me known, but I get to know you, more or less. You just can't do that with thousands of reviewers. **

**...Anyway, so that was more or less just my thoughts on it. To return to the subject at hand, I'm basing the names, functions and designs of the Imperial ships on the warships available to Venice and the Byzantine Empire in Medieval 2, seeing how even going through the codex-sites on ESO gave me little. It did, however, give me the appearances of several ships, which is what I am basing their classes on. A lot of the Imperial ships, for example, look like a cross-breeding between a Trieme and a Venecian Galley from the 11th century, and others look like straight-up Carracks from the days of the Mayflower.**

**So, it's kinda tricky figuring out who is working as their carpententers, because clearly he can't stay decided on whether they're in the 6th or 16th century. Still, I enjoy working with what I've got, which I suppose if really what matters. Most Imperial ships I have been able to find have the appearances of Carracks, but the armament of a Trieme. It's a mish-mash, but then again, it's Bethesda.**

**We love them for and or despite it.**

**By now, I don't think it will surprise any of you that I plan on being pretty damn expansive with this story.**

**Also...I might just have entered first place amongst author's being dicks to Oghren. At least, if any one of you know of a story where Oghren is dealt a shittier hand than here, please do leave its name ;)**

**As always, pennies for your thoughts, cookies for your corrections and...ponies, I guess, for your favorites? I dunno what else to give for that last one...maybe uniforms or T-shirts? "We molest science with fire" or something like that?**


	50. When the Journey is done

_"Following each birth of the Sun, we left the Old World"_

_\- _Centurion Idoria Mallin, 6th Cohort, 10th Legion, 4E 202

_"And so, from the west, in the deepest night, there came the ships of dragon-sails, bearing men clad in deepest steel and darkest grit, each warriors of great might, sent as if by the Maker to deal death to the foes of man. They were and are the Imperial Legion, and they were to change the world." _

\- Transcript of first encounter at Laysh, Warden-Constable Alexander Herman, 9:30 Dragon.

"_Talk about a fucking sense of timing…"_

\- addendum to the transcript, Senior Warden Talia Aulus, 9:39 Dragon

* * *

**When the Journey is done, the Dawn will come**

* * *

"So…that was it, then. We're done." Talia sighed, stretching her arms above her head as she reclined on the couch in Tapsters. She snuggled up to Aedan, who took the gesture for what it was and hugged her a little closer with the arm around her stomach; "We can _actually_ take a breather?"

They'd returned to Orzammar not even an hour ago, and after having presented Sorella with not just the news of Branka's death, but also a crown forged by Caradin himself, she'd gone straight for the one place she knew would hold what she needed to recover from the shitstorm that was their journey through the Deep Roads.

Alcohol, and plentiful amounts of it.

"It is much needed, I'd say." Wynne agreed, reclining in one of the chair as her hands clasped a wooden mug of ale the size of her head. The dwarves didn't do drinking by halves, that much was clear. The older woman seemed like the stress of almost a week's worth of traveling through the Deep Roads was finally catching up with her, and yet somehow, she retained the spirit of someone much her junior.

It was actually pretty damn impressive.

Still, there was the issue of how to handle the aftermath. Oghren had not spoken a word to any of them since their leaving Caradin's forge, and upon returning to Orzammar, he had simply vanished. No one knew where to, and, Talia found, no one seemed overtly concerned.

It was actually pretty regressive.

Much as Oghren was not a man she would socialize with, given the choice outside of an active war, he had been their guide and companion throughout their journey through the Deep Roads, and there was little chance they would have found their way even to the Dead Trenches without him. And where _they_ had all lived to tell of it, a piece of the dwarf had died in the tunnels.

Sometimes, she really hated her job…

Caradin had tasked them with destroying the very anvil they'd come to find, explaining the full, undiluted and gruesome details of just how Golems were made. Talia, for all she had been stricken with awe at the technology of it, had felt violated on a base level when it was revealed that a dwarf, regardless of his or her willingness, would be trapped in the armor of a Golem, and then drowned in liquefied Lyrium.

After that, Talia had found it remarkably easy to blow the damn thing off the side of the cliff, and into the lakes of molten rock underneath. They had allowed the anvil and its maker one final construction: the crown of Orzammar. They had then born witness to Caradin standing at the edge of the platform, contemplating whether throwing himself into the magma would put an end to the suffering he had caused.

"_Why do you want to die so badly?" Talia asked, standing next to the massive suit of armor. She was not afraid of him, and saw no reason why she should be. Caradin was unstable, true, but he was not hostile, and seemed melancholic and regretful more than anything._

_That, and she was the only one actually willing to go within five meters of him._

"_I have caused untold amounts of death and pain to those who once revered me as a Paragon of their kind." Caradin offered somberly; "Could I breathe, every breath I drew would be an insult to those I condemned to the eternal servitude. Our empire was built upon the stolen souls of thousands of innocents, robbed of their mortal frames by my hand."_

"_You wouldn't be the first with that kind of biography, you know?" _

"_I have used that as my excuse more times than you can count your days, human." Caradin refuted her; "The world, both the one I knew and the one above will be better off without me in it. I am a monster, and only the anvil kept me for this world. The lives I have ruined will not rest until I am no more."_

"…_what about the lives you could save, then?"_

The itching of her brand brought Talia back from the memory of leaving Caradin at the edge, locked up and silent. She blinked and stared hard down her chin, at the place on her chest where Hakkon's brand had her marked like a piece of cattle.

Considering their difference in authority, she might as well be… Ever since their encounter with the Archdemon, Hakkon had refused her every attempt at speaking to him. There had been nothing, which she supposed very well illustrated her role in this. He could, without warning, take over her mind and body, and she couldn't even talk to him without being spoken to.

It was humbling and humiliating, especially when she had grown up accustomed to always having her voice heard. On most matters, at least. This, this felt more like trying and failing to convey even a simple message from servant to master, and it was infuriating.

But…maybe now, when they had left behind the Deep Roads, he would talk to her? Was that what the brand acting up meant? There really was nothing to do but try it out, much as she wanted nothing less than simply remaining relaxed in Aedan's arms right now. It was the first physical contact she'd had with him in nearly a week, and she was loathed to do anything that might interrupt it.

"…_Hakkon?"_

She did not expect the reply, and did her best not to let her surprise show. Not so much because of Hakkon, but because of where she was. No one had told Aedan of her possession-issue yet, mainly because she'd threatened to violate whomever did it before her. This was important, and she couldn't let him walk around with half the story.

"_Drem Yol-Kiir, Talia."_

Or rather, it was incorrect to say she did not expect a reaction, but that she did not expect it to be…well, polite. She had no idea what the first words meant, but it was clear even to her that they were not words devoid of at least acknowledgement. What had changed?

"_You have felt the mark, by now, have you not?"_

"…_it's…the thing on my chest, right?" _having him say it out loud in her mind was enough to instill fear. It meant he knew the brand was acting up, which meant it was something he'd _planned_; "…_W-what did you put on me?"_

"_You fear I have branded your mind, preparing to usurp you." _Hakkon snorted, if one such action could be conveyed across minds; "_I have no interest in mindless slaves, unlike those of my kin across the seas."_

"_So…so, you…you're not going to take my mind?"_ she was almost too afraid to ask even that, and feared the question in and off itself would anger him enough to do it. She had had trouble sleeping in the Deep Roads, especially the night after encountering the Brood Mother, and feeling the same flows of power in her veins as when Hakkon had taken her over that first time.

"_An indoctrinated or controlled serf can do little but respond, and I do not intend for you to be a serf, or slave, for that matter." _Hakkon's tone was dismissive, and more than a little patronizing; "_So I will tell you, I do not intend to steal away your mind. Does this comfort you, Kiir?"_

"_Y-yes, it very much does so." _She felt the sigh of relief slip past her lips. Aedan seemed to take it for one of content, and chuckled against her back. He didn't know it, but he was a greater support right now than any mage could be, Tamrielan or Thedasian; "_Can I ask then…the…the brand, what…does it do?"_

"_You assume it has a function."_ The dragon mused; "…_it does not, as such, have a function. It has a meaning, if that is what you ask?"_

"_I…yes, it is."_ She had no idea if this being was being genuinely open with her right now, or lying to her face. But as long as it was not robbing her of mind and body, she could almost take things as they came.

"_It is Ahgraat, in your tongue 'Vanguard'." _Hakkon paused, almost as if he could feel the tendrils of disbelief, confusion and fright snaking their ways throughout her mind and spine. Talia could feel the hairs standing on her neck and arms, despite the warmth of both the room and Aedan's embrace; "_You wonder, now, why I would tell you this. Why would the enemy of your kin ever openly aid you? Is this all Mindol, a trick?"_

"…_I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said no." _she muttered through the bond, frightened and wary of provoking him. No matter what Hakkon said, he was a dragon, and there were thousands of years' worth of documentation on why dragons had never viewed the mortals as equals.

"_You at least seem to realize that I can tell your lies." _She could sense a nodding head, somehow, somewhere beyond her mind; _"...You are well tutored, holding knowledge of events many lifetimes past. You should realize, however, that just as your kin in these lands are of a different mind than in Taazokaan, so are we of the eastern flight different from the first-born and his kin. We never held power like they did."_

"_So, then…why 'Vanguard'?"_ although honestly, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. It sounded like it implied she was going to be promoting or fighting for him, or worse. Talia was _not_ the kind of person who wanted to bring about draconic rule over mankind, or the elves or dwarves, for that matter.

"_It is what you are, whether you realize this or not. Paaz, I see what would frighten you Kiir."_ Hakkon rumbled, and she felt as if it was a physical sensation in her chest; _"You became Ahgraat from the moment your tongue tasted the blood of Kulaas. You became mine, when the bond formed. Your brand is proof of this."_

"_But, what does that…mean, for me?" _he wasn't telling her _anything_ really, and it was starting to frustrate her as much as scare her; "_I- I don't want to…to betray my kind or my friends-"_

"_**Nahlot!**__" _he snarled, and her mind shook with his irritation. What would happen then, if she angered him? After a few seconds of mind-wracking fright, during which Aedan's arms tightened slightly around her - closing her eyes when talking with Hakkon made it easier to focus, but also gave off the impression that she'd fallen asleep - the dragon's temper calmed somewhat down; "_Honah, Talia-Kiir, I do not seek reign, nor rule. I did not accept the bond because I wanted a slave or a servant, or even an extension of my will in your lands. You will serve my interests, and find them to be yours in turn, and your blood will teem with power unknown to fellow Joor. You will be Miin, my eyes, in turn. Your price will be mine to pay, and your mark will grow, as will your power. Sossedov runs in your veins, now, and it will accept no impurity."_

Talia stiffened, though it was not from fear, for once, but uncertainty. What was he saying, that the 'Sossedov' - she assumed it was draconic for 'blood' - would accept no impurity. Bretons were from birth somewhere between humans and elves, and she already had the taint in her blood before drinking of the goblet in Haven.

Far from lacking impurity, her blood was probably the most improbable mixture of species ever contemplated.

"…_what does that mean?" _

There was no response, and her brand had stopped itching. Hakkon was gone, and had left her mind in silence, though overflowing with questions.

Still, at least now she would have an answer for Alistair when he decided to have their talk. That in itself was more of a relief than she'd imagined possible.

* * *

Seeing Redcliffe without the village in its entirety being stirred up by the newly arrived elves was, for lack of better word, somewhat disappointing.

When Lady Rhea Aulus had first learned that humans and elves existed in Akavir, her mind had become boggled with speculation. What were they like? What kind of culture did they have? Did they look like Imperials, Nords or even Redguards? How advanced were they?

Her first impression of Redcliffe had been vague, due to the hurry they had been in to get to the castle. Actually, the castle itself had been most of her impression, since obscuring her face had also meant a somewhat diminished field of view. Now, however, she could wander the village freely.

It did not mean she was naïve enough to go unarmed, however. Wrapped around her right arm and concealed underneath her robes, the three chains connected to her wristband could be flung out at a moments' notice, and made her more than confident in her own abilities.

After all, if none of her peers in Tamriel could counter her foci, how would a mage from Thedas ever have a chance of it? Staffs were easily countered, but chains?

Rhea found herself drawn to the waterfront of the village, where half a dozen small boats were tied up at their piers. More were out on the lake itself, likely fishing boats supplying the village with the excess of food it would soon need, when the Blight spread to their fields. When walking with the Dalish, she had already seen signs of this spreading plague, when animals would attack the convoy, driven mad by the diseased blisters and boils festering everywhere across their bodies.

Redcliffe village at least was…peaceful, now that things had calmed somewhat down. Strangely, some of the villagers gave her odd looks that were not of disbelief or mistrust, but a strange kind of surprise, as if they knew who she was but hadn't expected her.

How very odd.

"Ah, Serah Maryon, you have returned so soon?" somehow, though it was not her name spoken, Rhea had an inkling she was the one being addressed, and turned to find a Redguard smiling at her. No, not a Redguard at all. First, the accent was so much closer to someone from Daggerfall than anywhere in Hammerfell, and her complexion was not quite what a Redguard would be like. She was dressed in the robes Rhea had noticed seemed to be uniform to the Chantry of their religion. A small 'oh' formed on the woman's lips when she realized her error; "Oh, forgive me, I was certain you were somebody else."

"You mistook me for Brelyna Maryon?" Rhea asked, a small smile forming behind a passive face at the priestess' fluster. She knew of course, the saying that to Imperials, all Dunmer looked the same. So she was not exactly surprised that a Thedasian woman was just as bad.

"I- yes, forgive me, but I did not know we hosted more than one of her, of your kind in Redcliffe." The dark-skinned woman admitted; "I am Sister Giselle, of our Chantry here in Redcliffe."

"Lady Rhea Aulus, of the House Aulus of Bankorai." Rhea nodded in a returned greeting. This Giselle seemed…nice, actually. When the Dunmer had at first heard the scraps of story Talia had told Omluard, she had expected the Chantry to be as bad as the Thalmor. It was therefore a genuine surprise, to find someone this immediately likeable.

For a reason Rhea could not discern, Sister Giselle seemed like the last word had struck her harder than the rest. Recognition, most of all, seemed to dawn on the young woman.

Interesting.

* * *

"LAND HO!"

Tribune Veruin Kratorius bellowed before the appointed look-out even had a chance to open his mouth. Having passed between the islands of Ynslea and Esroniet on their second day, he knew that whatever land they now saw, it had to be Thedas, the land they had not even a month ago yet known as Akavir.

"I SAID '_LAND HO'_!" he bellowed once more, as several of the on-deck crewmen and even one of the Khajiit delegates had come out to stare in amazement, instead of reacting to his words and setting to. The second shout had them moving, however, and the delegate hurried underneath the deck, likely to relay the news to his fellows.

The seagulls had been their first warning of what was to come. Their appearance had told them of the nearing shores, but it was only now, hours later, that the Imperial could glimpse the distant shores of Thedas. The skies ahead were darker than he had expected, like a thunderstorm hanging above the lands. It would have to be an unnatural one, if so, for the reddish hue they seemed to hold.

Then again, this would be the first time in hundreds of years for an Imperial Legionaire to set his stern into the sands of Akavir. For all he knew, the weather he could see was commonplace, or perhaps an effect of the climates. It was for the cartographers and priests to figure out, however. Kratorius would ensure the skies did not open up on them unsuspecting, but beyond that the understanding of this phenomenon was for others to know.

"What do you think, sir, Tsaesci or Tang Mo?" Centurion Mallin mused, standing at his side as the ships came ever closer to the shores. From where they stood upon the bow of the _Pax Imperii_, Veruin could make out just a few details on the land.

It seemed predominately beige, though he was unable to immediately tell if this was sand or dirt. There also seemed to be very few trees, and not a forest in sight from the seas. And, of course, not a sign of civilization to be had.

"…who knows?" he muttered, crossing his arms; "From where I stand, it could be both or neither, and it wouldn't matter as long as no one is here to see us…Have the Captain take us south along the coast for a few miles, we might encounter natives, and I'd rather meet them now than in the dark of night."

"Yes sir." She clasped a hand above her heart and left to relay his orders. The Tribune, meanwhile, was left to watch the foreign world, trying to scout details he'd at first overlooked. Nothing, however, seemed willing to reveal itself, and as such he was left with the simple relief that, in the end, they had at least made it across the Padomeic.

As the small fleet made it southwards down the shore, the landscape did not so much improve as it simply seemed to rise up. Where they had at first encountered simply the far-off landscape of plains, now there seemed to be a mountain range further south, one which markedly did not seem to facture in on the few details the old maps of Akavir held.

Had they come too far off course?

The Tribune shook his head at the thought. They'd set out before dawn on that first day, and following the light of the sun, left the Old world. The words were Centurion Mallin's, not his, but in a way, they seemed fitting for their task. Following the sun as it traversed the heavens, they had made a due east, taking the stars at night for guidance.

If they had sailed off course, it would not be by much of a margin, and they should now be somewhere between the territories of the Tsaesci, and the Tang Mo. Of course, if what little he had been told was true…perhaps those were not even their real names. A great many youngsters found the concept of exploring new lands to be thrilling, but Veruin was of a mind to disagree.

Much as he thought of this as perhaps the most prestigious mission he would ever be given, he disliked abrupt changes to his perception of the world. Finding that Akavir was anything but what they'd thought it to be, was one such change he could have gone without.

Night was starting to fall, and the cold gales had the crew and himself shivering slightly in their cuirasses. When walking the decks of ships, no matter your rank, wearing metal armor was asking to be thrown overboard and drowned by its weight. So, sailors and soldiers on ships more often than not exchanged the land-purposed protection for woolen cuirasses, padded vests and leather armor with furs, anything that would keep the cold out of their bones.

"Rations! Rations! Get 'em while they're still hot!" the call went out.

Veruin, standing at the chart in the privacy of his personal quarters, stirred at the words, feeling the hunger gnaw in his guts. The Legion made distinctions in the rations of the common soldier and commanders like himself, but by a small margin, and it still left him eager for the evening's meal, bland though it might be. Contrary to the meals of morning and midday, the evening was commonly served with tomato-broth, filled with chunks of hardened bread to suck up the extra scraps of liquid at the bottom of the bowls.

That, and tonight would be the celebratory meal, for reaching Thedas in shorter time than anyone had expected. That one was still a mystery, both to Veruin and the navigators, but their positions according to the constellations indicated they were well past the known isles. This was Thedas, as its inhabitants apparently called it, and that meant tonight's meal would be supplemented with watered-down wine and ale.

Veruin believed in rewarding the men for a job well done, but not to the extent that they became too drunken to do the next one.

The Tribune stood back from his charts, rolled them up and placed them back in their tubes. He grabbed the wolf-skin cowl from the back of his furs and pulled it over his head before stepping out into the cold. Outside, most of the men, sailors and soldiers both, as well as the delegates, had gathered around the cooking-fires and pots at the center of the deck.

The cold was biting, but the temperature seemed to do little to beat down the mood amongst the men. They were the first in centuries to see these shores, and the feeling of exhilaration was not foreign to him. They were eager, and nervous, overjoyed and anxious at the same time at the prospect of what tomorrow would bring. And all as one were digging into the opened casks of spirits, drinking, eating and laughing amongst themselves.

The Tribune stepped up, and Centurion Mallin quickly made it known that the commander was on deck. Laughter stifled and was in places replaced with light coughing and shifting feet. Veruin adjusted his headpiece and looked first over the men and women before him, then the other ships, each a hundred meters or so away. It was close enough to relay signals, but far enough to allow each vessel maneuverability.

"Soldiers, sailors and representatives of the Empire!" he called out, receiving in turn the affirmative cheers. The men liked his speeches, always had. He was good at them too, most of the time, though this would be a first, giving a speech about discovering a new land. Was this how Ysgrammor had felt, he wondered? Returning to a place that had once been the site of slaughter, now prepared to face down the darkness?

It was not exactly a thought he cherished, considering what had come after the second landing.

"Today, we stand at the very edge of the map, staring into the unknown!" he called once again, voice clear and strong; "Before us, Thedas awaits! Once, thousands of our countrymen died in this land, butchered by gods only know what. Now, centuries later, we, the sons and daughters of the Empire have returned, not bearing conquest, but Imperial Law! We are the frontier, the forerunners, the first of many to come. We will make landfall upon the shores of Thedas come morning, and we will establish without a doubt, to any souls that might live here, that the Empire has come!"

Cheers, once again, rose from the men, and from the other ships as well. Veruin knew he was playing to their sense of pride, their sense of loyalty to the Empire. If all went well, not a blade would need to be drawn. Still, if there was one way to get the men fired up, it was this.

"I will not lie; this land is inhabited, though Akatosh only knows by what, or whom. Some, I will give, say that elves and humans live here too. Others, that the Dwemer are here, and not in fact gone from the world. Others again would have us believe that the snake-folk are awaiting us beyond those blackened beaches." He paused, allowing the words to sink in, and be carried with the wind to the other ships. There were mutterings among the men, even when they knew to be silent. In this, at least, he didn't fault them. It was a lot to take in; "Should all go well, we will find civilization in this land, and open diplomatic ties with them. We will set up our base of operations, and extend the Emperor's hand and will to this land as well. We are here to stay, and no force will prove us otherwise!"

The cheers rose from the ships around them as well, spreading miles away from their sources. The men were jubilant, to say the least. Veruin nodded, satisfied with their excitement. It would help keep the sentries awake come night. He'd already given them orders to send out magelights as soon as they discovered signs of civilization.

Miles away, at the base of a fjord reaching out into what was known as the Volca Sea, the residents of Laysh soon awoke to the sounds of shouts and roars, carried on the wind from beyond their shores. When the first of the townsfolk left their homes to investigate, they found their night skies illuminated, not by the moons, but instead spheres of starlight, floating through the air.

First to the piers of Laysh was Alexander Herman, one of the few Grey Wardens stationed in the town. Squinting against the approaching lights, he held his hand, clad in a curved steel-mitten, before his eyes to shield them. Having been asleep when the first of the shouts came, his collarbone-length, black beard was ruffled and unkempt, giving him a somewhat wild appearance as he stood with his other hand clenching in a fist around the shaft of his Halberd.

As more and more citizens joined him on the piers, first amongst them being the town watch, the voices carried by the wind seemed to come nearer by the minute, until finally around the bend of the fjord, first one, then two, five and ten ships came into view.

Warships.

What in the Maker's name was going on?

* * *

**I literally have so much planned with the Empire/Thedas that it's got me going giddy like a little kid.**

**As always, thoughts, complaints, reviews and contemplations are highly appreciated. If nothing else, then because it often gives me new ideas for later points in the story.**

**Roku, out.**


	51. Revelations

_I remember how the news of the Imperial arrivals in the Anderfels spread like a fucking Blight that'd had its ass lit on fire. _

_I am still not entirely sure how many people it passed through, or when exactly the news reached Ferelden, but normally news from one end of the continent take something like a year to get around. _

_This, this didn't even take a month._

_And it was all because of me. You'd think I felt more pride from that knowledge, but honestly? I don't know…if it gets out here who first…Outside of the Grey Wardens, it's more or less a fact that I'm from Orlais, this nation on the shores of the Padomeic - you'd like it, I think. Reminds me a lot of Daggerfall, just…with masks._

_Your sister, whom while she might envy you your peaceful life, misses and loves you._

Letter to Alai Aulus, 4E 204

* * *

**Revelations**

* * *

As the lights of the settlement grew nearer and nearer, more and more seemed to join them as the inhabitants were stirred from their sleep. From where he stood at the bow of the Lanternas, Tribune Veruin Kratorius, clad in his segmented plates and wolf-cowl furs, could slowly start making out humanoid shapes on what seemed to be piers by the waterfront.

And torches. There were a great deal of running around, and more than a few of the natives were carrying torches, making it easier for the ships to make out the fine line between water and land. That was fine: Veruin wanted to be free of the beach in case they were forced to leave, should the natives prove hostile.

"_Who sails there_?!" a man challenged from the shore, and while it was heavily accented, the shouter was undeniably human. The Tribune quietly thanked Julianos for small blessings. Having their first encounter being with humans would make this so much easier. He didn't even want to consider what would have happened should the settlement have been of snake-folk or Dwemer.

"I am Tribune Veruin Kratorius, of the Empire of Tamriel!" he called back, waving his hand backwards to signal for the captain to slow their approach; "We have come from across the seas in the hopes of finding the lands of Thedas!" He lowered his voice to just a bit above conversational as they drew close enough that he could see a definite center of the crowd: a man clad in scaled armor, hoisting a long-shafted axe; "We come in peace. Where are we, and to whom am I speaking?"

For a moment, the crowd of humans on the piers started shouting amongst themselves. Veruin noticed Centurion Mallin stepping up next to him, one hand resting on the pummel of her steel mace. She'd forgone the ceremonial furs and retained her practical sense of armor before appearance, like always;

"They're humans…They're _actually_ humans." She whispered.

"I suppose that confirms the rumors…and poses questions to our documentation of the Akaviri-"

"You're in Laysh, Anderfels, northern Thedas." The armored man spoke up again, silencing the crowd; "I'm Warden-Constable Alexander Herman, and you're arriving at our shores in warships, yet you claim to bring peace?"

"Warden-Constable, might I come ashore?" Veruin asked, climbing as far into the bow as was safe. Looking down, he found himself merely a dozen meters from his challenger, and found hard, suspicious eyes narrowing at him; "We have traveled for days across the ocean, and have no intentions of provoking hostilities. We seek only to extend the Emperor's hand of friendship, if you will take it."

"…Fine, but just you." The Warden-Constable grunted after minutes' worth of consideration. Veruin drew a small breath of relief. There, that was the first part over and done with. He turned to where Mallin was regarding him with open irritation, no doubt because she knew he would agree to going alone; "Your ships stay where they are, by the way, crew too."

"Of course." The Tribune nodded, stepping back from the bow. Turning around, he could see his crew regarding him with the same trepidation he could sense from Idoria. They worried he was walking into a trap, and he did not fault them. This was a situation none of them had experience with, which was also the reason he'd not offered to have the delegates come ashore first. He needed guaranteed safety before he would allow civilians to step off the ships; "Centurion, you have the ship while I'm gone. Should this be an ambush, return to Tamriel without hesitation, with or without me."

"Sir." She said only that one word as she clasped her fist before her heart, but it still held the entirety of her dislike of the situation, without the tone being anything but respectful. Kratorius nodded briefly at her, then waved at two of the battlemages from his crew. With mirrored gestures, they encased him in the emerald glow of their levitation-spells, and expertly raised him from the deck before floating him towards the closest pier.

Every Legionaire knew some degree of magic, primarily basic Restoration, but there was something to be said for the versatility of a skilled mage on a ship.

Curiously enough, the crowd drew back at the display, almost as if fearful of the magic demonstrated. Warden-Constable Herman, however, merely regarded it with increased mistrust, yet made no move to react towards it as the glow dissipated, and the Tribune stood alone on the wooden planks, feeling suddenly oh so much more exposed.

He had his sword, at least, should things come to it, and he trusted the his men. That would have to be enough.

Taking a deep breath, the Tribune pulled back the wolf-cowl and took his helmet in the crook of his elbow, then calmly marched forward, eyes steeled at the armored man before him. It was all he could do to shut out the agitation and realization that he was approaching an Akaviri warrior as the first of his kind in hundreds of years. Herman's appearance brought to mind a Redguard, though the man's complexion could as well have been a Nord or a Breton. While his beard reached well below his chin, the Warden-Constable was completely bald with the exception of a ponytail starting from the top of his head before flowing down by his ear.

Veruin made it a mental objective _not_ to stare, even as he closed the final meters between them. His eyes could make out further details now, as they got used to the darkness. The Warden-Constable wore perhaps the most unusual combination of armor he had seen to date. While the majority of his body was protected by scales instead of mail, his neck, collarbone, left shoulder and upper arm were protected by well-rounded plating, segmented for mobility.

He stopped before the Warden-Constable of Laysh, and the two men regarded each other for several moments, each as if trying to gain a mental advantage over his opponent. Veruin breathed, clasping his right hand in a fist before his heart.

"Tribune Veruin Kratorius, Sixth Cohort, Tenth Legion, of the Empire of Tamriel." He repeated his first greeting, and extended his hand towards the man before him; "In the name of Emperor Titus Mede the Second, I bring you greetings from Tamriel."

"I see…" Alexander Herman slowly nodded, keeping eyes that seemed black trained at the Tribune's hand, then he took it; "Well then, Warden-Constable Alexander Herman, Grey Wardens of Anderfels. You're in Thedas alright, but I've never heard of your Empire. Across the ocean, you said?"

"We have sailed without stop for nearly four days since we left Tamriel, yes. Our mission is one of peace first." Veruin noticed a lack of recognition as he spoke. Truly then, these people had no knowledge of Tamriel? "However, my orders also are to offer the aid of the Cohort and the Empire with what we have heard to be a Blight."

Alexander's eyes narrowed at the last words, and for a moment, the Tribune wondered if perhaps he had offended the man, or if the Warden-Constable knew nothing of any Blights. From what little he'd been told of Thedas in his orders, there should be a Blight ravaging the lands. _Perhaps it is a local issue, and far from here?_

"…How many men did you say you brought with you?"

Laysh only_ just_ qualified as a large town, with only a few thousand inhabitants, but it was still large enough that it warranted a dedicated force of Wardens, as well as it held inns, taverns, brothels and a Chantry fit for a city. Its streets were paved with stone-tiles, rather than cobblestones, and the houses seemed built to endure violent weather.

Stone and clay-bricks seemed to be the most commonly used material, and this held true for the council chambers as well, Laysh's administrative center. Two stories tall and spartan in both decoration and furnishing, it was clear that this place was made for governance only; Laysh's mayor, their _Herzog_, lived elsewhere.

He was, nonetheless, seated when Herman brought the Tribune through the doors to the central chambers. Dressed somewhat more opulent than the delegates Veruin had been around for the past few days, it was evident that while Laysh did not seem particularly rich, the same could not be said for its administrator. _Much like a governor, really. _

"Warden-Constable, what _is_ going on at the shore?" the Herzog demanded almost before the pair and their guards - from what Veruin understood, they were designated as Wardens as well, though Herman seemed to be their commander - had entered the room completely. Herzog Ulbricht Nochmann was glaring at them both from behind his table, graying hair hanging in an untidied mess down his cheeks. _This is why I had hoped to find others before the night came. People are much more agreeable when not stirred from sleep_; "And who is this…soldier? That is not Anderfels armor."

"Herzog Nochmann, a small flotilla has arrived at the shore from across the Volca. Ten warships, carrying a small army and their leader…" Alexander gestured at Veruin. The Warden had become remarkably more cooperative once Veruin stated the size and intent of the Cohort; "Tribune Veruin Kratorius, of the Empire."

"From across the Volca…Voshai?" the Herzog's eyes widened and then narrowed; "Could it be…Tribune, that was your name?"

"Rank, sir." Veruin explained; "I am a Tribune of the Imperial Legion. Veruin Kratorius is my name in full."

"You claim to come from the lands across the Volca? Are you the Voshai?"

"Weren't the Voshai mainly dwarves?" Herman mused, causing Veruin to pause in his breathing for just a moment. Dwarves? Lands across the sea? Could they be referring to…

"Mainly, yes, but they spoke of a cataclysm. We'd thought…"

"You said these Voshai were dwarves?" Kratorius inquired, regretting immediately that he had spoken out of term. He'd let his curiosity get the better of him, like some fresh-faced Axillary. The natives gave him odd looks, as if wondering if his hearing was flawed; "Forgive my curiosity, but…how long has it been since these Dwarves, the Voshai, last came here?"

"How long?" the Herzog repeated; "The Black Age, that'd make it…roughly five hundred years?"

"Five hundred years…" He was at a loss then. Veruin had halfway expected these dwarves to be the Dwemer, but they had vanished during the first era, more than three thousand years ago; "…I see. I fear I'm not familiar with these Voshai, then. Tamriel holds no dwarves."

"Tamriel, that is your homeland, then?" the Herzog asked, then shook his head as if to get rid of the sleep; "Forgive me, it is late and you must be tired, yet I have not offered you neither chair nor drink. Please, have a seat, the servants will bring us refreshments."

"I thank you." The Tribune nodded, taking a seat before placing his helmet on the table. Briefly, it seemed as if the governor wanted to inquire to its design, but left it alone; "Tamriel is our homeland, yes, the continent that hosts the Empire. We do not have any dwarves, but elves are…aplenty, if you were to inquire."

"I should not be surprised, if there are no dwarves but elves in Tamriel. Truly then, you are not the Voshai." The Herzog shook his head and sighed; "I find myself struggling to comprehend that this is real, that there really is civilization across the seas, yet here you are. I have not asked your intent, though I doubt the Warden-Constable would let you this far if he had not."

"Emperor Titus Mede the Second, our ruler, entrusted me with the mission of seeking out the civilization we had found to be across the Padomeic Sea, what I suppose you would call the Volca Sea." He had read the missives pertaining what information he was allowed to give out quite a few times, and knew what to say. He had simply never expected that he would need it; "A citizen of the Empire was misplaced to the place called 'Ferelden', and was able to relay back her findings of your continent. Our Emperor thus came to know of the Blight that ravages your lands, and wished to stem this tide before it became a threat to the Empire. My Cohort is the spear-tip of an expedition to evaluate this Blight."

"Your Cohort?" Herzog Ulbricht Nochmann asked, his hands grasping hard around the supports of his chair. The agitation was easily seen in the man's eyes, as well as uncertainty and doubt. He seemed equally disbelieving and hopeful.

"My military unit. I command close to five hundred soldiers, plus the crews of my ships." Veruin explained cautiously, slowly; "The part of my task that was to be diplomatic was supposed to be undertaken by our delegates, representatives from all reaches of the Empire."

"If I may ask, Tribune, how large is your Empire?" Warden-Constable Herman asked, crossing his arms. As he spoke, servants entered the room, carrying goblets and pitchers with sweet-scented wine, of all things. Going by the climate, it seemed obvious that they'd have wineries, really.

"Once, before we even became aware of this continents existence, it spanned our known world." He kept the answer deliberately vague at that; "That said, we do not believe ourselves immortal, and seek to stem the threats to us before they grow too large."

"Before we proceed, you mentioned that one of your citizens had been…misplaced, you called it?" the Herzog asked slowly; "How does one become…misplaced across an ocean?"

"We believe it was a magical ritual misfiring which caused it." It was just about all he knew of that, and he still failed to comprehend how even a magical ritual could send someone_ that_ far away; "She reported to have entered into the ranks of an order known as the 'Grey Wardens'…" cogs clicked into place in the Tribune's mind as his eyes slowly tracked towards where the Warden-Constable stood unmoving, blinking; "…Grey Wardens…Warden-Constable…You are a Grey Warden."

"As I mentioned, yes."

"…Forgive me, I hadn't even considered the connection." Kratorius coughed. He was getting too old for this shit, making diplomacy in the middle of the gods-forsaken night; "Setting that aside for later, we arrived here with delegates from our Empire, hoping to establish diplomatic channels and form ties between our lands. Would it be permissible for them to be brought here?"

At his question, the Warden-Constable gave the Herzog first a look, then a slow nod to offer his consent. Herzog Ulbricht. The governor frowned for a moment, rubbing his forehead with a weary sigh, before nodding as well; "I think that would be the expedient thing to do. How many are there?"

"Twelve." Veruin stated, even as a sliver of worry started gnawing at him; "If I may…does your people have a history of hostilities with beast-folk?"

"Beast-folk?" Herzog Nochmann frowned, and then to Veruin's surprise continued; "What do you mean by 'Beast-folk'?"

"You…do not know? I…see. Then, the Beast-folk are the races of the Empire with animalistic traits, such as the Cat-folk, the Khajiit, and the Lizard-folk, the Argonians. Both are represented amongst the delegates, and I would like to know if their presence will be an issue before bringing them ashore."

"Animal traits, you say…" Alexander muttered, as if deep in thought; "…might've heard something from the merchants…Ferelden, they say there's some sort of cat-man following the Wardens. Didn't think much of it then, but…This Imperial citizen you mentioned, was she one of those cat-folk?"

"No, she was human, like you and I." the Tribune shook his head. He'd heard mentions of the young lady Aulus not being alone when she had vanished, but didn't know the details. No doubt, where he'd been offered scraps of information, the delegates knew everything there was to know; "As for the rumors, I do not know whether they are true or not."

"Be they rumors or not, as Herzog of Laysh, I would much like to meet with your delegates." Herzog Ulbricht interrupted; "Warden Herman, would you send your men with this message to the ships, that I would like to meet with them? Tribune, before I invite these delegates into my town, I must ask if their…appearances are like those of abominations or demons?"

"…I'm sorry, what?" the Tribune wasn't entirely sure he'd heard that right. To his knowledge, not even the most supremacist of neither Nord nor Thalmor would degrade the Beast-folk to the term 'abominations'. As for demons…he was not familiar with the term.

"I have heard these rumors as well, of the events occurring around the Wardens of Ferelden, most of it of their scarcity. I have heard mentioned that they are followed by abominations, and if these are of the same kind as your delegates…I must ensure that a panic does not erupt in my town."

For a moment, the Tribune didn't know how to respond to that. He could not understand why such a term would be applied to the non-human races. His own crew held both Dunmeri and Argonians, and while he'd prefer never to find himself related to one, he could not find it in himself to view them with such…antagonism. _Zenithar help me, is this what we will face every step of the way from here?_

"Herzog, on my honor as an Imperial officer: none of the men and women aboard my ships are of any kind of degraded or uncivilized nature." He fought to repress a scowl. Bigotry amongst the races, _based_ on racism, was the worst thing an army such as the Legion could face, because it made getting things done damn difficult; "They are all citizens of the Empire, and _should_ be treated as such."

"Hmm…Very well then, we will deal with problems should any arise…Warden, if you would relay the message?"

"Jawohl." The Warden-Constable nodded and clasped a fist before his heart. The Tribune could not help but find it interesting that this method of saluting superiors seemed identical even across the ocean. Most likely, it stemmed from chest-beating, something he himself had done quite a lot in his younger days.

When Alexander had left, Veruin found himself alone with the Herzog. He was still not entirely sure what the title meant, but imagined it was on par with a military governor, to have a reference if nothing else. Nochmann seemed more agitated than what could be considered healthy for a man of his apparent age, and was already leaning forward in his chair again before the doors had even stopped swinging from Herman's departure.

"Herzog, before Warden-Constable Alexander returns, how much can you tell me of this land? He called it Anderfels, from what I could gather, but beyond that I know nothing…" it seemed the Herzog was simply waiting for questions. If this openness permeated all of Thedas', or just this country's rulers, perhaps this would not be as difficult as he had feared; "And… the Blight as well, if we are to combat this threat I need to understand it."

* * *

Leaving Orzammar was a bag of mixed feelings, all things considered.

On one hand, they had successfully instated the first ruling Queen the dwarves had had in…Talia had kinda spaced out after the first few hours the Assembly had droned on, but it'd been a lot of years. Now, Sorella Aeducan sat on Orzammar's throne, and had promised the aid of the dwarves when the final battle came, to once more under one banner combat the Darkspawn. She'd yet to see the dwarves fight, aside from Oghren, and found herself looking forward to it.

There had to be a reason they still existed, meaning they were somehow making up for their less than impressive stature. Their weapons, like the Lyrium-locks, had to be a factor in that one. Adding to that, they'd come unscathed out of the Deep Roads, losing not even one of their group.

According to Alistair, that was more than could be said for most groups of Grey Wardens entering those tunnels.

On the other hand, Talia knew things had changed between her and some of the others, down there in the darkness. Alistair constantly glanced at her, as if afraid she would snap - and she was sorely tempted to just stomp him in the nose and get the message across that she wasn't going to - and Cullen seemed almost afraid of talking to her, like she'd eat him alive if he offended her in any way whatsoever.

It was really weird that she wasn't overjoyed at the concept of Templars being afraid of her.

She'd lost track of Oghren as well. Talia had halfway expected him to come with them, since Orzammar seemingly didn't hold any more for him, aside from mockery from his peers, but he'd simply disappeared, and no one seemed to know where to. It was also pretty annoying that while she liked him the least, she was the only of their group seemingly wondering where the fuck he'd gone off to.

It wasn't like he _owed_ them an explanation, but still…somehow it felt wrong that he'd simply vanished. She couldn't help the feeling that something had gone wrong somewhere, that she'd actually expected him to tag along. Leliana had joined them in Lothering, Jorwan had joined them at Redcliffe, and Wynne and Cíada at the Tower, then Sten at Redcliffe again…in the end she'd just thought their group would keep growing.

It would have been like the books, and she realized with some amount of embarrassment that she'd yet to grow out of those romantic notions, where the fellowship would be joined with more and more comrades and companions.

On the other hand, those tales usually also involved the fellowships dying off one by one.

Thankfully, her mind was yanked out of that particular pit of mental oddity when they reached the stables. The horses nickered and generally made a lot of unwanted noise when they seemed to recognize the scents of the two-legs that had ridden them all across the bloody country for months.

Talia was, for once, more than just a little happy at seeing her horse. Niko, however, seemed to have a different opinion, and backed away from the box-gate when she came near, nostrils flaring and eyes wide with what could be fright. She wasn't sure, but the reaction was unexpectedly hurtful. She'd _missed_ the fucker, and now he was acting like this because…what?

"You would not know, I suppose" Morrigan mused from next to her, having appeared as if out of smoke; "But your horse has the better nose."

"…meaning?" she gave the witch a confused look, because damn right she was confused. Morrigan seemed to find whatever was going on incredibly funny.

"T'is your new scent, can't you tell?" she gestured roughly at Talia before nodding at the horse; "Niko doesn't like the smell."

"Why are you rhyming, Morrigan?" Talia grumbled, rubbing her closed eyes. Gods, she was way too tired for this kind of shit. Right now, she just wanted to get back to Redcliffe and have a soak; "…you're making fun of me, aren't you? And what do you mean, my new scent?" she smelled herself under the arm and frowned; "Okay, so I smell like shit, dust and rotten blood, but that's nothing new."

"T'is a faint change, but it occurred when you were first taken over in the Deep Roads."

"…wait, Niko can _smell_ that?" she stared, mouth agape at first Morrigan, then her horse; "Well…fuck, no wonder he's less than happy. So…I just gotta get him used to it?"

"I might suggest bribery by way of feed, but t'is your conundrum, t'is your solution."

"…right, I'll just slap him with a carrot and everything's back to normal." Talia groaned, honestly wondering why Mundus seemed to love throwing its shit at her with such an amazing rate of fire; "You know, if someone'd told me what being a Grey Warden was gonna get me involved with, I'd have taken my chances with fighting my way out of Kinloch instead…"

"Somehow I have doubts you would wish to abandon this life of yours…" the witch smirked, deliberately making it evident that she was eying Aedan - who was in the process of saddling his own horse - and Talia didn't miss the humor in her voice; "…one would think you were quite happy with current…arrangements."

"Just…_shut it_, okay? Stendarr's balls, Morrigan, you can be a real pain, you know that?"

"Without pain, there is no gain." The witch laughed - genuinely laughed - and wandered off. Of course, _she_ didn't need a bloody horse, bird-form and all that.

And Talia was left with an angsty horse.

Angsty horses, she soon found, were absolute assholes.

Hours later, as darkness began to fall, the group had made relatively good progress towards Redcliffe. Talia was still more than a little annoyed, because it'd taken her the better part of the afternoon getting Niko to actually accept that _no,_ she was not some horse-eating monster, and _yes_, she did indeed have food on her to bribe him with.

The entire way, he'd spent half the time side-stepping, prancing and generally being a nuisance. A few times she'd felt as if he was about to buck her off, and he seemed perfectly content with having his ears flat against his skull the entire time, as if she wasn't already aware of his bad reaction to her…new scent, however the fuck that worked. She'd been carrying around the dragon blood before coming to Orzammar, and there'd been no problems at all.

Now, suddenly Niko was throwing a fucking fit because he could smell her _mind_? It was more than just annoying, and it didn't even make sense. Even Morrigan's explanation hadn't made sense, and had only fueled the fire that was irritation when the witch seemed content with rhymes, as if this was funny.

Well. It probably was to Morrigan.

Her horse was an unrepentant asshole, but then again, he was a _horse_. Horses in general were assholes, even when they went about being assholes by being all cozy. It was just a trick of theirs, one she'd seen through.

Up ahead, Alistair raised a hand and stopped his horse.

"Alright, we camp here for the night." He pointed and led them towards a familiar site; it was one of the places they'd already once used as a camp, and the remains of their old campfire was still there, though they'd made sure to scatter both rocks and ashes thoroughly. Alistair had been pretty adamant about that one; "Sten, Aedan and Cullen, set up tents and gather firewood. Cíada, Daveth and Leliana, you're on provisions tonight. Wynne, you and Jowan can get water from the stream and get ready to prepare what the others bring back. Talia and I will set traps around the camp."

In the end, 'setting traps' was Alistair's way of saying they were going to head off into the woods together. Alone. Just the two of them. There was no way that was bad, right?

Talia wasn't even surprised, since she knew something like this was bound to come eventually. Much as Alistair clearly wanted to, he didn't thrust her these days, and she didn't blame him for it. She was only just now coming to terms with Hakkon's plans, vague as they were, and hadn't even told Aedan yet.

She hadn't told him _anything_ about her incidents in the Deep Roads yet. Shit. By now he'd probably heard enough snippets from the others that he was worrying himself to the marrow, and didn't let her know because he was a caring, selfless idiot like that and she loved that about him and yet…_Fuck_, this wasn't exactly how she'd wanted to do things.

It didn't help that Alistair was actually serious when he'd talked about setting up traps.

Their leader was laying down caltrops and snares attached to bells at regular intervals, and actually had her planting magical traps on trees and rocks as well. Problem was, she didn't really know a lot, so it came down to gluing fire runes to any surface that could hold them without spontaneously combusting from the heat.

He was also pretty quiet, aside from sentences like "put one over there". He was clearly thinking about something, and it didn't take much of a brain to know he was trying to figure out how to go about their current problem.

It was frustrating, and being treated as a potential threat didn't exactly help her mood.

"…are you done?"

"Pardon?" Alistair looked back at her, far as she could tell pretending not to know what she meant.

"You're treating me like I'm going to fucking explode or torch the forest." She growled, causing his expression to settle into one of serious wariness. Great, now he was actually on guard; "Look, I'm going to get this off my chest, not literally, and just get this over with before you start making assumptions that would be moronic and stupid. Because smart as I _do_ know you are, you're still prone to that kind of shit and I'm not in the mood for it."

"O…_okay_." He didn't sound or seem like he knew how to react to that tirade, and she was quite frankly glad that was the case because it'd taken most of her ire just to get that load out in the open. Julianos take her somewhere else, because this wasn't how she wanted to get things cleared out. She didn't want to be pissed off at him, and she didn't want him to view her as a potential threat. Putting down a trap he hadn't yet finished arming, Alistair sat on a tree-stump, looking at her with a clear sense of apprehension; "So…Let's talk, then?"

"First off, I heard your little talk in the Deep Roads, you and Brelyna." She started, watching his mouth open and close without a word coming past the lips. He didn't seem to have expected that; "So yeah, I know what Cullen would do if he thinks I'm possessed. I don't like the guy all that much, but I'd prefer not having to harm him."

"I guess that solves that part, if you already heard the whole thing…"

"Pretty much." She shrugged and leant against the closest tree, pulling her hood down; "Look, I've been…I haven't been entirely honest with you, any of you, since the incident, but it's not because I didn't _want_ to." She breathed hard, praying that Hakkon would allow her this much. She didn't like the mental blocks; "Until not long ago…You remember when we saw the Archdemo- stupid question…"

Alistair didn't interrupt.

"Well, it's like this. When we saw the Archdemon, the…" expected to feel the strings of control on her mind when she thought of speaking Hakkon's identity, but found nothing; "…thing in my mind had something of a…breakdown. Hakkon, that is, the mind that possessed me in the Deep Roads, went nearly mad with what felt like grief…"

And Aedra fuck her, she was actually feeling bad for him. Just another sign of her mounting insanity and lack of sleep, she supposed.

"So, it's gone, then?"

"…_No_." she sighed, rubbing her forehead; "Hakkon is…I think he's a dragon like those from my homeland, but he says he isn't the same, so…Hakkon is a dragon, and ever since Haven, when I drank the…blood, he says there's been a bond of some kind forming. When it manifested fully in the Deep Roads, he took control of my mind to…to sort of test our compatibility, I guess…"

"Makers' Breath…" Alistair groaned. He was probably feeling sorry for himself for having to deal with this - and she sort of felt for him, what with everything else also on his shoulders - but damn it all, _he_ wasn't the one with a dragon holding a leash on her mind, much as Hakkon claimed he did not intend to. Talia had been raised with the stories of dragons being all aspects of evil, she wasn't just going to _trust_ Hakkon blindly out of nowhere; "So, what happened?"

"I passed the test, I think." She shrugged; "Hakkon didn't take over my mind again, and promised he'd let me do as I pleased, as long as I did this one little task for him."

"Well, that's…good, I guess." He actually seemed more than a little relieved, for her sake too, which was a little touching, all things considered. Then his brows furrowed as he processed her words; "Wait, what's this _task_ then?"

"Promise me you won't tell Aedan?" she hated the thought of Aedan fraying with concern for her more than the task itself. Which was rationally insane, considering what it was.

"That's…oddly out of nowhere." Alistair mused, a tinge of concern spreading in his voice.

"_Promise_ me, Alistair." She pressed; "Aedan's got too much to worry about as it is, and I don't need nor want him being scared shitless when he can't change it anyway. That means you don't tell the others either, by the way…"

"I'd say I'd like to know what it is first, but at this point I've learned just to roll with the punches…" the blonde sighed, ducking his head a little as if he actually expected her to hit him; "Fine, I'll keep quiet. Unless, you know, this 'Hakkon' wants you to kill the Divine or Arl Eamon?"

"No…nothing like _that_…" Talia sighed, staring at the darkening skies. The stars had yet to come out, but both Masser and Secunda were already on display, offering a view many took for granted as their splendor was often lost on the masses. Mages, however, as a rule always found the intertwining moons to be a gift in their own right. Khajiit especially, she knew, more or less based their society and births on how the moons were placed; "…just that I have to be the one to kill the Archdemon."

Alistair, surprisingly, didn't jump to his feet or started shouting. Instead, he closed his eyes and slid from the stump, ending up on the damp moss that covered the ground. Talia was, honestly, surprised at his reaction, or rather, the lack of one.

She had expected he would react differently from this, anything other than this. Somehow, this was actually worse than if he'd started cursing or yelling. Thát, at least, she would have been able to counter, to react to. This, however, Alistair being all silent…she wasn't sure what to do with it.

Then, he started laughing.

It wasn't an amused laugh, or a bright and honest one, as much as it was simply a chuckle on the border of being a laugh. She stared at him, unsure of what to say, as he continued. Finally, he seemed to quiet down a little, and ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a sigh of hot air that stood out against the cooling evening. He looked up at her and smiled.

"…We really are just getting all the luck, aren't we?"

* * *

**So, a slightly longer chapter than usual. I'm not sure why, but I felt I couldn't just leave it at them making camp and then having the "talk" in the next chapter, plus I'd gotten the feeling you might be a little weary of cliffhangers, so I did my best at having something resembling a semi-conclusion to this chapter.**

**Now, the Imperials arrived in the Anderfels. I know those of you looking forward to this probably expected them to end up in either Orlais or Ferelden(somehow), but having studied the maps of Nirn, Tamriel, Akavir and Thedas, I found that the most likely place for them to make landfall was Laysh because of its location, as well as the small, relatively unknown fact that Laysh actually aren't strangers to civilization from across the sea, dwarves in particular.**

**That, and I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted this story to be as damn expansive as I could get away with. I am blessed that I have an Archivist to handle all the lore-wise issues from the ES-side of the story, since I'm somewhat better acquainted with the lore of DA than ES - which could be blamed on the fact that DA's lore is like a lake compared to the Atlantic ocean that is the lore of ES.**

**Now, as always, I greatly appreciate any and all feedback you would be willing to give me, in this chapter especially with how I handled the Empire's arrival, as well as Talia and Alistair's talk. I'm serious, it's kinda my emotional and mental stimuli, and it helps me both by improving my mood - even if the review is pure criticism, as long as it is constructive - and making the story itself so much better.**

**Oh, and if you want to have an actual image of Warden-Constable Alexander Herman. You will, of course, have to do so without the gun, since very few people other than dwarves have those:**

**Buuuut...since Fanfiction hates links, I'll just tell you to look up: "Anderfels a complex headcanon" It'l be the second portrait from the left.**

**I figured since my Archivist imagined him as being basically Blackwall, I'd better make sure the rest of you lot got the right picture. Mainly it is the man himself, since he's wearing scales, not chainmail.**

**Well, that's it for me for this week. Who knows, maybe I'll have another chapter ready next week, maybe not?**

**Roku, out.**


	52. When the Unexpected happens

_When Blights ravage the land, without fail you will encounter the consequences of the spreading Taint, even where the Darkspawn themselves have not yet arrived._

_When the Taint seeps through the earth, it is only ever a matter of time before it hits the underground streams. Once this occurs, the Taint spreads exponentially faster than the Darkspawn Horde could ever hope to match, and will follow the groundwater streams along their natural route, which always, _always_, takes the corruption through villages and townships, and spreads into other rivers. _

_In this way, half a nation can become infected and infested with ghouls before the Darkspawn themselves even arrive, making the biggest threat of the Blight the threat you cannot see. The corruption is only faintly visible in the water, as a slightly darker haze, making the water appear somewhat murky. The usual methods of filtration, such as the earth itself, does little to stem this corruption, and as such village-wells and river-streams should not be used as sources of drinking-water under any circumstances once a Blight has begun within a hundred miles. _

_When drinking the taint instead of simply being exposed to it, a radical type of Ghoul is produced as a result, named a 'Bloater' for the way its sunken skin and decomposed flesh causes the body's internal rot to produce gasses that expand and cause the bloating. While no less or more dangerous or physically powerful than regular Ghouls, Bloaters are often the symptom every Warden fears the most, as it means the Blight has spread beyond their ability to contain, and the only cure for the land will be to slay the Archdemon, so as to cause the Blight itself to retreat. _

_This in turn has often beggared the question as to whether the Blight itself is conscious, rather than a "mere" force of corruption._

Warden Talia Aulus, "_Symptoms, Causes and Effects of the Fifth Blight_".

* * *

**When the unexpected happens.**

* * *

A certain young Breton was not a happy camper, especially considering the location Alistair, their glorious leader, had chosen the previous night.

It really wasn't so much the location itself, or what had occured during the evening, but rather, how her morning had started. Intent on making use of the river to get the grime washed out of her hair, or at least get her feet soaked in pure, cold water, Talia had encountered something of a surprise when she had taken off her boots at the stream.

Ghouls, namely. And quite a lot of them.

"This! Is! _Not_ what I expected when you said we were camping by the riverside, Alistair!" Talia yelled, vaulting backwards through the air, fire at her feet propelling her out of harm's way as clawed hands swiped at her. Bruised chainmail at her front already proved them quite capable of tearing through armor.

She'd been more than elated at the idea of camping at the last river before their stretch alongside Lake Calenhad to Redcliffe, mainly because it'd be a chance at washing the grime out of her hair and clothes. Instead, their early morning had been interrupted by blue, humanoid creatures coming at them out of the water, and what _should_ have been a calm morning had become an outright battle.

"Yeah well, _excuse_ _me_ for not knowing about-" he bit back, breaking in his words as his shield was ripped from his hands. He responded in kind by separating the creature at the waist with a single swipe; "I didn't think the taint'd gotten this far north already!"

Great. Talia bit back a curse at their illustrious leader's lack of foresight, and instead focused on decapitating the closest of the blue and bloated ghouls. There were a lot of them, and they lacked the self-preservation instincts to make them stay back, meaning she was barely holding on from being rushed by clawing hands and snarling teeth. She couldn't even use fire on them, because for some reason she couldn't comprehend, these things were more or less fireproof, and didn't seem to care when she threw fireballs at them.

Because they _needed_ this right now, after everything else that'd already happened. The 'Bloaters' as Alistair had hurriedly referred to them as - meaning he was yelling it as a warning when they'd suddenly come pouring out of the waters - were rabid in their ferocity, but at least made up for it by being essentially ghouls having spent too much time in the water. They were soggy and gangly in their movements, and as long as she stayed out of reach of those_ damn claws_, Talia did not have the most pressing problems cutting them down to size.

Not even a second passed after she'd dispatched her opponent before a new came at her, clad in what resembled rags and remnants of pants. It was pretty disgusting to look at with the bloated and blue skin, but far more critical was the fact that it didn't even drop once she nearly cleaved its skull in a horizontal split. The stupid fucker just snarled at her, a long fleshy tongue emerging from its jaws to slither across her blade, even as she had the metal ablaze. The decaying tissue started sizzling and steaming and charring, yet the Bloater didn't seem to mind, even going as far as still grabbing for her when the tongue was burned apart and fell to the mucky ground.

Milky eyes glared at her, revealing what she could have become. This could have been her. There were things Talia knew she shouldn't rationally be afraid of, and this was one of them. Yet, she couldn't shake it. The concept alone, of becoming a ghoul, was enough to bring her to the edge of vomiting.

"Get _AWAY_ FROM ME!" she screamed, kicking the Bloated in the groin with enough force that the steel of her boots became briefly stuck in the necrotic flesh;

"_Just_-" she yanked the blade from its head and directed a blast of fire into the opened wound, blowing the top off the creature's head and throwing it to the ground; "-fucking DIE!"

She ended up having pretty sore arms, though, once the last of them had been skewered.

"Okay…_fuck_, what…were those things?" Cíada gasped, kneeling over with her hands on her knees. Cullen was at her side, checking her for wounds; "I know I'm not…I don't know all the…things you guys do, but…Fen'Harrel's hairy ass, what…the fuck were they?"

"Bloaters." Alistair growled, more frustration than anger in his voice; "They shouldn't have appeared yet, not this far north…They're what happens when the victims _drink_ the taint, instead of just being near it…Maker's sodding breath, this means the water table has been infected."

"Oh…_C__ock_." Daveth groaned, pressing his eyes shut; "That means we've no clue's to how many's been infected already?"

"No…the process is similar to normal ghoulification, just…spreads faster." He sighed and plucked off his helmet, revealing a sweaty, angry frown; "From now on, _no one_ drinks anything before Brelyna has purified it." He turned to the Dunmer; "So far your restoration spells is the only known magic to actively combat the taint once it's infected something."

"U-Understood." Brelyna nodded without hesitation, warily glancing at some of the yet twitching corpses. Talia, still shaking from frustration, fright and adrenaline, didn't even bother asking why _she_ hadn't been asked as well. It was a poorly kept secret that she still started bleeding all over the place when healing anything more than a superficial scratch.

And seeing as Alistair now knew more or less what was going on with her and her blood, it was pretty understandable that he didn't want her blood getting in the water. It wasn't even that she blamed him for it, seeing how she didn't want to see the consequences of something like that either. _She'd_ survived because of her pre-existing immune-system and the fact that she'd chugged antidotes since year one. Brelyna, for example, hadn't.

"What does this mean, then, that every village around here's going to be infected?" Aedan sighed, walking up next to Alistair. His armor's front was covered in blood of an indistinguishable color, somewhere between black, red and blue, and sort of mashing said colors all over the place.

It reminded Talia of how mashed up her own blood was.

"We can't ignore that possibility…" Alistair growled, sheathing his sword; "…we also can't do anything about it right now."

"…you're saying we just ignore it?" Brelyna demanded as much as she asked; "T-there could be hundreds of-"

"_Thousands_ of people likely to be infected, yes, I _know!_" Their leader snapped. It was the first time Talia had actually _seen_ him do that, seen him suddenly become _this_ angry; "I am _perfectly_ well aware of what's going on, Brelyna! Don't think I'm not, because I am. I _know_ innocents are being corrupted by the Blight, even as we speak, and that it is the duty of the Grey Wardens to combat it."

"Then why-" she continued, actually now looking genuinely _angry_ with him.

"I _also_ know that we are five Wardens, possibly the _only_ Wardens in all of Ferelden. We don't have the numbers, resources or time to do what we're supposed to." Alistair's usually somewhat positive demeanor was gone, replaced by a scowl; "Any time we take to go help out those villages is time we lose preventing the actual Darkspawn Horde from going north towards the cities. We help the villages, possibly ending up just purging them, we might just return to find Redcliffe or Denerim razed."

Brelyna visibly deflated, though the fire still burned in her eyes.

"…_leave a hundred to save a thousand…then leave a thousand to save a nation…_" she whispered, and Talia recognized the phrase from the history books, going all the way back to the battle of the Red Mountain. It sent a chill down her spine to hear her friend say it, and only added to her mounting sense of nausea at the idea of basically abandoning so many to die because Loghain had stabbed them in the back at Ostagar, and Howe turned traitor; "…I never thought I'd experience something like this."

"...None of us did." Alistair muttered, his expression changing from a scowl to one of simple defeat; "War is never fair, especially to the innocents…Burn the bodies, then we move on."

Talia complied, snapping her fingers at the decayed bodies. Once they were dead, they caught fire easily enough, and combusted as her spell engulfed them. She'd expected her first real use of the Flashfire spell to be somewhat less…depressing.

Two days later, having followed the road along Lake Calenhad, Redcliffe came into sight. The weather was getting to be beyond merely _cold_, and Talia caught more than one envious stare from her non-mage companions as she warmed her hands with fire. She'd offer to share it, but knew her friends weren't exactly fireproof.

Traveling along the lake had the disadvantage of also being damp, which just worsened the effects of the cold. Alistair had already started sniffing, and Leliana was, as she was wont, already working on a full-blown cold, eyes red and nose running. Talia knew it was likely because the redhead had lived in the Chantry for so long that she'd gotten used to being inside and warm during the winter, though that didn't diminish the mixture of pity and amusement towards the former sister. Herself, she'd lived three years in Winterhold - this was barely autumn compared to how Skyrim could get.

The general mood improved a little upon seeing the towers of Redcliffe castle in the distance, though it was still far from being positive. The revelation that the taint had infected the water this far up was enough to kill any sense of good mood, and only served to cause concern to gnaw at the guts. What if Redcliffe had been infected?

The thought alone was enough to make her shudder with horror and revulsion. She'd seen what happened now, when people _drank_ the taint. She never wanted to see the same effects, the same horror befall the people of Redcliffe, neither the village nor the castle. Images started flashing by in her mind, of people she'd come to know and even like in Redcliffe. Gilmore, Eleanor, the people living in the castle, Sister Giselle, Owyn, the little girl she'd given a Septim…she saw them all in her mind, pale-skinned with dark veins running across their faces, eyes milky and dead.

Dear gods, she wanted to run away, wanted to run to Redcliffe and as far away from the village as possible, all at the same time. Her mind didn't want to make sense, didn't want to accept that she might find something absolutely horrible when they returned. She didn't want to see Aedan's reaction to finding his mother as a ghoul, or Alistair's at the Arl.

"Are you feeling alright, Talia?" a marble-skinned hand gently held her shoulder as a horse trotted up next to hers. Brelyna was looking at her from under the cover of her hood, those red eyes of her gleaming with both depression and sympathy. Warm and red and alluring in a way that was so completely, utterly innocent and unintentional that it had more than once tempted the redhead with lewd fantasies. Now, they just held the warmth of a friend, worried.

"Fine." She replied, averting her eyes. There was no way she wanted Brelyna's mind to go the same way her own had, and she couldn't lie to her face. It was a universal impossibility that she'd come to face long ago.

"…you don't look fine." The girl pointed out, unceremoniously pulling down Talia's hood, exposing her to the cold; "Did you even sleep last night, or the night before that?"

"I…" she started, scrounging up her face. It was beyond annoying when the Dunmer could read her like that; "…why wouldn't I have slept?"

"…_Talia_…"

"I said I'm fine, okay!" she snapped, regretting it almost as soon as the words came over her lips. Brelyna winced, and the hurt in her eyes was enough to make Talia's insides crumple up like wet paper. She felt like shit, especially because she knew her friend only asked out of well-meaning concern; "I…look, I'm just…I…Sorry, I didn't mean to…I might not have slept that well recently, and it may have something to do with the Bloaters…"

"It's okay, I shouldn't have pressed you."

"N-_gngg…_No, giving you shit for being worried _isn't _okay, _damn it!_" She growled and bit down on her lips. Pain helped a little with the guilt. Her grip tightened on the reins to the point where the leather left markings in her palms; "Especially because I wouldn't be surprised if you knew I missed sleep because _you_ couldn't sleep either."

"I'm fine, Dunmers can go without sleep for a few days, you know…" Brelyna smiled faintly, and somehow it brought back images of waking in the middle of the night, back at the College, only to find the elven girl seated at a desk, studying at three in the morning. Back then, Talia had viewed it as an unfair advantage, but now… "I just…I'm repulsed by the idea of knowingly abandoning so many to potentially being infected, simply because there aren't enough Wardens."

"I know, you've always been a right worry-wart…with far too much conscience for your own good." The redhead couldn't quite help the tiny smile. It was amazing just how fast talking with Brelyna could help her mood; "But…Alistair's right. Even with Sten and whenever we get Jowan through the Joining, we're still way too few Wardens to really…_do_ anything beyond the big things." She pursed her lips thinly and shifted to Dunmeri; "…_I don't know if Leliana could ever become a Warden, since I don't know if she'd survive the Joining, and Cullen is far too devoted to the Templars, plus I don't really trust him…Cíada would never be allowed by the Circle to leave, and probably wouldn't want to anyway. Wynne is out of the question since the Joining might just do her in, and Morrigan is…Just no._"

Brelyna nodded and, for a few moments, remained silent.

"_You did not mention neither me nor J'zargo."_ She finally said, mentioning the scenario Talia had feared since seeing her classmates after having escaped Ostagar; "_…you do not want us as Grey Wardens, even though more are desperately needed?"_

"_I...It's not a matter of whether I want it or not, it's…the Joining, you know it involves drinking Darkspawn blood. I don't know if doing that would have…side-effects on anyone not a human, dwarf or elf, and…not your kind of elf either." _

"What are they saying?" Talia's eyes glanced back at where Cíada was whispering to Daveth. Neither seemed to realize they'd been heard; "…it's not the trade-tongue, and it's not Dalish, I think…?"

"Special secret language those two have." Daveth grinned, shaking his head; "Never have been able to tell a single word apart."

"_You are Breton, Talia." _Brelyna pointed out; "_And a half-elf at that too."_

"_I also got a dozen antidotes in with my milk and porridge from before I could walk."_ She pointed out right back at her; "_And even then you know just how close I…you know how it nearly went wrong at Ostagar. If it hadn't been for all the antidotes… and Wynne, I wouldn't have survived."_

"_I…forgot about that." _The Dunmer muttered dejectedly; "_I just…I hate walking away, turning my back on people who need me. I _want_ to help, _somehow_, and…and I just don't think I…"_

"_Don't" _Talia interrupted her. She knew where this was going, and if she allowed her friend to finish, turning her down would be all the harder; "_You are already doing so much more than I ever could. All I can do is destroy things. You can fix them, fix people. I can't even heal a bruise on someone else without having to wash my own blood off afterwards. Being a Grey Warden would only put you more at risk, and wouldn't do much good."_

Lies, most of it. She knew becoming a Warden would probably increase Brelyna's magical prowess manifold, but she'd already seen Aedan almost die from the Joining. She didn't want to go through that again. If she had to lie to make sure Brelyna survived this shitstorm, she damn well would, and be able to look herself in the mirror afterwards. Morals and that kind of trust didn't mean a thing when it came down to baseline survival.

It was very much not a thing a Grey Warden should do, but right now she put the well-being of her friends before that of a nation.

And she knew this probably wouldn't mean Brelyna would drop the idea. Stubbornness was something they had in common to an often frustrating degree.

Still, it wasn't enough of a worry that her mind could stick with it as the sounds of metal on metal, swords on swords, reached her ears.

Talia perked up, already aware of where the noise came from when Alistair seemed to notice as well. Their leader kicked his horse into a faster gait, and the rest of them took their cue to follow up. Casting a glance at Aedan, she could see the concern starting to make its way onto his face, unobstructed by the opened visor. She mirrored him as he sped up, and kicked Niko into a canter.

As they approached Redcliffe, what first struck the group was the fact that the Hinterlands, more specifically the fields and meadows closest to the walls and gates of the village, were currently occupied with hundreds and hundreds of armored figures. It was enough of a shock to make Alistair halt their approach, even as the small army before them seemed to remain oblivious to their arrival, and instead carried on with mock-fighting amongst themselves, and beating up hay-dummies with swords, spears and polearms.

"That's…definitely a lot more soldiers than last time we were here…" Aedan muttered, visibly calmer now that they knew what was making the noise. Talia suspected he'd shared her fear that Loghain or Howe or even the Darkspawn had attacked Redcliffe in their absence. Realizing that the sounds of fighting simply came from the sellswords and banner-men of Redcliffe was a clear relief; "Seems like the Arl's been busy."

"More likely t'is your Bann Teagan who has continued his work." Morrigan commented dryly as transformed back into her human form next to Alistair's horse. At this point he'd simply stopped reacting to her when she did her damnest to surprise him; "When I overflew the walls, I saw a great many wagons inside the village. Many more than when we left, which causes me to wonder what might have changed."

"Wagons?" Talia leaned forward in her saddle and glanced at the witch; "…like, refugee-wagons?"

All she received was a shrug, telling them in no uncertain terms that Morrigan didn't know either. Alistair merely sighed at that, as if he'd come to expect nothing else from the still somewhat anti-social apostate. And as always, their interactions made Talia think of a pair of siblings. It would have been funny if it wasn't potentially detrimental to their survival.

"Wardens?" they were challenged at the gates by one of the townsfolk, only now instead of the sorry scraps of brigandine, the man was clad in simple, yet probably a lot more effective plate-armor. He was leaning against his spear as if he'd barely gotten any sleep at all, and it was actually pretty uplifting, if only because it drove home that nothing was really wrong; "…didn't know you'd left? I…well, I suppose you've not heard of the elves then?"

"…come again?" Alistair opened his visor and stared at the man; "…what elves?"

"Them Dalish, 'course, Ser Warden." The villager hurriedly explained; "Came a week ago, hundreds of 'em, and the Arl'n the Good Lady Cousland let 'em in. Didn't sit no right with the lot o' us for some time, but…they've done no harm, and keep to 'emselves most of them time. Says they help with the Blight' n all, so I 'spose that's why they're in, right?"

"…The Dalish are here?" Alistair repeated the man's words, receiving a nod; "…as in, the Dalish we have to seek out, have all come here, to Redcliffe, on their own accord?"

"…dunno 'bout their own accord, Ser, but I'd seen one of them wasn't like the others. Lot taller than them all, and acted like nothin's odd about her bein' here…" he paused as his eyes traced over their group, and stopped altogether when he saw Brelyna; "…Blight take me, thought she'd be up'n the castle still."

"…I'm…sorry?" Brelyna muttered, tilting her head in the same confusion the rest of them were currently undergoing. Had something been lost in translation? The man had one of the thickest accents Talia had ever heard, so it wasn't impossible; "…why would I still be in the castle?"

"So…there's two of you grey elves then?" the man asked aloud, scratching his chin; "Maker's breath, I ain't made for this kinda stress. First one then two, then four? I dunno 'bout what's exactly going on, then…So, you'd be the younger one, then? Mary-somethin'?"

"Maryon, yes…" Brelyna nodded, then paused in obvious surprise; "…do we know each other?"

"Ah…Eh…No, not rightly…" the man stammered, hiding his eyes underneath the wide-brimmed metal hat; "'s just, didn't get a chance to offer me thanks for that night, yet…thought I'd say 'em now, so…ah, much appreciate the help with those undead, Serah Maryon and…I mean, just go through, I'm keepin' you lot up and…Good day…"

"…you're…welcome, I think?" Alistair muttered uncertainly, glancing back at Brelyna; "…right?"

Brelyna, however, was far too busy trying to hide within her hood to respond. She'd never been good with praise, especially not the kind that came from saving someone's home. Academic praise she'd never had problems with, but this…Talia had to admit, it was all kinds of absolutely adorable.

Still, what the guard had said stuck with her, even as they entered the village. While the others seemed more curious than anything, she couldn't help a nagging sensation from stirring in her chest. The man hadn't known Brelyna was gone, because there was another Dunmer in Redcliffe?

The idea alone was more than fantastical, yet _she_ was here, so why not more Tamrielans? While implausible, it wasn't strictly _impossible_. Actually, the harder she thought about it, it _would_ make sense for any wayward Dunmers to follow any word of others of their kind, and then end up in Redcliffe.

After all, Brelyna seemed to have become quite the known figure, even outside of Redcliffe. The merchants outside of Orzammar had even more than once whispered what sounded suspiciously like "_the Grey Lady_", a name Talia could only imagine attributed to her classmate. It seemed her friend had achieved far more of a reputation than intended, and people no longer even seemed to contemplate whether or not she was an abomination or not when they saw her.

So, that was a good thing. Wasn't it?

It still didn't solve the problem that the guard had told them of a second Dunmer, or at least, a grey elf. She couldn't imagine that as anything but a Dunmer, and couldn't come to terms with the fact that someone else from Tamriel had arrived while they'd been gone. It seemed far too precisely timed to be a mere coincidence, paranoid as she might be.

It couldn't be Savos Aren, for obvious reasons. The guard had specifically stated that the other Dunmer was also a woman, which narrowed down the list of candidates quite a lot. Since Mother had made it clear in the letter that she would allow Talia to make her own decisions, that left her out. Then, it could be someone from Brelyna's family? House Maryon was still a quite expansive House, and there was no way they would just take her disappearance lying down, was there? On the other hand, she knew very little of Brelyna's family beyond the fact that she didn't like talking about them.

And in the end, it could be a complete stranger. Nirn wasn't so small that they had to know whatever Dunmer had found her way here.

"So…you think you know her, the Dunmer I mean?" Aedan was riding next to her, watching her with a slightly amused expression. He seemed far more curious now that they suddenly found the Dalish to be ready and on standby. Frankly, it was more than a little unnerving just how much their luck seemed to have changed for the better in a matter of hours.

Even the knowledge of the tainted water seemed to be flowing to the backs of everyone's minds the more healthy villagers they rode past. However far the corruption had spread, it hadn't reached Redcliffe yet, which meant everyone here were still alive and…not ghouls.

"Aedan, there are more than sixty thousand Dunmers living outside of Morrowind alone, and I don't even know how many live _in_ Morrowind." She gave him a flat look, which quickly became a grin as her words left him openly flustered. It was pretty damn cute, and almost made her forget about the fact that he still didn't know of her…condition. It really was a laugh; most women her age would have called a 'condition' being pregnant.

_She_ was dragging a dragon around in her head. If that wasn't a _special_ condition, she didn't know what was.

"Right…" he fumbled with the reins as he looked down; "…sorry, I guess I still can't imagine an entire people like Brelyna or J'zargo or…you know. It's just, there's so much going on right now, and then suddenly there's another one of your countrymen here. It's just…surprising."

"…got that right." She sighed, slumping in her saddle. It was annoying that something like that'd just _happened_ while they were gone, and no one had known about it; "Still, right now I just want to get back to the castle, dump myself in a hot, soapy bath and get something to eat…doesn't matter which order those last two are in, by the way." She smiled, a lewd grin threatening to break through; "You have something planned for tonight?"

The way he still blushed like a ripe apple never seemed to get old. Still, he at least remained coherent and didn't fall off his horse. She still didn't even have to outright _imply_ anything that was remotely intimate, just asking like this was enough to send his mind straight into the gutter. Aedan might be straight as an arrow, but...well, he was _straight_ as an arrow, which made him so easy to tease and prod.

He was probably going to make her _pay_ for it later, though.

"I'm going to head for the Dalish." Alistair halted his horse near the crossroads between the village center and the road to the castle; "Sten, you're coming with me. Rest of you, I guess you're free to do as you wish right now. Dismissed."

And like that, their glorious leader dismounted, handed Daveth the reins for his horse, and accompanied by Sten he trudged off towards the gathering of wagons and sails. Honestly, it looked more like a cluster of boats had somehow misplaced themselves, watching it was this distance. Talia had never actually met the Dalish, or seen their culture, so she was understandably curious.

From their vantage-point above the village proper, the group could see what looked like the preparation for a festive event of some kind. Villagers were propping up stands and poles, and several of the sellswords and mercenaries actually seemed to be pitching in.

"J'zargo wonders what the villagers are building down there."

"It's Harvestmere, I think. I'm not sure what date we have though…" Aedan explained, earning himself a curious glance from not just the cat, but the other Tamrielans as well; "You don't have that in Tamriel? There's a festival when the harvest's been brought in traditionally, though I didn't know they'd still hold it in the middle of a Blight…"

"Speaks of love for traditions, I guess?" Brelyna mused, a curious smile on her face; "Harvest's End sounds a lot like that, but it'd be back in Last Seed, so perhaps two moths ago?"

"Does your Harvest's End involve copious amounts of alcohol?" Cíada asked with a grin that was half curiosity and half amusement; "'cause Harvestmere means you drink till you drop, eat and celebrate a good harvest, and offer boons to the pre-Chantry gods of harvest."

"I didn't think the Chantry would allow something like that?" Talia cocked her head and glanced at the diminutive elf; "I mean, shouldn't they be pretty obsessed with wiping out any traces of paganism?"

"Meh, depends on the nation. Orlais's tighter than even the Dalish when it comes to tolerating other religions, but Ferelden's always been a bit more…well, free-spirited."

"…that was a horrible pun." Cullen sighed.

"…shut up, it was the best I could come up with." The elf muttered, turning her face from the Templar. It only had the unintended effect of giving Talia a full view of the girl's blushing cheeks. Right, those two had a thing. It was pretty easy to overlook most of the time; "Anyway, the Fereldan Chantry doesn't really crack down on it as hard as most others, so it lets the people retain some ties to the old gods."

"Like the Dragons?" Brelyna asked.

"Not…no, not really. Well, when I said "old gods" I guess that'd be what you'd think of, but we're talking, like, older than the Tevinter Empire, before Ferelden even existed as a nation."

"So, more like spirits of nature, then?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Cíada nodded, a small grin spreading on her lips; "Reminds me, they say Harvestmere's the second-best time to go for the object of your affections, next after Cloudreach."

"Cloudreach?"

"Spring's beginning, first month after winter." Cullen helpfully added.

"Harvestmere's also the one time Chantry-clerics are allowed to drink, so you'll be seeing them chug down with the worst of 'em, I guarantee it." The elf grinned openly, eying where some of the Chantry sisters were walking amongst the workers, offering warm soup and water.

Talia would be lying if she'd said the promises of alcohol, good food and encouraged romantic activities didn't entice her.

Still, right now she had something of an obligation. There was someone new from Tamriel here, and as the only Tamrielan Warden, she supposed it fell to her to ensure that whomever this new woman was, she at least knew there were familiar faces around. Well, familiar as it got, really.

She was probably scared shitless. Either that or she simply didn't care, since there didn't seem to be any traces of magical destruction in eyesight. And there was no way a Dunmer could arrive here without being somewhat proficient with magic, meaning any fights _would_ have caused visible alterations to the scenery.

"Septim for your thoughts?" Aedan mused at her side, startling Talia from her reverie. It wasn't so much the fact that he'd said anything as the fact that he'd used the Tamrielan manner of speech. Had she really been that much of an influence on him, or had he just picked it up as he went?

"…What?"

"That's the…that's how you'd say it, right?" he tried, uncertainty clear in his words; "I mean, you looked like something was bothering you?"

"Ah…right, yeah, it's just…it _irritates_ me that this happened, that there's another Dunmer here, anyone from Tamriel, really, and it just…_happened_ without us knowing." She sighed and rolled her shoulders, reins wavering as her hands lifted; "Not that I really _mind_, mind you, just…if something like _that_ can happen out of nowhere, what else's going on without us having a clue?"

"Probably a whole lot, I'd say." Aedan mused, a wry smile on his lips. Huh, his beard was already starting to come back. She'd made sure he was shaven when they left Orzammar, if nothing else then simply for the pleasure of having a smooth, unhindered face to kiss. She didn't mind kissing him with a beard either, not really, but there was something to be said for smooth, freshly shaven skin

Same reason _she_ shaved, after all. Plus, the beard he'd had when they'd reunited after the Deep Roads had concealed almost half of his tattoo. She _liked_ that tattoo. It gave him a sort of exotic appeal.

"Think your mother's met her, I mean, if she's at the castle too?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised." He chuckled, briefly glancing back at Brelyna. The Dunmer seemed far more interested in watching the Dalish wagons than the ongoing conversation; "She's been beyond curious since meeting Brelyna the first time, so I'd make that my guess. Provided this new woman isn't, you know…_rude_."

"Yeah…Depending on the region, some of them can be a bit…_meh_." Talia really wasn't sure how else to put it. She couldn't exactly place blame based on family or House, seeing as Brelyna was one of the most humble people she knew, and she was from the Telvani, of all Houses. She withheld a frown as they passed by the guards at the start of the drawbridge. Both men started whispering furiously the moment they thought themselves out of earshot. Weird; "Still, there's no sign of absolute havoc, so at least we can guess there hasn't been any outright fights."

"Good…Maker's Breath, I could use a rest." He sighed, leaning back in his saddle; "Right now, I just want to sit down, or lie down, somewhere, and not have to worry about something trying to stab me in the face."

Having no real response to that, Talia simply nodded and hummed her agreement, a hum that eventually became a lighthearted laugh.

She would still be aiming for a hot soak, and could already feel the warm waters hugging her skin. Redcliffe didn't have a pipe-system, so showers were not an option, but still…eventually she was going to have to get someone, maybe Owyn, to prick a brass-bowl full of holes and hang it up.

It was such an excruciatingly simple implementation, yet she hadn't seen a single shower outside of Bankorai yet. Winterhold, Skyrim all in all, for obvious reasons did not have showers. The Nords might bathe regularly, but the hardy folk of the North would more often simply toss themselves in the nearest freezing stream than spend time inventing proper bathing facilities.

Once again, High Rock was blessed that the Dwemer had left behind so many advanced contraptions.

Talia smiled at the thought, steering Niko at the stables. He welcomed the waiting hay and rest with evident joy, and seemed even more relieved once she had dismounted, dropping into Aedan's waiting arms. _Niko gets hay, I get Ae…dan. Bugger, doesn't rhyme…_

Still, briefly pressing Aedan's chest against hers, resting her face in his neck, was more than enough to make up for lack of lyrical qualities. Didn't matter that he was armored and she was technically just resting her forehead on the finely knitted mail protecting the sides of his neck, or that the leather-rim at the top of the neck-guard was damp with sweat.

It was Aedan, so the details didn't really matter, and she relished in the fact that for once, no one interrupted them.

* * *

**"What's crackin' guys? It's time for another round of 'Noble Senpai is back, bitches!'" **

**Yeah, he's back. Glory be to that magnificent bastard.**

**In other news, I really am a fan of sappy scenes.**

**Yeah, I know, it shouldn't belong in an active war for survival, but at the same time, intimacy and compassion are the best ways for a lot of people to deal with emotional stress. In Talia's case, her foundations are lodged firmly in her classmates and Aedan, for different reasons, while Aedan keeps sane by holding onto the fact that his mother and Sir Gilmore at least survived Redcliffe, and that he has Talia to keep him stable when traversing Ferelden in the middle of a sodding Blight.**

**Compare it to how soldiers these days usually end up needing therapists and the like to recover from being in active war-zones. It's messed up and ugly, but at least they're just facing normal human beings, something you know can be killed and know _how_ to kill. Grey Wardens are fighting monsters that, quite literally, come out of the nightmares of children. Add to that the fact that you can't _stab_ the Taint with your sword and make it die, and you have a serious emotional cluster-fuck that'll leave pretty much anyone scared and mentally unhinged if they don't have a source of strength to draw from.**

**Alistair is a good example of this. He doesn't yet know where he stands with Leliana, and the uncertainty makes him bottle everything up until he ends up snapping at others for the smallest things, or eventually simply suffer a mental breakdown. The game never really showed it that much, but he's under monumental stress, and the discovery of the Bloaters only adds to it. **

**So, with that in mind, I'm planning at least a few chapters without emotional trauma, plot-twists or brutal death. Hopefully you'll appreciate it as much as I will.**

**So, with that in mind, I'll see you next time.**


	53. A woman's Inability to Deal

So, instead of offering you a diary-entry, I figured I would instead provide some forewords before the actual chapter, just to-

Talia: "What's with that title?"

…you're not supposed to break the fucking fourth wall, Talia…

Talia: "Hey, you said this was a crack-chapter, I can do like Deadpool if I want to. Also what's crack?"

…How do you even…_How_ did you even _FIND _me?!

Talia: "Paper-trails. Plus your Archivist gave me the address."

Oh. _Fuck_.

Talia: "Well, this damn well better be good. I'm tired, hungry, in need of a bath and I haven't been laid in like a month."

…You _sleep_ with Aedan in the same sodding tent! And please don't talk about your sex-life in the introduction, it's my first one and I don't want Rhodry to have my ass over this.

Talia: "You know he'd love that, don't you? Besides, you get laid in a _bed_, fuckwit. I'm in need of a real,_ proper_ _**fu-**_"

* * *

_I need to start locking my doors now..._

* * *

**A Woman's Inability to Deal**

* * *

Redcliffe was, for better or for worse, more or less exactly as she remembered it.

Talia found a certain sense of comfort in knowing that these walls, the corridors, the hallways and the musty smell of old books wafting throughout the stony halls. The torches gave off the familiar scent of burning lamp-oil, and carpets relented softly under her boots.

She almost felt bad for dragging in the dust and dirt of the courtyard. It just seemed…mean, really, towards the people cleaning the carpets. 'Wardens coming through, dirtying your carpets' and all that. Though, somehow it sounded a lot more lewd than she'd intended the very moment she'd thought it aloud.

As they entered the castle proper, the group started splitting up. Daveth and J'zargo as much dragged as coerced Jowan and Leliana with them to the kitchens, while Wynne, Brelyna and Cíada made their way towards the castle library. It wasn't a very impressive collection of books, but the place was cozy, and made Talia wish she could read Thedasian, or at least just Fereldan. Alistair and Sten had not yet caught up with them from their detour, and Talia suspected their leader had brought Sten more as a symbol of strength - Qunari were intimidating, no matter how many Orcs you'd known - than to represent the Wardens.

Left behind - and that was somewhat intentional on their own part - she and Aedan were allowed to simply relax as they walked the corridors, headed first and foremost for the spacious resting room. It was likely that at this time of the day, they could find Eleanor there with a book, since she hadn't been at the when they arrived, nor in the courtyard.

First, however, both had discarded their armor, and given them to Owyn as he seemed to have been awaiting them at the stairways proper before the main doors. The man was dedicated, she had to give him that, and seemed intent on proving that he could serve the Grey Wardens as a main and dependable supplier of proper materials and crafts. Now, dressed down to simple Warden-robes and padded gambeson and trousers, the pair were intent on simply taking a breather, and trying for just one day to forget that the Blight was still a thing.

"You know…maybe we shouldn't show your mother that scar…" it was an afterthought more than anything, but it really should have been more at the forefront of her mind. Talia blamed her ease and sense of complacency for it, but couldn't be bothered to be genuinely concerned. Redcliffe just seemed to want her content, odd as that might have sounded; "…you think she's going to get…worried?"

"Y-yeah…probably, I mean…She's not..." he stopped himself and sighed, prompting her to squeeze his hand, mostly because she really just wanted to, and because he seemed ill at ease at the thought; "…you know what could have happened…"

"_Could_, meaning it didn't." she pressed, stopping with him at the door; "Aedan, mom's have this thing where they just throw sanity out the window when their kids are even _slightly_ in danger. Should've seen _my_ mother when she actually got mad."

"Scary?" he asked with a wry, small smile. She gave him a dead-pan, flat look in turn.

"She'd literally rip the earth apart and throw it at you." The words came out calmly, but that didn't change what seemed to be a drop of sweat rolling down his cheek; "Believe me, considering what we've been through so far, I think _I_ would be the one with real reason to worry…Thank Mara she's halfway across the bloody world though. Don't think I'd be able to handle…"

"…handle?" Aedan repeated as she stopped mid-sentence, feeling an unnatural chill running the length of her spine; "…Talia?"

"…I just…had the most horrifying notion. We haven't seen this new Dunmer yet…" the idea alone was beyond absurd, and she didn't know why she even gave it the time of day. Mother would never come here, all this way, especially after having allowed Talia to at first run away to Skyrim, then write that letter where she basically gave her consent to her daughter being where she was without interference. And it wasn't even because there was _bad_ blood between herself and her mother, it was just…she didn't want her family here, didn't want anymore of those she cared about _this_ close to something as evil and destructive as the Blight.

"…maybe she's…out exploring the village and just didn't know how to approach us? I mean, you and Brelyna and J'zargo all ride more or less hidden behind your hoods, maybe she just didn't recognize them as non-humans and didn't know it was you?"

Neither of them had heard the footsteps treading softly on the rugs, and the tapestries did much to muffle the sound of shoe-leather on cushioning fabric. Talia's senses, normally so much keener than even that of the Grey Wardens, failed to pick up the incoming sound until the woman's breathing could be heard over her own.

"_Or_, maybe she is in the reclining room as you speak, awaiting your arrival?"

Both of them had already faced Ogres, Demons and even a High Dragon, yet the adrenaline-rush and startle brought by the unexpected voice was enough to send them leaping forward like frightened hares. Talia the most, as her sharper hearing picked up on and increased the volume so rapidly it sounded as if they had been shouted instead of spoken calmly.

"Molag's _Balls_, gave me a bloody _heart-attack_." The Breton gasped, glaring at Eleanor Cousland, while said woman's son seemed far more flabbergasted and startled than irritated. Talia, however, could _hear_ her heart trying to hammer its way out through her ribcage. Aedan quickly transitioned from shock and surprise to simple relief and happiness at seeing his mother again, and picked the woman up in a hug, quite well showcasing just how much stronger he'd gotten.

"It's good to see you, mother." He grinned, gently setting the somewhat flustered Teyrna down. Irritated as she was at the surprise, Talia still couldn't quite keep an entertained grin from spreading across her own face as well, infected by Aedan's joy. Eleanor's expression seemed to also change from flustered amusement to simple relief, taking in the sight of them both.

And the Breton couldn't quite help wonder what exactly the older woman was seeing.

"It warms and eases my heart to see you both back safe, Aedan, Talia, I was starting to grow afeared something had happened." Eleanor sighed, smiling through half-open eyes; "Forgive me if I sound weary, I am simply lacking sleep. As you have heard, we have a newcomer guest from Tamriel, of all places."

"It is good to see you again as well, Lady Eleanor." Talia replied with a genuine smile. She couldn't help that she actually _liked_ the woman. It was a damned rare thing, she knew, to actually _like_ your potential mother-in-law, and have it returned in kind. She wasn't taking _that_ for granted, and it was a relief to see that no more of Howe's assassins had been targeting her; "Though, you could have skipped the part where you had me pop a vertebrae. Being a Warden's got my blood pressure high enough as it is."

"I may be old, but I am still not deprived of the notion of fun…It just, took me a while to rediscover it, though. I do hope you will forgive me for that, if you can find it in your heart to do so with a foolish old woman?"

Eleanor's supposed meekness didn't fool anyone for even a moment. The old woman still had spirit, though she seemed…markedly more alive now, than when they'd left. What had changed?

"When you put it like that, I suppose I can be magnanimous…" the Breton sighed, creasing the corner of her lips in an unwilling smile. Divines, it was good to be back. Redcliffe was just about the closest thing she'd been to feeling at home since leaving the College. It held people she cared about, and who cared for her, and it was safe and secure, at least as much as any place in Ferelden could currently be.

"Speaking of being magnanimous…" Eleanor mused, glancing at the door; "I believe we have a guest you have not yet met."

"Right, the Dunmer. The guard mentioned it was a woman, but not much else…" Talia muttered, suddenly feeling tired. Not just mentally, but physically too. Her legs ached from the constant walking, running and standing, and her body was sore from days of near-uninterrupted horse-riding. It reminded her of how she really just wanted a warm bath; "…you've met her, right? She's been here since the Dalish arrived, far's we heard?"

"I have met her, yes, and spent quite a great many hours conversing with her." The Teyrna smiled, as if at some small personal secret; "When at first I met Serah Maryon, I had thought her inquisitiveness and open mind too great a gift to be common, but our guest shares these traits as well. We have at great lengths discussed culture and philosophy."

"Is she a Noblewoman?" it _would_ make sense, actually. Very few outside the main bloodlines of Morrowind would have the magical potential to take them _this_ far off course. In a way, then, it actually spoke of Brelyna's dormant powers that she'd managed as much with four people.

"I will leave that for you to uncover." Eleanor gestured at the doors; "Now, I believe I intend on checking over my son for every single scratch he might have acquired. Meanwhile, why don't you greet her? Certainly it would make for easier banter than even I could provide."

"…right, that." Talia sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She supposed there was no way around it, really. She couldn't even pretend she had duties, since Alistair hadn't given them any and he wasn't back yet, and she'd look weird if she went to see how Owyn was doing when it wasn't even an hour since she'd handed him her armored pieces for repair. It almost seemed like the perfect setup; "…wait, why do I get the sudden, sneaking suspicion that I'm not _allowed_ to bring company in there?"

Eleanor, however, remained silent at that, and simply smiled that almost motherly smile of hers as she borderline pushed Talia towards the room. It wasn't physically, naturally, but her expression basically promised a world of…something, and Talia would rather not provoke her, even now.

She still remembered seeing Eleanor stab a man in the spine even as he was on the ground. It was actually the kind of dread she could respect and worry about at the same time, though _that _realization left her wondering just what the _fuck_ had happened to her sense of priorities if stabbing someone in the spine was the route to her respect.

That the man had served Howe wasn't as relevant as it perhaps should have been.

Right, so, now she had to be diplomatic, and probably as agreeable as she possibly could. She was, for better or for worse, sort of the ambassador of her people. While that had been acceptable once she had believed it was just for the Bretons, since she had Brelyna and J'zargo with her, now she was actually the _link_ to Tamriel as a whole, and by the gods, did that realization serve to punch her in the gut. Still, she bit down on her resentment at the task, and gently pushed open the doors.

Now, Talia had, since first arriving in Ferelden, achieved much better control over her tempers, as well as her reactions to unexpected events. This much should have been evident to all when she didn't leap from her horse at the news of the Dalish, or when she refrained from killing those refugees in Lothering - in hindsight it now felt like yelling at corpses - so there should now be a great fewer things that would have her swooning like a daisy.

Her mother, Rhea Aulus, reclining in one of the soft chairs, a cup of wine in her hand and the bottle at her side, unfortunately belonged with those few things.

When Talia _saw_ her, and Mother saw _her_, it felt like the air constricted itself in her lungs, refusing to let her breathe. Sweat broke out across her skin, and her body felt like it was ready to lurch and collapse where she stood. Her heart nearly gave out, and her throat refused to emit even a groan. It all could be blamed on the fact that her mind was unable to process what her eyes were feeding it, and her brain was suffering from a temporal breakdown.

For a long, agonizingly silent moment, the two women stared at each other, competing for the more stunned expression, which Talia would later insist neither had won. The only sound now filling the room was the fireplace's crackling, and despite the warmth the flames gave off, Talia felt unnaturally _cold_.

This…this couldn't actually be happening, could it?

Like, there was no way her brain was actually processing this right, was there? It had to be an illusion, or something like it, maybe Morrigan pulling a prank on her again. The witch was getting better at them and it would only be obvious for her to…

"Talia_…_"

Her mother's first word came out as a dry croak, bereft of volume and thick with so many emotions it looked like she was going to burst. Talia, for all she tried denying it, couldn't overcome the fact that the voice was so irredeemably Mother's, and the realization hit her like a mallet to the stomach.

Tears already now started forming in the corners of her eyes, unwanted and impossible to stop. Talia couldn't even comprehend to blink them away, broken as her mind now was. It had tried and failed to accept that her mother was actually in the same room as her, standing mere meters away, a guest of Redcliffe. She couldn't believe it, and couldn't even order her own body to move even a single muscle.

"…Mnnghh…M-mo..." Talia's jaw was locked tight, refusing to allow her even the simplest of words. Her entire being was simply in a state of revolt, refusing and disbelieving what it was being informed of by its eyes. There was no way she could actually be here, no way Mother could actually be here, _right_ here, _right_ before her. She swallowed; "…_mom_?"

For better or for worse, this was all Rhea Aulus required from her. As the single word of confirmation left Talia's lips, the Dunmer crossed the distance between them in two long strides and tore her daughter into an embrace so fierce, it felt to the redhead as if she would break her ribs.

The physical discomfort, if nothing else, helped shake Talia from her stupor.

"_Lady Azura, I thank you from the depths of my soul for this…"_ her mother whispered, pressing their bodies together as if both their lives depended on it. There were no words for her, it seemed, but the silence and relief radiating from her mother was enough to speak for itself; "Mara, Akatosh, Arkay, Stendarr, Julianos, Divines, _thank_ _you_ for leading me to my daughter."

This was, at least, enough for Talia to rediscover her mind once again, and realize that what she was seeing, what she was feeling, was indeed her own mother, Rhea Aulus, shaking with relief and joy as she held her in an inescapable embrace.

"M-moth-_Mom_?!" she finally managed a coherent word, though it was muffled by her throat being pressed against her mother's shoulder. She also couldn't even _see_ straight, because damn it if she wasn't starting to cry as well now. It wasn't even dignified in any way whatsoever, sadly. Now that she'd first let a single tear slip, there just wasn't any end to them, and honestly she did not care. She was practically dissolving, melting into the embrace of family; "_Mom_!"

Gone were the notions of estrangement. Gone was the desire to run away from her family, to leave it all behind because of misunderstandings and misfortunes. She didn't even care anymore that they'd wanted her married off to Daggerfall. Right now, right here, she had her mother.

And for a blissful moment, seemingly lasting both forever and nowhere near long enough, the Grey Warden became a little girl again.

Talia had no concept of time or when their embrace came to an end, only that when it did, she had thoroughly soaked and soiled both her own face and the fabric on her mother's shoulder. The realization brought her no small amount of shame and embarrassment. Somehow, however, her mother seemed to find the whole thing far more amusing than bothersome, and simply looked upon her with a maternal love and compassion Talia couldn't remember seeing since she was a child.

"Talia, my dearest, _dearest_ daughter. Why do you cry?" she asked this, even as Talia could see the tears flowing freely down her marble cheeks.

"S-shut up, you're crying too!" she bit back in retort, feeling the shame and fluster heating up her face. It was like she was a little girl again and mom had caught her climbing the cherry-trees in nothing but her smalls. Well sod it, dresses weren't made for climbing trees!

"I suppose I am, aren't I?" her mother smiled warmly and gently wiped Talia's cheeks dry with the soft fabrics of her sleeves. She didn't resist the gesture, but felt a tingle of warmth spread from the contact when their skin touched; "Will you forgive your mother for crying with relief at the sight of her daughter unharmed?"

"I…I guess…But, but what…" she didn't even know how to ask this; "…what means…what, I mean, why…"

"You wonder, why am I here, in Thedas, as they call it?" there was only smile and warmth and love in her mother's red eyes, not a shred of admonishment for speaking out of term or swearing or losing her composure. It was, in a way, terrifying and unnerving; "Talia, you are my beloved daughter, and I would traverse the planes of Oblivion itself if it meant to find you. Not long ago, your father and I lost the ability to find you, even with…_help_, and…while your father is in the Imperial City, I…grew fretful. When Omluard was not there to assure me of your safety, my mind conjured up images that…I would not tolerate. I suppose what I am saying is that, I grew impatient and worried. I tried to focus on where we knew you to have last been, only…"

"…the spell misfired, didn't it?" Talia muttered as she was allowed to take a step back, taking in the situation with new eyes. So much was changed now, because of this reunion, yet again nothing was actually _changed_. The Blight was still ongoing, regardless of the fact that she now had her family here with her. It was a revolt, and yet wasn't. The contradictions had her mind reeling, and frankly, right now it was all she could do not to lose her shit, metaphorically speaking.

"It did at that, yes." Her mother sighed and nodded; "I aimed at this castle, though I ended up in a dense forest instead. I came across several threats to my person, werewolves among the-"

"_Werewolves_?!" Talia started, eyes wide and expression aghast. Her mother had faced _werewolves_? But, Aedan had said his ancestors had driven them from Ferelden.

"It was at the same time as when I encountered a certain…elf, in the thick of the woods." Her mother continued, a more somber tone entering her voice; "He was initially suspicious of my appearance, but relented enough that he would tell me of my whereabouts, in exchange for some company in his…final moments."

"…what do you mean?"

"You have seen the Dalish, the elves, outside in Redcliffe?" Talia nodded, waiting for her mother to continue; "…the man I met was their Keeper, their elder and leader of sorts. He was on his way to confront these beasts that plagued his clan. He was, though I did not fully understand why at the time, headed for his deliberate demise…"

"…you mean like, a sacrifice to the werewolves?" she couldn't completely wrap her mind around this, but it was a welcome distraction from the fact that, well, her _mother_ was here. Not just in the same land as a Blight was currently ravaging, but the same castle that _Aedan_ was in. Somehow, the latter was the more terrifying realization.

"…In a way, yes…It is, a story for another time, I suppose. It does not have a cheerful ending and I would rather not cast gloom over this day." There was an expression of lingering regret on her face, though Talia for the life of her could not understand what had happened. In the end, she resigned to remaining in the dark for now, much as it annoyed her. If her mother did not wish for her to know, at this point, it was likely not from simple coddling; "When I joined with the Dalish elves, they were already migrating westwards, towards Redcliffe. We arrived not a week ago, and that is when I was introduced to Lady Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, among others." Something entered her mother's eyes, a hint of something Talia couldn't discern; "She told me of her son, I would have you know, and that you and he seem to have…an agreement, of sorts? I will admit, I did not readily believe you of all people to have seriously entered a relationship, so I wanted to hear it from you."

"…what" There was no helping it. Talia simply couldn't wrap her mind around the rate of which her mother changed moods and topics. She never had been able to, but at least back then things had been…simpler, sort of. Right now, their reunion had moved from tearful relief and rejoice to the details of her relationship with Aedan, and all in less than ten minutes; "I…you…what"

"Did I stutter?" her mother asked, a slightly cooler air entering her voice; "I would know of this, and preferably from you, so that I needn't hunt down this 'Aedan' and interrogate him for myself."

"N-no, it's just, I…" Mara help her, what the fuck did she reply to that? '_Yes, Mother, we love each other and last night here he fucked me so hard I walked with a limp, and now that we're back I'd hoped to eventually grab him in the bath'_?

There was _no_ way in any plane of Oblivion she could say something like that and _not_ consign Aedan to dismemberment. It was all the more aggravating because mother never made _this_ much of a fuss over her one-night stands back home. Fuck maternal instincts, if this was how they played in.

All of a sudden it was starting to come back to her just why she'd left home. At least, one of the reasons. _Too much ploughin' control…_She took a deep breath and did her best to shake off the self-consciousness currently doing its damned best at making her obedient and timid. Well, fuck _that_.

"I was just…not expecting you to know that. In hindsight I guess you and Eleanor would've had to talk about _something_…" she sighed, though it almost became a groan; "…but yeah, Aedan and I are kind of a thing. Please don't murder him?"

"Is he good to you?" her mother's question still managed to catch Talia off-guard though; "From what Eleanor told me, you more or less confessed to her that you love him, but what does _he_ think of it? How does he treat you?"

"…_that_'s what you're worried- I mean, I thought…" Well, _bugger_. Talia had honestly expected to be grilled on _her_ intentions, seeing as that was how Eleanor had more or less gone about it, although gently. Still, this was…unexpected; "How come you never acted like this with _any_ of the other men…or girls, but suddenly you…And why do you have to ask this _right after_ delivering yourself to Redcliffe, I mean…_fuck_, that…"

"Language."

"…_Sod_, that." She bit back, glaring at her mother, more out of stubbornness and uncertainty than actual anger; "If you really wanna ask that as one of the _first_ things, then yes, he treats me right. Aedan is kind, he is considerate, he's smart and actually _cares_ about me, which is more than I can say about certain people supposedly related to me by blood."

Her mother did not rise to the bait, surprisingly enough; "In that case, I will certainly look forward to meeting him." _That_ in itself was horrifying enough, considering the tone with which it was said, but what made it even worse was the rapping of knuckles now resounding from the closed door; "Ah, that would be him, I assume?"

Talia stared at her mother, really stared, with eyes wide from horror and disbelief. She had completely lost track of this situation, more so than when she'd first seen her mother of all people in Redcliffe's sitting-room. This was surreal, it was so absolutely outright _bizarre_ that it _had_ to be a hallucination of some kind. She'd had _dreams_ more sensible than this, the one in the Fade included.

"Entering." It was Lady Eleanor, of all things, and for but a brief moment, Talia dared to hope it would only be her. Said hope was promptly crushed when it was not Eleanor in the door, but instead Aedan, looking like he'd been shoved through the door rather than asked nicely; "Be polite now, yes?"

Dear _gods_.

She wanted to cringe and fall to her knees and curl up in a fetal position and just _die_. This was by far the weirdest day in her life, and it was only exponentially getting weirder and weirder and _worse_. When she finally _dared_ actually _looking_ at Aedan, it seemed he had been ripped out of his gambeson and stuffed into a set of clothes that wanted for the life of them to be presentable. Red and yellow clashing over dominance on a single vest, however, with dark green trousers, was not what _she_ would call presentable.

It was actually so bad she almost started laughing at him.

She did, actually, when she saw how pale his face had become. The poor guy was stricken with fear, and the object of his terror was clearly none other than _her mother_. If that wasn't the absolute archetype cliché of every relationship she had ever encountered in the books, she wasn't sure what the fuck else would classify.

"So…" her mother started, hands clasped behind her back as she slowly walked closer to the buck-startled noble. A smile somewhere between cruel and innocently curious played on her lips; "You would be Aedan Cousland, I presume?"

"P-pleasure to make your aquinatance- _acquaintance_, Ma'am." Dear gods she felt bad for him now. Where she had merely been unnerved and disbelieving, Aedan was positively terrorized and trembling. He hadn't looked this bad since…well, she couldn't actually remember a case of simple terror this bad. Grief, yes, but terror?

"You can relax, Aedan, I don't bite." And with those simple words, Rhea Aulus transformed from monstrous terror to simply being a smiling woman. It might as well have been magical, for the unreal change it was; "Believe me, the last thing I want is to be on bad standing with the first man Talia has seriously seemed romantically interested in. I simply want a look at you."

If anything, _that_ only served to further increase his discomfort, if the way he was blushing worse than the left of his vest was any indication. It didn't help much when the Dunmer placed her hands on his shoulders in a manner supposedly comforting, though it did at least allow him the confidence to no longer stare at the floor. Mother held his face up with her gaze alone, scrutinizing him for what felt like hours to Talia, and no doubt _days_ to Aedan.

"Hmm…not _too_ bad. Skin seems healthy, no missing teeth, hair's thick and vibrant…could do with a shave, unless that's something the two of you have agreed on…" she muttered, counting off pro's and cons as if Aedan was a particularly expensive horse at a market; "…posture is gangly, straighten up please…_Much_ appreciated…good, broad shoulders, no excess of baby fat…speaking of which-"

"_Mom_!"

"Hmm? I was merely contemplating his potential for the furthering of-"

"That is _NOT_ what I want to hear the first time you meet someone!" Talia groaned, feeling physically ill with embarrassment; "Seriously, _I_ have to be the one saying this to _you_?"

"It's common practice, even _if_ being Grey Wardens as I hear it reduces the chances of children." The worst of it was, her mother's tone was completely serious and casual, as if there was _nothing_ wrong with talking about her and Aedan like a pair of magnificent breeding-stock; "We are, after all, two major noble houses, and while Grey Wardens might not be permitted holdings in Thedas, you will recall we have no such rulings in Tamriel."

"…_geh!_" Talia couldn't mentally process what was going on. It was too much. It was too ridiculous. It was simultaneously so sad and so funny that she didn't know whether to slump crying in a chair or sink to the floor in hysterical laughter. So in the end she simply remained standing where she stood, a desperate chuckle escaping her.

She simply couldn't deal. Her mind simply couldn't deal, and chose shutting down rather than trying to wrap itself around the situation.

"…Talia?" Aedan's attention, at least, was diverted from his potential mother-in-law's examinations, concern and confusion in equal amounts painting his expression.

"…oh dear." Rhea sighed; "You wouldn't believe how often _this_ happened when she was younger, though usually she and her sister would be doing it together. Alai mostly because she didn't understand why _Talia_ was doing it…"

"That…that's the first time she's done that here…" he muttered, uncertain of whether he should be more terrified of the Dunmer in front of him - it was only now he was really starting to understand that Talia was actually indeed _elf blooded_. He'd known it for months, but somehow it only _now_ started kicking in - or his seemingly unhinged friend and lover rolling around on the floor.

"Oh?" the woman mused, regarding him with slight curiosity. He didn't know what to say to that kind of response. Was he supposed to explain just how many dangers they'd been in? Certainly his mother had already done some of that, seeing how she apparently was on first-name-basis with the _Queen _of a country. Granted, it wasn't a very _large_ country, from what Talia had said, roughly the size of Highever's lands, but still, the fact remained she was a _Queen_. Didn't look much like one, actually, since she wore much the same type of robes Talia did when not in Warden-gear.

"I mean…I didn't mean she's…I…it's just we've been through a lot and she never really seemed…_fazed_, like this, I think…" Maker help him, he couldn't keep up a coherent sentence in front of this woman. Even with the different racial traits, there was not even a shred of doubt in his mind that this was Talia's mother, through and through. She certainly seemed equally fond of making those around her squirm, even as her daughter's behavior clearly brought her some degree of concern.

"My daughter has been in mortal danger, you mean." Rhea stated flatly, casually almost. She briefly regarded her daughter, now slumped to the floor in e fetal position. She was still laughing, giggling and babbling like a toddler. Aedan only refrained from panicking at over her state because her mother didn't seem to worry; "I know she has, that much at least your mother explained…I was also given the impression that I have you to thank for her life, on more than one occasion."

"I…I don't know if that's…I mean, _she's_ saved my life so many more times than…" dear Maker, let him not ruin this; "I mean, I'm doing my best, Ma'am."

"I'm sure you do, Aedan." She smiled, warmth permeating the gesture; "Come now though, there is no reason for you to be this fretful around me. I'm just Talia's mother, Rhea, not some scary monster going to rip you apart."

That was oddly specific, considering what Talia had mentioned earlier. The girl in question was rolling around on the floor, one hand weakly pointing at her mother, giggling like an overjoyed toddler allthewhile;

"_Rip, rip-rip-rip…rippity ripperly rip-rip-riiiiiip…"_

Aedan stared at her in abject horror. Was she losing her mind?

"Don't worry, she's just…" Rhea started, frowning at her daughter, then looked back at him; "…I don't suppose she'd have mentioned taking a lot of potions when younger?"

"S…she mentioned antidotes." He offered meekly.

_"Azura…_Right_,_ well…we weren't quite aware of it at the time, but her brother apparently wanted to…_help_, so he gave her something we hadn't prescripted and…she was dealing with the side-effects for a while." The woman sighed, rubbing her brows. Aedan wasn't sure how the Hell he was supposed to react to this; "It's…nothing dangerous, as such, but we went through a major healing-process involving blood-rituals, which supposedly cured her of it…I guess having her blood polluted by the Joining could have brought some of the side-effects back…"

"Talia's own brother _poisoned _her?" he stared, aghast at such a notion. Talia had mentioned her brother being a bastard on a few occasions, but…

"Not on purpose, of course. He was only three at the time, and thought the colorful bottles were, well, helpful…" Rhea bemoaned; "It's nothing dangerous, mind you. She just needs a few minutes to…recover. Why don't we put her on the couch for now?"

"R-_right_." Aedan nodded, gently lifting his unhinged companion from the floor and onto the soft pillows of the broad couch. She grabbed a pillow and curled up around it, seemingly oblivious to anything else. Aedan stared, and stared, then turned his eyes to stare at Talia's mother instead. She seemed more at ease with this than him, though some degree of concern clearly still reigned behind her eyes; "So…she'll recover in a few minutes?"

"Yes…" Rhea nodded, letting her shoulders sag; "No need to worry, we'll just stay with her until she comes to. In the meantime, why don't you tell me more about yourself?"

* * *

**Believe it or not, this is actually all plot and canon. It's not an OVA and it's not a crack-chapter…dear gods, I've been tracked down by my own characters. I really thought Roku was the only one capable of that.**

**Dammit…This is why I tend to stay away from writing comedy. I have a twisted mind but can't put it to paper...**


	54. Harvestmere

_Harvestmere in Thedas tends to have its own variations depending on where exactly you'd happen to be. According to the Chantry's books, the Harvestmere festival is older than even the foundation of the Chantry itself, as well as the Tevinter Imperium, meaning it's so old it basically predates recorded time in Thedas. _

_Still, it is kept well and alive, and celebrated throughout the continent. Fereldan especially holds this in high regard, and its peasantry celebrates the tradition on par with Chantry holidays. It speaks of surprising tolerance that the Chantry not only allows this, but actively encourages it in Ferelden, and its clerics, Sisters, Revered Mothers and the like all participate, showing themselves to be more than simply the spreaders of their faith. _

_It shares some traits with Harvest's End in Tamriel, though the amount of celebrations differ vastly. What is but a simple holiday in Tamriel, is an important festival in Thedas. _

_It is also the only time of the year you will have the chance of drinking a Revered Mother under the table._

Talia Aulus, 9:38 Dragon, Brief note on the cultures of Thedas.

* * *

**Harvestmere**

* * *

Mental illness _sucked_.

Technically, Talia didn't _have_ a mental illness per se, but suffering from the effects of her brother dearest's childhood attempt at _helping_ her build up a resistance to pretty much every poison known to man and elf, was pretty much like a mental illness. Skoma, however fun it was, was _not_ something you gave a one-year old. Like, _ever_.

Mainly because Skoma didn't particularly mind whether the recipient was a baby or an adult. It still ripped around in the mind and caused the brain to utterly clusterfuck itself. And to a baby, that was not in any way a good thing. It had screwed her up pretty bad, and had actually continued doing so until her seventh birthday when she'd been old enough - and contained enough blood - to safely carry out a blood-ritual that simply put wiped her systems clean. Somehow, however, it apparently depended on her blood consistency to the degree that becoming a Grey Warden had probably nullified the whole thing, so now she was back to square one, which, as stated, _sucked_.

There was a lot of squirming involved, of course, and the hallucinations were pretty bad. She'd thought herself beyond the days of watching gigantic squirrels chasing mushrooms with pickaxes, but apparently those days weren't entirely behind her either. Then, there was the whole inability to really focus on _anything_ at all.

It also led to rampant babbling.

In a way, it was kind of like lucid dreaming, in that she had no real conscious control over what her own body did. She could even hear the words coming from her own lips, though she couldn't actually process _what_ she was saying, nor was she able to determine what she _wanted_ to say. There'd been something apparently hilarious about something mother said though, which had caused her no end of giggling.

Then she'd been in a couch, and there'd been a pillow and she'd been a cat. It was all, in hindsight, very confusing. Now, she was _still_ in that couch, but at least her mind was slowly starting to unfuck itself from the depths of madness. She could see two figures standing above her, figures that slowly started clearing up and into her mother and Aedan, of all people. Had they been there all along? Was she still hallucinating then, or was this actually happening?

Having at least regained some semblance of a coherent mind, she swallowed accumulated saliva and opened her mouth to speak.

"…_bleh_…meh…ma- _wa_…t?" it took the confused expressions on their faces for Talia to realize her words had not actually been particularly coherent. She scowled, primarily at herself for failing at being, well, herself; "_Slut_…Sodd…_sla…Ma…my_…dongue's _sneebing…" _

Aedan breathed a sigh of relief at seeing her coherent again

Mother simply sighed. She sighed, and then she bathed Talia in a warm, golden glow that made her feel all tingly right from her toes to the roots of her hair. It also sent an itching sensation through her tongue, and let her actually roll it around again.

"…_thanks_…" she muttered, not exactly wanting to look her mother in the eyes. This, this had to have been one of the most embarrassing things she'd done in recent memory, and her only consolation was that neither J'zargo nor Daveth were here to see it. Doubtlessly, they would have never let her live it down, and would bring it up on a regular basis.

"Are you okay?" Aedan asked, getting on his knees before her, as she was still prone on the soft pillows. He was equal parts worried and relieved, from what she could see, and it almost caused her to kiss him, only stopping herself when she remembered they weren't exactly alone.

"Y-yeah, I just…You, ah…really didn't have to see that…" she averted her eyes and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Huh, they had a chandelier up there? Since when? "…honestly I'd kinda wish you hadn't seen that."

"Sorry, I just got worried." He breathed; "I've never seen you like this before, not even in Kinloch, or after Ostagar or in Haven. It's shock that does it, right?"

"…kinda." she muttered, pouted and was pointedly _not_ looking him in the eyes.

"Are you telling me, that seeing _me_, is a bigger shock than whatever horrors you have already experienced, Talia?" her mother asked, not a small bit of her voice laced with something close to either regret or genuine worry; "I didn't realize you were thát averse to seeing me again."

"I'm not! I'm not, I just…I _was_ shocked. Like, no one told me _you_ were here and I thought…" _gods,_ how was this supposed to be how _family_ spoke? They were about as socially stunted with each other as could be! "…I thought, with the letter, you meant…I mean, I just…I didn't want anyone else here."

"You received my letter?" mother asked quietly, her hands gathered and fingers laced; "I was…not sure you would."

Talia wasn't of a mind to reveal just how _hard_ the letter had hit her. If she told her mother now that she'd nearly dissolved over a piece of parchment like that, there would be all sorts of implications she didn't want to consider.

"How did you send it, if…I can ask?" Aedan spoke up when it was clear for all to see that Talia would remain silent. She just didn't know _what_ to say that wouldn't either be a lie or a poorly veiled attempt at changing subjects. Also her head still retained some swimming, which might be why the ceiling looked like it was dancing; "I mean, did you teleport it or…I don't know."

"Physical Temporal Apparition, by most referred to as the Petea-spell."

"…didn't know our family could do that…" Talia groaned, not bothering to look away from the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling, even _if_ it wouldn't stop dancing; "…can our family do that?"

"No, daughter. No one in our family can do that, not me nor your father." Mother explained, then turned to Aedan, who seemed more and more confused; "the Petea-spell does not require as much power as it does dedication. It allows the caster to project himself across any distance instantaneously, for a short period of time. It is usually recognized by a great rift in the air before the caster, acting like a mirror through which the Apparition can be guided. Talia's father and I asked for the aid of Magister Jeanette Belfield, one of the sitting members of the Council of Magisters, of which my husband is Archmagister and current leader."

"So High Rock is governed by Magisters?" apparently Aedan had picked up on that one, though Talia wasn't surprised in the least. Now that his most immediate concern - her, and that was actually pretty heartwarming - was dealt with, his curiosity towards the culture of her homeland was sparked.

"In a sense, yes, you could say that." Mother nodded, having seemingly caught on as well. There was a tone of quiet approval to her words, as if she had wanted to find out eventually whether Aedan really was as open-minded as she had been told - by Lady Eleanor, no doubt; "Though they do not hold legislative power because of their membership, but rather, membership because of their power."

"Only the most powerful mages, Magisters and such are allowed seats." Talia supplied, earning herself a nod from her mother.

"Decisions taken by the Council also does not directly affect how the five kingdoms of High Rock are governed. Rather, they deal with matters related to the arcane, directly and indirectly both."

"Like the College of Enchanters?" Aedan suggested, catching Talia off-guard. She didn't know what that was, but it sounded like it was important, and she decided to let him know of her curiosity by dumping her head on his shoulder and rubbing her forehead against his cheek. He didn't seem to get the message, because his hand instead just went up and started trailing through her hair - which was _absurdly_ pleasant, no mistake there, but not what she had been aiming for.

"Your mother mentioned that organization, yes." Mother replied, and Talia tried to see if she could turn her eyeballs enough that she could see her mother without moving her head out of Aedan's caressing touches. Mara's tits, it was like getting electrified in all the _right_ ways; "It is not a bad analogy, considering this land's view on magic, though not entirely proper either. From what Eleanor could tell me, the College of Enchanters lack real power, as their decisions have to be approved by the Chantry itself before implementation can even be considered."

"I can't imagine the Chantry would be fond of something like that…" he muttered, briefly pausing his fingers through her hair. When Talia started - gently - biting him on the neck, he blushed a furious shade of red and quickly resumed his work, much to the clear amusement of the Dunmer; "I- I mean, they wouldn't like it if they found out, so…I mean, I don't mean to tell you what you can't do, I…that came out wrong…"

"I know what you mean to say, Aedan." Her mother assured him; "Speaking of the Chantry, a few days ago I had a rather enlightening talk with a Sister of Redcliffe's Chantry. Sister Giselle, her name was, I believe."

Talia perked up on that, feeling a twinge of worry in her gut.

"Imagine, she actually recognized my name." her mother let _that_ one hang in the air for a few seconds before continuing; "Well, not _my_ name, naturally, but the name Aulus."

Oh. Well, that was probably not a good thing.

"…Sister Giselle, you said?" Talia muttered, finding that her current position made gulping uncomfortable; "You…talked to her?"

"Oh _Child,_ you really _must_ stop thinking the worst of everyone you encounter on your travels…well, Howe excluded, obviously…" her mother cooed, gently brushing stray hairs from Talia's forehead. She didn't stop Aedan from continuing what he was doing, which Talia at least could appreciate; "I explained your circumstances, though she was far more curious than angered at your…shall we say, 'lies' of omission?"

"I…technically did tell her I was from Bankorai."

"Which only added to her curiosity, I should mention." Her mother mused, gently touching Talia's cheek with her ungloved hand. It was just another small gesture of maternal affection, but it was so long since she had last experienced it that Talia had to repress a shiver of delight; "I would suggest a conversation with her, at your choice, of course. You're too old for me to arrange playdates anymore…"

"…_hah…._"

"Still, we have a few days for that, at least…" Rhea sighed, retrieving her hand; "Arl Eamon's plan was to call the Landsmeet as soon as you returned from Orzammar with the Dwarves in place. That means at least a week for the message to get around Ferelden, and then we leave for Denerim."

"_We_?" Talia almost smacked Aedan on the jaw as she flipped herself into an upright sitting, staring at her mother with eyes widened in disbelief and suspicion; "You're not-"

"-accompanying you to the very city currently being held by the two men on this continent with the strongest interest at murdering the two of you?" there was not a shred of humor in the woman's chuckle. Rather, it was deep, dark and sinister; "Oh, Talia, daughter dearest, you couldn't _stop_ me from going even if you tried."

"I can try _hard_ these days." Talia growled at her mother. Dear gods, let her not have to worry about her mother in the capital. Not for her mother's sake, but because she feared the city wouldn't be left standing.

"As can I." her other replied, her voice leaving no room for argument; "I have no intentions of leaving you exposed to back-stabbing and treason. I did not cross an ocean just to leave my daughter dangling to the hounds like a piece of meat."

"That's…one way of putting it…" Aedan muttered, evidently uncertain of whether or not he had the right to speak up. Honestly, Talia kinda wished he'd tell her mother to shut it, because if her mother went to Denerim, bad things could happen to her. And the city…mostly the city; "But, I'd be there with her, we all would, will, I mean."

"I know." Her mother smiled at Aedan, though she couldn't tell if the smile was genuine or forced; "Nevertheless, I am accompanying you, and that is final. Now…we do have a few days before preparations need be made for our departure. Until then, I would much enjoy some cultural exchange with this village, as well as spending some time with people, the two of you in particular."

"I…" for a moment, it was as if Aedan was about to reject or otherwise protest her mother's plans, but then deflated as he no doubt felt the same imposing aura people usually associated with Rhea Aulus. She wasn't a woman you just rejected; "Right, there's a festival coming up in a few days, Harvestmere."

Her mother smiled, a genuine smile of appreciation, and stood.

"I look forward to it."

* * *

As it turned out, the preparations for Harvestmere were far more expansive than any of the Tamrielans had anticipated. Not only did it entice the participation of the entire village, but the stands spread from the central square and all the way past the reconstructed inn.

It took the village, as well as the volunteering mercenaries two more days before the festival was prepared and ready to be kicked in. The harvest, comparatively meager though it turned out, was brought in. A stake was raised in the middle of the square, colored ribbons draped from it. The children of the village occupied the curious contraption from the moment it was arranged, running in circles for reasons Talia could not entirely understand.

Then again, much as she liked children, she rarely understood them at all.

Dried fish were hung and grilled with pepper and onions, apples were baked and put on spits over embers, more than a few pigs were slaughtered and skewed over the fires. Wines were brought forth, both from cellars and traders that had accompanied the sellswords from Orlais, as well as kegs of ale being prepared for extreme drinking and all in all, Redcliffe smelled better than it ever had, of food, alcohol and a deceptively good mood.

Talia watched all this from the ridge above the village proper, dangling her legs over the edge of the steep hill. The festives didn't really have an official _start_, as such, and it seemed more like people just eventually turned up and started having fun. She was sucking on one of those apples coated in turnip-sugar, and _dear gods_, it was probably unhealthy and bad for her teeth, but it was _delicious_.

That Aedan had gotten it for her only increased her enjoyment a _tiny_ little bit. Gotten, notably, and not bought, as Grey Wardens weren't actually paid. _That_ had been something of a shocker when she'd inquired to Alistair about it.

"What do you mean 'salary'?" he frowned at her, apparently not having expected the question. Talia hesitated, unsure of how to respond to that. She'd seen the stands with coated apples and had wanted one, then realized she was actually pretty broke. As in, she had not a single coin that would be accepted in Ferelden. She still carried her little pouch of Septims, but out of nostalgia more than practicality, really; "Wait, you thought we got paid for this?"

"W-_what_?"

"Talia…" Alistair looked at her with that serious expression he seemed to wear almost around the clock these days. She actually _missed_ the Alistair that would crack inappropriate jokes and fail to take anything seriously; "Grey Wardens ordinarily are given a certain monetary stipendium by the ruling family of their resident nation, however, seeing as the crown is currently occupied by Loghain and that Howe…"

"…_fuck_, that means we're broke?"

"Yeah, pretty much… " he shrugged, though a small, wry smile was allowed to escape; "So far it's not really been a problem. Redcliffe owes us a lot, Arl Eamon included, so our expenses here are covered, those we have. Add to that that Daveth actually loots everything not stitched to the bodies we come across and sells it later…"

"Wait, Daveth's looting corpses?" she wasn't sure how she felt about that. Alistair's shrug was all the response she got from that; "You know what…fine, I'll just make Aedan entertain me. About bloody time he commenced the courting anyway…"

Now, she very much felt pleased with herself for that idea. Sitting in the sun, smelling the wafting scents from the cooking fires, spits and fires down below, it all felt very much like the well-earned break they all deserved.

"You wouldn't think a Blight is going on, that the world around them is ending…" Leliana mused from beside her, her fellow redhead having found herself without much to do. Though Talia knew it wasn't for a lack of trying; "But I suppose life must go on, no? We cannot let fear rule the way we live, else the Darkspawn might as well have won."

"…_Yeah_…I guess." Talia hummed, taking a bite of her treat. It was almost borderline _too_ sweet, but still good; "So, speaking of not letting fear rule our lives, how's things going for you and the Wood-grabber?"

"Y-you…_must_ you refer to Alistair like that?" Leliana's cheeks matched her hair. Oh, there was much enjoyment to be had from that nickname, especially because J'zargo was now referring to Alistair as such, _to his face_; "I brings to mind…_lewd_ thoughts…and images."

Images that were, honestly, probably not all thát unwelcome. For Leliana. Talia wanted none of it.

To be fair though, their illustrious leader had made something of a showing when he'd participated in a contest of staff-fighting with some of the foreigner sellswords. They were, as she understood it, something akin to Orlesian Chevaliers and assorted other kinds of knights, only working in mercenary bands instead of their armed forces. The whole thing was done in thick padding, and the men had been moving at each other like bipedal bears, slowly and with extreme amounts of caution.

They were, after all, trying not to permanently degrade the efficiency of their own allies. And Alistair had won three rounds before one of the Rivani sellswords had knocked him on his ass with a kind of speed he simply couldn't match or defend against.

Still, when it turned out that the man was the White Viper of Rivain, the sting of defeat seemed to lessen somewhat. Their leader had still been beaten blue and green, but it'd taken the leader of the Rivani sellswords to do it.

There was a sense of pride in that, she believed. Or, maybe not. Men had odd priorities when it came down to it. Defeats could be glorious or not, depending more on their opponent than themselves.

"Oh, as if you didn't have those already." Talia grinned at the bard, feeling the sugary coating of her apple begin sticking to her lips. Bugger, and Aedan was immediately around for a lip-cleaning. It at least spoke of Leliana's skills at acting that she could repress the second bout of blushing; "I really don't get the two of you…"

"W- I'm sorry?" Leliana blinked. Talia sighed. At this point, she wasn't sure which couple was more agonizing to look at; Leliana and Alistair, or Brelyna and Ser Gilmore. Both seemed to constantly dance around each other's feelings, despite it being painfully clear to everyone around them what was going on.

"I mean, Alistair I sort of get, he's been raised in the kennels first and then the Chantry, so he'd be predisposed to being…well, _shy_…" the skies were clear, and the cold autumn sun was doing its best to cast at least an illusion of warmth at them. It wasn't doing much, but at least there was no wind, so the temperature was tolerable; "You, on the other hand…I mean, you've even mentioned using sex as a way to do your job, and the whole thing with that mentor of yours…Marjolan?"

"…Marjolaine, yes…" Leliana's voice was bereft of emotion, and her face plastered with a smile, but Talia hadn't spent the better part of her life amongst stuffy, self-serving nobility without picking up when people said one thing but meant another; "I just don't think Alistair is…ready, for such a step. He might grow too fretful were I to make an advance."

"Pretty sure he'd jump you. I mean, I would…" The mage shrugged, running her tongue over the glistering surface of the apple. There were days where being bisexual wasn't a boon, and there were days where it was. Being able to compliment the sex appeal of another woman based on actual, physical attraction, was one of the latter; "That said, I think he just needs some coaxing. I mean, Aedan's running around in full plate, and he's absolutely _rippling_. Alistair trained to become a Templar, which I'm guessing also involves heavy armor, so he's probably even _better_ off. Honestly, just sneak into his room or, I dunno, ask him to dance. Anything to show you're interested, because let me tell you, all that sexual tension between the two of you is really killing the mood."

"Perhaps…" the bard sighed, looking over the festival. Right now, Talia really wanted to be down there, especially because they were starting to open up the casks, and she'd hoped for first dips. Literally. Instead, she felt as if there was something more her fellow redhead wanted to say, and as such she remained out of simple respect and companionship.

Considering their first meeting, that in itself was noteworthy. She'd gone from distrusting and disliking Leliana to now considering her one of her closest friends.

The world was weird, indeed.

"It has been a long time since last I could just…sit. And breathe." Leliana muttered, hugging her knees against her chest; "And since I've felt…at ease, with others."

"Try being a mage then." Talia huffed, though not dismissively; "You mean you feel better around us than you did in the Chantry?"

"…in a way." Her fellow redhead muttered, slowly getting to her feet; "Come, let us go partake in the festives, lets someone notices our absence."

"Fat chance, considering Wynne's probably drinking half the village under the table right now, and Cíada and Cullen wouldn't surprise anyone by taking a _long_ walk by the lake, if you know what I mean. Aedan's been shanghaied by my mom, again, just to top it off…" she nevertheless mirrored Leliana in standing, rubbing her damp rear. The sun might bring some heat, but the soul was cold and stole warmth; "…Alright, I'm going to aim for one of those spitted pigs, then I'm drinking one of those Chantry Sisters so deep into the ditch that she'll proclaim me Andraste's chosen."

"I think that would be heresy."

"Hey, if they can drink…" Talia shrugged, starting off down the trail. Leliana leveled a flat stare at her; "Right, right, so maybe just proclaim me the new Divine or something. That heresy too?"

"Maker, it is good the Revered Mother can't hear you."

"She's probably trying to drink Wynne under the table right now, all things considered…" Talia grinned, rolling her shoulders as she hefted her glaive back in its straps on her back. Mother said it was something between a Volgue and a Glaive, but personally she preferred the latter. There was more power to the name, somehow; "Speaking of which…"

"You mean to drink yourself silly so soon?" Leliana asked, tilting her head; "And here I thought Brelyna was exaggerating when she spoke of your…tendency towards beverages. She was not, I take it?"

"Oh, I'm _definitely_ going to drink myself stupid later on." The clap she gave her fellow redhead was received with something of a mixed expression; "However, before any of that, there's a certain snake I want to beat blue and bruised."

"A snake?" Leliana inquired, frowning before her cute little brows rose; "Ah, you refer to Ser Viper, no?"

"The one and only." Talia grinned, clapping the upper part of her own weapon for emphasis; "I'm not letting him just get away with beating that Alistair-ass."

"Talia, I never would have thought you would avenge Alistair's defeat." The bard practically _glowed_. Talia pointedly sidestepped, just outside of Leliana's reach. Just in case; "You truly do care about him!"

"Wh- Oh. Right, yeah…totally." There was nothing to be lost at letting her maintain _that_ idea. Talia respected Alistair, and yes, she might actually care about him on a non-professional level. Anything else was somewhat difficult when spending half a year together. However, that was _not_ why she was doing this; "He humiliated our _glorious_ leader, and as such the Grey Wardens as a whole. I aim to at the very least send him to the healers with some of that confidence of his shattered."

"I will be there, this I do _not_ wish to miss out on!"

"Yeah…now we just have to _find_ the bloody albino…"

As it turned out, the Rivani Viper was not very hard to find. In particular because he hadn't actually _left_ the sparing ring set up near the docks, though he seemed to have taken something of a breather from the fighting. Probably a good thing too, if Talia had to judge from the amount of peasants, villagers, soldiers and sellswords nursing varying degrees of bruises and wounds around them.

A small voice in the back of her mind was asking the question whether or not this was a good idea.

Still, she was here now, and she was not going to let a _human, _an _ordinary_ _human_ beat her, nor would she let his handiwork scare her off. She'd butchered scores of Darkspawn as if they were sheep at the slaughter, this would be _nothing_. Hopefully.

"Oy, Tali, you're fancying a go?" Daveth hollered from where he sat, bare-chested, a sheen of fresh sweat covering his skin and fresh bruises, and surrounded by a few Chantry Sisters, all of them doting and fawning over his scars like they'd never seen a wounded man before.

Their master archer didn't seem to mind the attention.

"With the Viper, yes. Gotta beat some respect for the Wardens back into his gray-haired mug." She nodded, grinning at the way those clergywomen seemed more than a little intoxicated, and…well, lacking restraints. Were she a man, Talia would probably have been furious with rage and jealousy at how much female attention he was getting. As it stood, she could only shake her head at the scene.

Daveth merely gestured behind her, before refocusing his attention back at his 'caretakers'. To be fair, with the world ending around them, it was not all thát strange that even the supposedly pure Sisters of the Chantry were desperate to at least live a little before the Blight took them.

Looking back, Talia found the Rivani observing her, though it was only now that she was close that she realized he not only _was_ an albino, he was also fairly old. His eyes, however, were somewhat unsettling.

She wasn't sure if yellow eyes were a common trait with people from Rivain, but it did _not_ look normal.

"You're looking for me, Warden?" his voice was gruff, harsh and lacking patience. Arms crossed before a chest armored with splintmail and a beard far too white for his apparent age, the Viper gave off an air that was the archetype of an antisocial sellsword. Yet, he'd formed and led the Vipers of Rivain, so he had to have _some_ social skills.

"Warden Talia Aulus." She introduced herself. It was only polite, considering she was going to beat him blue and green.

"I know who you are." He replied sourly; "I also know you won't look half as pretty with that face of yours bruised up like your commander's."

"…you really _don't_ do the whole 'courtesy' thing, do you?" Talia bit out, feeling herself getting increasingly irritated with this so-called 'Viper'. The look in his eyes screamed 'Wolf', and there was something distinctly inhuman about him; "As in, introducing yourself before I beat the shit out of you for disrespecting the Order?"

He _grinned_ at that. It wasn't a pleasant grin, and struck her as predatory more than anything. Talia repressed the urge to shudder; they were in public, with bright daylight and cheerful voices all around, and yet she felt…_cold_. Almost threatened by this single man, more so than when facing Darkspawn. _Who in the fuck is he?_

"_Calls himself the Viper, yet more wolf than man is he…" _Hakkon's quiet snarl nearly caused her to flinch. Even now, she was still not accustomed to his sudden interjections. Frankly, there was no real way of getting _accustomed_ to a potentially malevolent draconic entity speaking his mind through yours, yet _she_ was supposed to just deal with it; "_His blood is defiled and impure, sick and diseased with power…It is potent and putrid in the air."_

"Geraldo Lopez de la Afsaana, at your service, though not your mercy, Warden." His mockery of a bow only served to further entice Talia into beating him broken. Working for Redcliffe or not, he was starting to seriously grate on her nerves, and she felt like she deserved at least a _modicum_ of respect, all things considered. She huffed, focusing inwards. _You don't like him either, then?_

"_He carries the scent of magic older than should be, older than I…Have caution."_

"…_That's not at all extremely ominous." _She really wanted to sigh, because it was just her luck that this _man_ was somehow an even more dangerous individual than herself, which, all things considered, was something of a stretch. It took a good deal of power to top what she could do, yet Hakkon seemed…apprehensive, almost?

This might just get interesting.

With her luck though, it was far more likely to simply become a massive pain in the ass.

* * *

**In order to defend the relative short-ness of this chapter, I have had a massive work-load all Easter, and I wanted to at least get a single chapter out before the "break" came to an end.  
As a result of that, I am doing this after Easter-dinner, meal, whatever you want to call it, and I might be somewhat...intoxicated. So, if I missed huge grammatical errors or contradict myself in this one...Yeah, feel free to tear me a new one, served right for working drunk.**

**That aside, I do appologize for the cliff-hanger, if one can call it that, but there's a ton of stuff I need to confer with my Archivist on before even _considering_ the events of the next chapter for Redcliffe, and I need to do a lot of research on the Republic of Novgorod for the sake of the Anderfels. So that might put me somewhat out of commission for just a wee while.**

**And damn...you know what happened in the last chapter? Previous chapter, that is?  
****The amount of Reviews actually surpassed the k+ word-count!  
****That...that's honestly never happened to me before. **

**So yeah, like...damn...Thanks! Seriously, if there's one thing that gets me in the working mood, it's seeing thát kind of attention. Screw k+ reviews, I am on fucking _cat-nip_ when I see something like this! Seriously, I was tripping balls, and I don't even know what that means!**

**Oh, and ISIS attacked Brussels, so...I hope they all get rear-mounted by a Minotaur...**

**Right...So, I'm guessing this is where I sign off, and frankly right now I'm just ranting partly to increase the word-count of the chapter, which I do realise is not exactly a very mature thing to do, but I know the joy of seeing a long chapter in the update-mail, so it's sort of like an extra present that turned out to be socks? **

**So...as usual, I guess leave me all your love, devototion, tributes, sacrificial lamps, lambs, virgins, grain, ect...Reviews, too, I guess, if you don't have the other stuff?**

**IT'S 2016 PEOPLE! LET'S SACRIFICE SOME LAMPS!**

Talia: "...you really need to stay away from the booze. Dear fucks, you're pathetic..."

_...says the girl who got a mental fuck-flip at seeing her own mother?_

Talia: "You fucking decided on slapping me with a mental disorder like, on the spot! That shit wasn't even in the script!"

_Neither was Gilmore surviving, but I don't hear you complaining over thát._

Talia: "...You're lucky I need you to keep writing to stay alive, or I'd fucking castrate you..."

_...We have people listening, Talia, please no death-threats or aforementioned mutilations?_

Talia: "Meh...Happy Easter Folks, because apparently you lot are in spring now. Rhodry, please tell Roku to get his ass in gears, will you? Otherwise it'll be another six months to the Lansmeet."

_...don't...don't fucking give him ideas. Like, even puns. Don't. My sanity is damaged enough as it is..._


	55. In the Spirit of Harvestmere

_It has long been tradition, that at Harvestmere in Ferelden, prospective couples have the highest chance of success, as far fewer restrictions tend to be maintained during the festives. _

_Curiously, the vast majority of Fereldan children are born in Solis, the seventh month of the year, roughly nine months later._

\- Talia Aulus, Thoughts on Fereldan Culture

…

**In the Spirit of Harvestmere**

…

Meanwhile, in the chamber given to Brelyna Maryon by the Arl, things of quite a different nature than an ensuing brawl were taking place. Brelyna, doing her best so as not to squirm in place, sat before the mirror and stand, trying not to flinch when her hair was pulled, ever so gently.

"Are you…certain this is necessary?" she dared not actually look up, fearing she would blush to death if she actually watched what was happening to her.

"Just sit still, I'm almost done."

"I don't…I never did something like this before…" she muttered, feeling another braid becoming intertwined.

"That's pretty obvious…" Cíada muttered, her usually cheeky grin replaced by an expression of utmost concentration. Her hands were aglow, never ceasing their summons of petals and stalks as she worked, binding them into the obsidian locks; "Seriously though, I'd _kill_ for hair like yours. How in Andraste's socks do you keep it so…goddamn _smooth_. I mean, we're going everywhere and sleeping out and you just…It's magic, isn't it?"

"…maybe a little." The Dunmer admitted shyly.

"Right…Well, you should probably try braids like this more often." Cíada mused, taking a step back to admire her own handiwork; "Like, seriously, it looks good on you. And it's got a good contrast with the flowers too…Dear Maker, I've done it. I've actually yanked a beauty out of the bookworm."

"There certainly seems to be a certain…appeal, to your appearance now, that was not there before." Morrigan grinned, relining on her stomach on Brelyna's bed; "T'is true, Brelyna, you are quite striking. Braids certainly become you."

"I…never really thought about that."

"Oh, trust me it does." The smaller elf grinned, giving her friend a clap on the back; "Now, we just need to get you in a proper dress, and that Gilmore won't know what hit him…How're you feeling 'bout pine-green?"

* * *

Elsewhere in Redcliffe

Currently unaware of the approaching fight between the resident shapeshifter of the Grey Wardens, and the Viper of Rivain, Aedan Cousland found himself subjected to what some might refer to as interrogation by means banter and manual labor.

In other words, he was tasked with carrying the goods Rhea Aulus bought from the stands situated around Redcliffe, all the while the woman drive in question after question. It was fraying on his nerves, knowing that a single wrong answer, moment of hesitation or somehow displeasing the elven ruler and Talia's mother, could see him at best subjected to torture.

At least, that was what his mind was conjuring up. Rhea Aulus had a presence that, even when smiling, made one wary of disagreeing with her. That she was also seemingly set on finding out his every flaw, only added to his misfortunes.

He was already carrying baskets on both arms, stuffed with everything from pies and apples, to everyday things the woman had found amusing, and even jewelry he could never imagine a noblewoman wearing. Brass rings, necklaces and the like, and even wooden pearls on strings. It was not that he would ever question why a woman bought what she did - Leliana's mania for shoes had numbed him to this long ago - but that he had to carry it throughout the village was somewhat…awkward.

And it'd help if the children of the village weren't laughing and pointing at him. Several of the stand-keeps also seemed to find his situation more than a little amusing, or just outright gawked. Probably because they weren't used to viewing Grey Wardens as pack-mules.

"Are you listening, Aedan?" Rhea Aulus' voice came off slightly miffed, giving him the impression that she'd already said something once, and was now annoyed at having to repeat it. _'She'd more likely rip the ground apart and throw it at you…'_

"Yes, I- I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last word."

Feigning partial ignorance was better than admitting complete ignorance. Hopefully. The mother of his comrade and lover was only akin to her daughter - so far - in the apparent speed with which her temper could change.

She was holding up an armband of spiraling brass, with droplet-sized amber inlaid at the end. A priceless piece of jewelry to most people, most likely. Aedan couldn't imagine actually _wearing_ it though, and retaining the arm's movement. The man selling it pointedly did not look like he hailed from Redcliffe, and was eying Rhea with far more interest than a simple costumer would draw.

"I said, 'what do you think?'" she repeated, holding up the piece; "Give me your honest opinion, it's important."

"You mean…how I think it looks?"

"I mean, what do you think of this piece?" she emphasized; "You know my daughter well enough to sleep with her…" Aedan could feel his heart stopping for a second, and the stand-keeper's eyes widened just a little, looking between the two of them. He was probably trying to figure out what the Hell Rhea even _was_. "…would she wear this?"

"W-would, you mean, you're asking me whether Talia would wear that?" dear Maker. Fergus had warned him of this once, never to get involved whenever women discussed jewelry, fashion, politics…anything in general. Oriana had laughed, when he'd asked _her_ why, a few years back. _She'd_ said it was because men had no idea about those things, and that women secretly pitied them.

He was starting to somehow doubt she had been completely honest with him, back then. But Aedan was not one for thinking ill of the dead, and instead refocused his attention at trying to gauge how best to respond.

"I think…" he tried, examining the armband. Rhea lifted it more into the late autumn sun, letting the metals reflect the light.

"Yes?"

"…she'd like it, for looking nice, I guess…" this was him taking a leap of faith, considering Talia was by far the most practical young woman he knew. Wardens, in general, could not afford otherwise; "…but if it stopped her from moving, she'd end up never wearing it. She likes practical things, I…think?"

Talia's mother gave him an appraising look, red eyes narrowed into horizontal slits. Aedan felt as if she could _see_ his heart beating ever faster, and wanted most of all to avert his eyes and avoid her gaze. Still, he was man enough to meet her look instead, much as it made him want to squirm.

"Hmm." She finally nodded, handing the piece back to the stand-keeper. Aedan felt ready to drop; they'd done this three times already, with clothes, earrings and a necklace. So far, at least to his knowledge, he hadn't been wrong; "You're catching on, it seems."

"…thank the Maker…" he whispered under his breath, low enough that Rhea hopefully would not hear it; "Where to now?"

"Now, I was thinking you could show me the Chantry." Thát made Aedan wary. He knew for a fact his own mother had already walked the village with her, so whatever purpose Talia's mother had to go there, it was not what she said_. Andraste help me in this my hour of need._ "We can find a bench and sit, and talk some more."

It seemed, he lamented, that Andraste would not come to his aid.

With it only still being the middle of the afternoon, the Chantry was not yet holding the sermon. That would be later in the evening, and from what he'd heard, tended to be quite entertaining when obviously intoxicated clerics had to hold the sermon for a village full of equally intoxicated people.

The lack of people meant the gardens around the Chantry were mostly devoid of life, with the odd couple seated as far away from prying eyes as they could get. It wasn't until Aedan was pointedly looking _anywhere_ but at the direction Rhea was heading, that he realized one of the couples seemed…familiar.

They were partially concealed behind an as of yet not withered rose hedge, though the flowers had died, and failed to fully hide the young people behind them. Aedan couldn't see who the woman was, but he felt like his knees had been shoved a meter away from under him when he recognized the man as none other than Gilmore.

Thát, if anything, only made him look harder at the woman.

At first, Aedan was asking himself if something had happened between his Dunmer friend and family knight, since the woman on the bench did _not_ resemble Brelyna. Initially, that was. When the shock slowly left him, he could see that, Maker's breath, it actually was. It _was_ Brelyna, though her robes had been exchanged for a simple, if fine green dress, and her obsidian hair was braided with daisies intertwined, and a garland of dandelions sat on her head.

Andraste's socks, there was an actual, stunningly beautiful girl underneath that hood. Gilmore probably didn't realize it, but he would be the envy of every other man in Redcliffe if _that_ knowledge came out.

Also, _where_ had she found _Dandelions_ this time of year?

"Ah, so I see she did take my advice to heart." So captivated with what was really a private thing was he, that Aedan nearly jumped out of his boots when Rhea's voice came from merely a foot to his right; "I think it would be best not to interrupt them, don't you?"

"You mean…_you_ set them up?" he had to ask, obvious as the answer already was. He knew Talia had been lamenting those two and their inability to get…well, to get their feelings out in the open. It was not how Talia usually would phrase it, but to find that her _mother_ had done something that had actually _worked_, that was perhaps the bigger surprise. The woman in question leveled a look at him that could be both amused and stern, and he honestly could not tell which it was.

"I did no such thing, young man." Rhea declared with only a fraction of mirth to her words; "I merely offered young Miss Maryon the advice, and push, she required to come to terms with her own emotions. I was young once too, I'll have you know. I remember the shame and agony of coming to terms with your first infatuation all too well."

"O-of course, I didn't meant - _mean_ to assume…It's just, Talia's been talking a lot about how she wanted to see them together and, I thought she'd told you and made you, you know, help out or…Maker's breath, I mean…"

"It is quite alright, Aedan." Rhea actually chuckled, an odd sound coming from a woman of her frightening presence. Her features softened as she spoke; "Come, let us leave the two of them be. I would like to just sit down and talk."

He nodded and followed, knowing there was little else he could do. Running was, of course, out of the question, not to mentioned that he still carried the woman's purchase and could not just take off with them, much as his instincts were screaming at him to do just that. Rhea found them one of the unoccupied benches, a solid slap of local granite carved into form.

"Your mother was the first to actually speak with me after my arrival to Redcliffe, did she tell you that?" the elven woman started out as he sat down the goods, and joined her on the sun-bathed stone. Talia's mother was giving him a look of pure curiosity, for reasons he couldn't discern. He slowly shook his head, _no_, mother had not mentioned that; "It was after I had accompanied Keeper Lanaya to the meeting with Arl Eamon, Teagan and your mother, that the hours were getting late, and I found her reclining in the very room in which we met. She seemed in need of company, and,_ I_ felt a need to find out more of Talia's whereabouts…"

"I take it, you got along well enough?"

"Much to my surprise, yes, we did." He blinked curiously at that, having not expected the woman to admit such a thing; "Mind you, my expectations of your culture was mostly from what Lanaya and her people told me, so I was wary of religious zealotry and bigotry. I was, you could say, pleasantly surprised to find that this was…_mostly_ not the case. Lady Eleanor being one such individual, I have grown to like her, and as the days passed, our talks more often than not drifted to you and Talia, and more specifically, the bond you seem to share…"

"But, you don't approve of it, not really, right?" he couldn't very well assume anything else, deep down, with how she was constantly testing him, constantly trying her best to find valid reasons for disapproval. He knew Talia had been intended for an arranged marriage, and suspected her mother still somewhat desired that, much as she claimed not to; "I mean, you know I can't inherit titles or lands, and I can't imagine your own Nobility being very…happy, with the notion of a king's daughter being with, well, I'm really just…"

"The man she loves." Talia's mother cut him short, offering him a smile that was so genuine and warm it actually had him more confused than merely relieved; "Oh, I do realize you probably intended on saying something like 'a soldier' or 'a landless, cast-out nobleman', or some such nonsense. I also realize that I might have given off the…wrong signal, so to speak, these past few days."

"You…mean…I'm…not sure…"

"Aedan, you already know this, but Talia has been courted by a great many men, and known even more, though rarely belonging to the same group. Sons of Nobles, both high and low, have asked for her hand since she was old enough to understand the concept, and a few of their parents' even earlier than thát…" Whether the regret in her voice was as genuine as her smile, he did not know. He knew, however, that something about the last concept sent his innards twisting and coiling.

It wasn't even because the concept itself was foreign. He'd been engaged to Deliah Howe from when he was but seven years old, after all, but at least he'd _met _her…and thrown mud at her, for reasons he could not recall.

However, knowing _Talia_ had been subjected to this, aware of it or not, made him want to…do things. He didn't even know what, only that he found an immense dislike for the idea, and wanted to make sure it was never brought up again.

"My point is, and it really should be rather obvious at this…_point_, I suppose, is that while there _have_ been a great many men…and women, from what I recall, I never approved of a single one. At least, not of the suitors, and not enough that I desired any kind of confrontation with her on the subject. If she did not like them, there was no argument."

"But…so, you…You approve of _me_?" even though _he_ was the one speaking the words, they still his heart plummeting into the depths of his stomach, and had his guts twisting and heating, a slight feeling of nausea that really didn't feel like nausea at all. It wasn't the same kind he'd felt when he'd first been alone and…intimate with Talia, but in truth closer to how he had felt when she had been taken from him.

"Much to the inevitable chagrin of my beloved husband, I seem to have arrived at that point, yes." There was a smirk on her lips, and never had he been _this_ relieved to see a Dunmer smile; "Mind you, my approval is still not _entirely_ settled, and just because you have _mine_, doesn't mean you have my husband's. Omluard is a man best described as stock-conservative, both by friends and opposition. He will not accept a suitor who does not know how to court a lady."

She…she couldn't actually be getting at that, could she?

"As such, since you clearly have my _daughter's_ consent, I shall take it upon myself to instruct you in the proper ways of courting a lady of the Bretoni Nobility."

* * *

**As you might have noticed, this is a lot shorter than usually.**

**Simply put, it's because I want to treat Harvestmere as sort of a series of episodes, if that makes sense. Kinda like Avatar once did, with the "'Name' alone" in Ba Sing Sei, only here it's a few episodes per chapter. **

**Point is, Harvestmere will be stretched over a few chapters, over a few days(story-wise) and kinda give the feeling of a well-earned break, rather than one or two regular chapters before being thrown right back out to the wolves.**

**Also...By Njord's Mittens! We're, like, ten reviews ahead of the word-count!  
I know it's a pretty childish thing to get all gleeful about, but by Brage, this is a FIRST!  
...now I really wish I'd done something like "B-be gentle with me, i-it's my first time surpassing the word-count." last time, when it actually started...Damn.**

**Oh well, can't change that now, so just pretend I did something extremely classy or witty and we'll call it even. **

**And yes, Brelyna FINALLY makes a move!  
...which we won't see until next time if it actually worked.**


	56. Broken Visions

Talia: "I really don't think this needs to be in the story..."

_Well, it happened, and it's pretty damn crucial for the later events. Why don't you want it in?_

Talia: "...It was a nightmare, only it didn't stay in my head..."

* * *

**Broken Visions**

* * *

If one considered the two women currently walking the village, from solely their points of origin, it would have been a weird sight indeed one was threated to, as the day dragged on in Redcliffe Village. Witch and devout Circle mage walked side by side, if not hand in hand, _chatting_.

"So, I will admit to my share of surprise at seeing you _not_ in the close company of the Templar." Morrigan said, eyes mostly on ensuring her _dress_ did not drag all too much through the dirt. Getting her into that thing had been Cíada's greatest achievement since getting Cullen out of his shell. Literally.

"He has a _name_, you know, Morrigan?" the elf retorted, eyes slightly narrowed in irritation; "Cullen doesn't refer to _you_ as 'the Witch' either. He actually calls you by name, so would it kill you to actually do the same?"

"If you so desire." The witch sighed off-handedly, making it damn hard to figure out if she actually meant it. She was always, _always_ like this, and it was grating on Cíada's nerves something fierce, because it made every attempt at conversation a battle of wits. She actually found herself somewhat understanding why Alistair always seemed to avoid the witch when he could; "Speaking of your beloved, how come that you walk with me, not him?"

"…Cullen is…not in Redcliffe, right now." The elf muttered, not knowing what else to say. She was _not_ going to admit to being extraordinarily disappointed or pissed that he'd left for Honnleath to visit his family, and that she'd refused to come because he wouldn't introduce her as anything but his charge. She knew he was uncomfortable about their relationship being public, but that…that one grated on her something fierce. _She_ wouldn't mind introducing _him_ to Shianni - that was assuming her cousin even _remembered_ her. It'd been a long time since she'd left the farm, and hadn't seen the redhead since she'd moved to Denerim - _if_ she could get him to come along, that was. _Maker's breath, I should have stayed celibate at this point…_

Morrigan, at least, did not pry, and instead chose to change the subject. It was not often _she_ initiated talks, so Cíada took the blessing for what it was and perked up at the witch clearing her throat;

"Jowan, the one who has yet to enter the Joining…Did you know him in your Tower?"

"…Somewhat, yeah…" she shrugged. Truth be told, she'd had little to do with the apostate before his escape, and hadn't really talked much with him since joining the group. She considered him an acquaintance, at best. At worst, he was a Blood mage who'd escaped the Templars and was only protected by the Wardens. Personally she wasn't sure he was even a bad guy, just one who'd toyed with fire and needed to get burnt to learn his lesson; "Why?"

"And he never seemed…interested, in you, or other elven apprentices?" while the first question was, well _odd_, it was the last bit that had Cíada furrowing her delicate brows. Morrigan was being oddly specific, or rather, oddly general, and more than that, she seemed honestly _curious_, as if something was on her mind.

"I think he had something going with a Chantry sister, Lilly or something…She was human, so no, he never seemed interested in the elven girls." She muttered, glancing at the Dalish wagons in the distance. They didn't mingle with the village, and she'd be more than happy if they _stayed_ that way. Dalish were trouble. Arrogant, stuck-up, stagnated tree-huggers who cared little about the outside world. She was honestly amazed they'd even bothered showing up to help.

Looking at the wagons, however, she noticed more than a few of the Dalish, particularly women and children, were sitting atop their wagons, watching the spectacles of the village with the curious eyes of a child watching animals behaving oddly. The women, especially, made her wonder if maybe Morrigan had meant something else. She gave the witch a look; "…why do you ask? Why're you suddenly so interested in Jowan?"

"T'is certainly no interest of mine, though I had assumed it would hold some to you, finding out he was spending time with a girl of the Dalish." Morrigan's words took a while to filter in, and Cíada's flat expression must have sent some kind of signal; "Oh well, I suppose I was in the wrong, then."

"…you're joking."

"I most certainly am not." Morrigan huffed; "You are not Alistair, and thus provide me little amusement with teasing. I also do not lie."

"…you're _not_ joking?" Cíada exclaimed, feeling something akin to bile rising in her throat. Jowan alone was already volatile, regardless of what Talia thought. That mage didn't _understand_ the risks included with magic for anyone in Thedas, and she treated Jowan like he was a child to be cooed over and protected, not watched. If he ended up collaborating with a Keeper or even just a First, he might end up rediscovering his Blood magic, and they'd have to kill him.

She didn't want that.

"I saw them in the forest yesterday, just at the edge of the tree line." The witch mused, seemingly overjoyed at the rise she'd gotten out of the elf; "Plucking flowers and herbs, truly, t'was quite the endearing sight."

"…fuckin' Dalish…" she muttered, making sure to keep it under her breath, in case one of them was listening in. You never knew, especially when they viewed you and every city-dwelling elf as a traitor, a weakling and worse. There was no love lost between them, and Cíada saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

She also knew, on a more personal level, that it was not her place to decide what Jowan did with his spare time, nor who he spent it with. Somehow, though, the notion of him seeing a Dalish was even worse here, feeling like a personal betrayal. He _knew_ what the Dalish were like, _she'd_ told him what they were like.

…fuck it, though. This was Harvestmere, Cullen wasn't around, Wynne was busy healing Alistair's bruises and now one of her friends was hanging out with the Dalish. Far as festivals went, hers wasn't looking great so far. The only thing that could help right it now would be a display of violence.

So they headed for the plaza.

Up ahead at the lake-near side of the central plaza, the villagers had erected something like a sparing ring, only it was a square and it was more or less just the men's way of getting some testosterone worked out of their systems. It was what she needed, watching bare-chested men beating each other to pulps.

"Hey, what's going on?" she asked, trying to look above the heads of the gathering crowd. Something was drawing a lot of attention, and she doubted a regular fight would do something like that. Even when Alistair had been handed his ass, the crowd hadn't been this large.

"Warden's about to fight the Viper!" someone shouted in response, though she had no clue as to where it came from. Warden, they'd said. Did that mean one of the Grey Wardens was going to fight the man who'd beaten the snot out of Alistair?

She forced her way through the crowd, not at all punching and elbowing the taller humans to get her way, and Morrigan merely shifted into a bird and flew off, possibly for a much better vantage point. Cíada shoved the final opposition aside and got to the ring, somehow not at all surprised to find none other than Talia there.

Really, she wasn't even going to _pretend_ she was surprised.

Talia seemed oblivious to her presence, and instead seemed far more intent on making sure the thick padding on her arms and legs was in place and ready to take blows, while a coif of similar make was settled over her head, for the first time ever giving Cíada an impression of what the mage would look like wearing a helmet.

She looked pretty odd, and the elf was wondering where the woman's spear-staff-thing had gone, until she spotted Leliana in the crowd, holding onto the weapon like it was her own infant child. Adding two and two together, Cíada figured this was all something the bard had started, wanting payback for the Viper trashing her man.

"What's this?" she did her best to ask as nicely as possible, but perhaps the accusation came out a bit hard. Leliana actually winced, having not spotted her. Probably because of the height-difference, as always. _That_ was why she'd enjoyed being in Orzammar, backwards as the dwarves were. There, she was _taller_ than most people, and it'd been awesome while it lasted; "Why's Talia going to fight the Viper?"

"She-"

"Because he irritates me." Talia growled from the ring, having spotted the elf. She was honestly not sure just when Cíada had arrived, but didn't mind the audience. It meant all the more people would see her utterly curbstomp Geraldo, which would be an added bonus, if nothing else; "He's an impolite arse, so I'm going to give him a stick to put up there."

She tapped the one in her hand for emphasis. It was a simple staff with no adornments or particularities whatsoever, and could as well have been a stick found in the woods. Right now though, she was going to use it to deliver some righteous riveting.

"You mean you're going to get yourself beaten the shit up, just because he beat up Alistair?"

"Your confidence in me is endearing and heartwarming, Cíada…" really, had she so little faith? Talia had already murdered her way through Darkspawn, bandits and everything else the continent could throw at her, and that was _before_ she ended up in an impromptu partnership with a fucking_ dragon_, of all things. If Geraldo beat her, she'd eat her own fucking shoes. The nice ones she used indoors, that was. Not her steel-boots. She was pretty sure there was still some blood on those from…something. Or maybe someone. _…I really have spent too much time killing too many things, haven't I?_ "I don't suppose you'd mind a wager, then?"

"…you sure you want to get beat up_ and_ have to pay me?" the elf asked with incredulity painted across her expression; "I mean…sure, yeah, if you wanna…how much?"

"Loser entertains the winner in an all-you-can-drink contest tomorrow." Talia couldn't quite help a smirk as she watched the elven mage do the math. She knew Cíada was a light-weight, whereas Cíada knew Talia was _not_; "Or, are you afraid to lose?"

"...I'm gonna drink till I _puke_, and I'm gonna love every second of it because _you_'ll be paying." She finally grumbled, accepting Talia's offered hand. They shook, and the Breton felt like she could already feel the hangover she was going to get after tomorrow. It'd be _totally_ worth it though, especially because she _couldn't_ actually _pay_ for it if Cíada won…_fuck_, that wasn't going to be fun if she lost.

"You ready?" Geraldo asked from his side of the ring, rolling his shoulders with all the confidence of a rooster. He didn't even take her seriously as an opponent, and actually seemed to think she was just going to be another swooning little lady, like their leader. She glared at him, showing off the Breton-given canines in a scowl. He didn't seem all that impressed; "You can still back down, you know?"

"Was about to say the same thing to you, you mangy flea-sack…" Talia growled back, readying herself in a standard stance with the staff held loosely in her right hand, behind her back, while her left was at her front, ready to be used for balance. She turned it and gave him a 'come hither', which she then turned into a flipped bird; "We'll keep going till one of us isn't getting up, meaning I'll beat you into the ground with my own fists if need be."

"Awfully aggressive, aren't we?"

"_Shut up."_

He did indeed come hither. The Rivani moved with a speed making it clear why he was named 'the Viper', and his first strike hit her solidly in the ribs, knocking the air from her lungs before she'd even seen it happen.

And then he stopped, eying her like a wolf would an injured deer. He grinned, clearly finding her far too easy for any real challenge. Shit, this wasn't going the way she wanted it to. _…Hakkon?_

"_What is it?_"

"_You said this guy was magic?"_ she was _definitely_ going to feel that one later, and it was going to leave a bruise, healing or no. He'd struck where she wasn't protected by padding, and it hurt like a right bitch.

"_It is unfamiliar to me, but yes, he reeks of magical impurities. I had not ever encountered such corruption before my…Before." _The dragon snarled, but seemed hesitant when he spoke through their bond; "_You will not be able to match him, let alone best him, in your current state…"_

Her eyes widened, even as she danced around the Viper's renewed strike, narrowly avoiding a hit to the head. He was still grinning, still finding her far too easy an opponent. And his eyes…his eyes were still glowing that unnatural yellow, and seemed to do more so whenever he struck. _T-then help me!_

"…_are you asking for my assistance, girl?" _he actually sounded more surprised than smug. Talia didn't have the time to wonder at that one, because Geraldo just landed another strike on her back, and the pain was enough to bring tears to her eyes. It was immediately followed up with a strike to her head, sending her staggering backwards; "…_you, who would otherwise flee my presence if you could, are asking for me to aid you in a fight that does not pose a threat to your life?"_

"_I can't fucking pay for Cíada's drinks, so yeah, help me out here!"_

* * *

Cíada watched as the Viper thoroughly trounced her comrade, beating her silly with those twirling strikes of his. Talia really didn't seem to realize just who she was up against, and was now paying for it with her pound of flesh.

The elf felt a little…conflicted, about this. On one hand, Talia was her friend, sort of. The redhead was more than her match in brashness and an apparent lust for violence, but at the same time was just as ardent an opponent of the Circle's purpose as Cíada was its defender. Still, she did like the other mage, and more than a few of the punishing strikes had her wincing through empathy alone.

On the other hand, Talia losing would mean free drinks.

After a particularly nasty strike to her head, the mage was sent staggering backwards, and Cíada was pretty sure this was about the point where she would yield and scamper off, and _she_ would get to drink herself into a ditch with the best of them. Or, worst of them. Cíada wasn't exactly the best at holding her liquor, and she knew it.

"Giving up?" the Viper grinned, his voice somewhere between slightly mocking and just amused; "Or are you finally going to get serious with me?"

When Talia glared at him, even Cíada winced.

There was malice in those emerald spheres. There was a sense of malice and hatred, of pure malevolence, a baseline animalistic desire to maim, and it made her feel cold to the marrow of her bones. The wooden planks making up the arena started _darkening_, as if entropic forces were eating them up.

When the redhead spoke though, _that_ was when Cíada knew something was wrong.

"I **w**ill make you **vomit **your **entrails** and **shit** out your **eyes**!" the ragged voice was perhaps the most unnerving of it all. Unless Geraldo had collapsed one of her lungs, somehow, Cíada couldn't view it as anything but unnatural. It was Talia, and yet it wasn't. The other spectators also seemed more than a little uneasy, and a few started backing away from the ring.

Daveth, she noticed, was now pushing his way through the crowd. She hadn't even seen he was there before, only that now he was hauling ass towards the tents delegated to those injured in the fights.

"Come on, show me what you've got!" Talia's opponent challenged her, full of the same confidence as before. The elf was pretty sure she'd just have run the fuck away if Talia ever spoke to _her_ like that. If it wasn't because Cíada knew for a fact that mages from her counterpart's homeland _couldn't_ get possessed, she'd have screamed 'abomination' right then and there.

Talia, meanwhile, only seemed to have eyes on her foe. With a swing that initially seemed sluggish, she brought her staff back up, and then immediately followed it through with a swipe faster than Cíada's eyes could even track. The Viper, somehow, managed to block it, and the mage was halfway to the next swipe before the _crack_ of wood on wood from the first strike was even audible. _Holy shit…_

"**Putrid worm** of unnatural energies, **of impure** blood! **I will have** you squirming before **me**!" Talia's strikes were now so fast, and so hard, that almost every word was accompanied by a resounding _crack_ or _thwack_, and her movements were hard to track, even as she launched herself at the man before her, staffs creaking with the strain at each strike; "I will show you **why** mages** are feared**!"

Then, with a sharp crack, her staff splintered as it was stopped by Geraldo's. For a moment, Talia simply _stood_ there, holding onto the part of her staff that hadn't flown off. The fight was over, and the Viper had, for all intents and purposes, won.

That didn't stop the mage, however. Barely had the splintered piece of wood dropped to the ground before she renewed her attacks, this time sweeping a steel-toed kick at the Viper's shin. He didn't lose a second to hesitation, nimbly leaping backwards and avoiding it. She continued, delivering kick after kick at the man, somehow managing to flow underneath and around his every counter. She was moving faster than ever, and could feel her limbs burning with the strain.

It was odd, how everything seemed to move as if time itself was slowed down. She could see his every action and reaction now, almost like she could see what he did before he could.

Talia didn't halt for a moment, pressing her momentum against the far more experienced fighter. Veins burning with Hakkon's power, she leapt at him, delivering a kick to the front of his chest, before summersaulting above the man, finally delivering a swift kick to the back of his head with the sole of her boot.

The Viper collapsed like a sack of bricks, unconscious before he even hit the ground. Talia landed awkwardly behind him, struggling to keep her balance when the final kick had thrown her forward more than she'd thought it would.

For a long, pregnant moment, no one spoke, and the noises of laughing children could be heard from the central square. She used that moment to fully stand, and turn, to watch her beaten opponent. Before the fight, she had had a dozen different things to say to him once he was beaten, yet now, only adrenaline and dragons' blood filled her veins and mind, and she could do naught but stare.

"_There, the victory is yours, Kiir."_ Hakkon's irritated voice thrummed through her mind. She could feel his tendrils of influence and power receding from her consciousness, allowing her thoughts beyond brutalizing the man before her; "_He carries the stench of corruption and mutation, I would not let him live."_

She felt nauseous, like her innards had been shifted around during the fight. Her arms and legs too, felt like they were about to fall off at the joints. She'd been moving _so_fast, she'd have not even been able to track her own movements were it not for the sensation of time itself slowing around her. _I…I won, I won, right? I feel…weird…_

"I guess…the Warden wins this fight?" one of the sellswords muttered, having been appointed the task of some sort of referee. Talia paid him little heed, instead trying to get her own emotions under control, rampant and contradictory as they were. On one hand, she felt an immense surge of power and pride flowing through her veins at the knowledge that she had taken the Viper down from his pedestal.

On the other, she felt self-conscious about the fact that she…_changed_, whenever Hakkon lent her his power, even just a fraction of what he probably had. His inborn bloodlust and disregard for human life was not something she wanted influencing her, at any time.

"That…okay, that was pretty _awesome_…" Cíada breathed as Talia descended from the ring. The elf seemed more than a little impressed; "Like, I'm not even _sad_ I'll have to churn out coin to your drinks now, after _that_."

Talia gave her friend a grin, even as she noticed a partially dressed Alistair, looking like he'd been running all the way from Denerim. He seemed relieved more than anything else though, which she supposed meant he had feared she'd lost control and done something horrible.

Speaking of horrible…Right now, she honestly wasn't feel all that great. Talia repressed a groan as her mind started pulsating, like an artery with far too much blood. Nausea rose in her throat, even as her grin faded and vision followed it along.

Everything was starting to become blurry, like a fog or an overdose of alcohol. She tried opening her mouth, only to find her tongue locked with slime and mounting fear. From what little she could still see, her comrade's had noticed something was wrong as well, their expressions changing from relieved to worried.

When she felt her feet give away, her final hope was that someone caught her before she ended up in the mud.

* * *

When the darkness finally receded, she was in a world of fire, death and brimstone.

The skies were bleeding, and otherworldly wails penetrated the air. Despair hung long and thick like a fog in streets paved with cobblestone and flat tiles. The city was bleeding, its walls slick with the life of every single living being that had once called it home.

Screams and cries of anguish flowed like water, and every breath of air was like breathing mud. The very brick and tile was screaming, an overpowering choir of hate and despair, as if the planet itself was dying underneath the soles of her feet.

Cracks appeared in the very air, lines of ragged lightning dragged themselves across her vision. Terror permeated her mind, and all she could do was stand and watch as the cityscape tore itself down around her, blood-soaked bricks and stone crumbling into dust. From beyond the clouds of dirt and desperation came a figure, silhouette barely visible through the smoke.

A pair of blazingly white eyes appeared where she could only just make out the shape of a head. The figure never emerged from the clouds of dust, instead the light grew in intensity, until all else was gone, and only the light remained. It filled her vision, allowing nothing else to enter, and then followed the pain.

Agony, the likes of which she had not felt since her transformation in Haven, ravaged her body, wracking her mind with tremors of pain she could barely even comprehend. She wished nothing more than to cease, to leave this plane of existence if it meant for the torment to stop, for the _eyes_ to leave her alone.

"**All that you have done, it will lead to this." **

Blue lines, like frozen lightning, carved paths down a face she could not see. A malevolent voice hung in the air, now otherwise silent as all other screams had died. She could not hear what it said, only that it promised death and pain to all on its path.

"**Soon, demons will rain from the skies! And this wretched world shall BURN!"**

Her skin was boiling, rolling from her flesh in droplets of molten tissue, each dragging renewed waves of agony through her mind. She could not scream, could hardly breathe as patches of skin fell from her body, her clothes on fire and hair smoldering at its roots.

"**You did this."**

Still, the blazing eyes never let her from their sight, even as she begged and pleaded to be released, there was no relief, no respite. Her eyes popped, each like a blister, and yet still she could not even scream as the pain and nausea rolled through her like a tidal wave of malice. Even as the final scraps of skin fell from her face, she could feel the liquids dripping from her eyes' sockets, taste them as they passed across her lips, now broken and bleeding with silent screams.

"**You did this."**

And as the skin and flesh fell from her limps, scales and claws emerged instead.

* * *

**Yeah, apparently we're not allowed to have a problem-free break from the shitstorm that is the Blight. Visions, by and large, have the odd tendency to come to those of either the Septim line or simply those with dragon's blood in their veins.**

**If you feel like the fight was...well, flat, then I don't blame you. Fight-scenes have never been my speciality, and frankly I rewrote the scene more times than I can be bothered to count. Still, it's better than it was first, which I can tell you without spoiling was simply Talia kneeing Geraldo in the nuts when he acted the part of victor...Yeah.**

**Props, of course, to those who can figure out what she saw. And to those that can't, your thoughts in general will just have to suffice *inserts haughty 'huff'* Meh, I think it's a combination of being down with a bug, and then realizing just how many reviews I have now - I know I said I didn't care about numbers, but damn it all, we've surpassed the wordcount with 10! *would throw confetti if not for the bug having disabled my motoric functions***

**Oh, and amusing little fact for the history geeks here. Today is April 9th, which is the date Germany invaded Denmark, and suffered relatively insane casualties in doing so. **


	57. Bound to Break

_A man once had a dream_

_A man once dreamt of gods in the skies,_

_far beyond what could be seen with the eyes_

_A Harper once had a dream _

_To undo his errors and right a mistake_

_Yet the gods, he saw, cheated fate_

_For all he had, all he'd won_

_It came undone, all his gains, one by one_

_A man once lived this dream_

_Real life, it would seem_

_Yet, he was Living an indoctrinated dream_

_And beyond, the world burned_

_\- _Ballad of the Dreamer, Aberron, Keeper of Clan Marsúla

* * *

**Bound to Break**

* * *

Rhea Aulus did not consider herself a woman easily frightened.

She had spent much of her youth indulged in the practical aspects of destructive magic, earning herself names and titles, the most commonly spoken of those being 'Bringer of Chains and Breaker of Men'. It had been violent, and dangerous, and more than anything it had been the rush of adrenaline that had repeatedly called her back to the arenas.

She had not been frightened back then, not even when pain was visited upon her.

When her children had been born, when Aveel had not immediately wailed in her arms, she had known fear. When Talia was accidentally given Skooma, and fell ill, she had known fear again, and when Alai had not been born after three days of anguish, she had known fear once more.

Then, when Talia had vanished from Winterhold without a trace, she had known it again. It had been the cold, disgusting fingers of fear gripping her heart at the knowledge that her child was gone, and she did not know where to. When her daughter had run away from home, at least she had still known where to, from the multitude of magical tracers imbedded in her clothes, each enough to find her even should she go as far as to Elsweyr.

Now, as she watched her daughter writhing in agony and terror, yet somehow still asleep, she could feel its cold, bony presence riding her soul once more. Talia, still clad in her robes and boots, though they had at least removed those padded things on her head and arms, was on her bed, asleep yet wailing, held down by Rhea's own shaking hands.

Blood was running from her daughter's nostrils in thin, eerily black streams. Rhea could not look at it, for it spoke to her of a kind of magic she was not familiar with, and that alone caused her terror to grow.

To watch this kind of terror, this kind of undiluted, raw pain and fear in the features of her oldest daughter, Rhea could not allow herself even the barest scrap of emotion, lest she would simply break at the agony she felt. Her daughter, her child was suffering in her arms, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, or even lessen the pain. She had tried healing spells, and had for the last hour been constantly applying every kind of spell the Restoration school could offer for ailments, yet there had been no effects.

"_Why_? Why, Divines, why? Why must my daughter suffer so, simply for the sake of a cause she never needed to join?" she bit out under her breath, holding her daughter close, like when she was a mere little girl with nightmares, praying and begging and hoping beyond hope that whatever was besieging her, she could make it better, make it go away._ She has done so much for so many who will never meet her, who will never thank her, so why? Why? Why are you tormenting my daughter like this? Why is my child suffering and I can do nothing to stop it?!_

Talia's comrades were in the room as well. Some of them, rather, for she had thrown all but a few out when the chamber became too crowded. Brelyna Maryon and the Khajiit J'zargo were there, as were Aedan and Wynne, an elderly mage from Ferelden's Circle. Rhea had not even met the woman before now, and hardly had the capacity to care one bit as things stood.

Maryon as well had done her best with her comparatively meager abilities in Restoration, to no avail. Now, she and the Khajiit both were relegated to the side, watching with expressions ranging from stricken to disturbed, unable to help at all.

Aedan was kneeling at the bedside, looking like he hated most of all not knowing what in Oblivion he could even do to help. He'd been with her when they'd been told of Talia's condition. Rarely had Rhea seen a man run so fast, and it was little comfort that his dedication so clearly lay with her daughter.

A final seizure gripped her daughter, and then nothing. No more movement, no more whimpers or cries. When nothing came, Rhea could feel her own heart ceasing its beats, only to resume once more when she could feel and hear Talia's breathing, calming from the frantic heaves to a more regular rhythm.

She was, to her mother's disbelief, now simply appearing asleep.

Rhea did not move though, instead simply pulling her precious, stubborn and unpredictable daughter deeper into her arms. It already seemed more like a bad dream that her daughter had been in physical pain mere moments ago, although she could not shake the impression it had left on her.

"She...appears stable." Wynne noted. Rhea looked to her, as the probable expert on magic on this continent. She had found out that there were differences in how the arcane functioned between here and in Tamriel, and did not know if what Talia had suffered from was brought about by something local, and thus Thedasian in nature;

"Do you know what happened?"

"I'm afraid I haven't seen such symptoms beyond the Harrowing chambers, and there was no sensation of the Fade here." The old mage shook her head, then slowly stood; "The Circle has extensive knowledge on matters like these, however. I will send for books from the Tower, and hopefully we will find an answer, or at least a clue to this."

"Thank you." Rhea was too tired to say much else, her reserves utterly spent through hours of holding her daughter clutched to her chest like she was once more a little girl, and not a woman nearly full grown. She knew Talia's days of accepting any kind of smothering attention were over, but right now, she felt it was all she could do. Wynne merely nodded;

"I will be in the aviary, should you need me"

The Dunmer was left with the rest of the room's occupants, and her daughter sleeping in her arms. She ran her fingers through Talia's hair, trying the best she could not to disturb her sleep.

"So…this isn't anything like her previous episode?" Aedan asked, still seated in the chair at Talia's bedside. Rhea turned to him, finding a young face with eyes far too old for his age. Honest concern and twisting worry painted all over his expression.

"No." she sighed, adjusting her arm around her daughter's stomach. Its rising and dropping was comforting and regular, and the blood no longer ran from her nose. Rhea was not aware of what had caused the bleeding, but she had healed as much as she could. If the blood had been from a hemorrhage, at least thát would not be a problem. Her little girl had suffered enough, she deserved to rest; "You don't know of any kind of affliction she could have drawn to herself here? No foreign or exotic type of magic, any potions she might have taken?"

His expression scrounged up in concentration, deep in thought it seemed. She was counting on his honesty, even if there were parts of the Wardens she was not supposed to know about. Alistair, their leader, would likely withhold any such information from her, out of duty more than stubbornness.

"It…could be Haven." He muttered uncertainly, looking from her to Brelyna. The girl suddenly seemed far more aware; "…could it be Haven?"

"It's…possible, maybe…" she hesitated, something halting her words; "I don't know if that could be what caused this, Talia said there wasn't any danger involved, and Alistair said they'd talked about Hakkon being more or less…"

"…Hakkon?" Aedan asked before Rhea herself could. She was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that the young Dunmer had stopped herself from speaking further when she'd seen their shared confusion; "What's Hakkon?"

"…pardon?"

"Hakkon, you said Alistair had said Talia mentioned something called 'Hakkon'." Aedan pressed on; "…or someone called Hakkon."

"You don't…" the girl truly seemed baffled; "You don't know? You don't kn- she didn't tell…she said she…Oh _dear_…"

"_Brelyna_." Rhea's voice was just teetering on the stern side, demanding an explanation. The girl wrung her hands like she wanted to break them, glancing nervously at the rest of the room's occupants. That was to say, she looked to the Khajiit.

"Do not look at J'zargo, _he_ was not told." The cat muttered, looking pointedly at the Dunmer girl. Maryon continued wringing her hands, looking most of all like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Rhea would not allow it though, not if the girl had knowledge on what afflicted her daughter; "And he would like to be told now, if possible"

"I…" Maryon looked about, and her expression looked as if she had been handed an actual blessing when someone knocked on the door; "Who is it?"

"It's Eleanor." Rhea answered for the Teyrna, having felt the woman's particular energies from a distance. Each person had their own, if one was willing to reach out and feel; "You may enter."

Eleanor Cousland entered the room, still dressed in the attire Rhea had seen her wear this morning, a brightly colored dress with fine shoes. It was the clothes one would expect on a merchant's wife, not a teyrna. Though all things considered, maybe that was a smarter choice. Aedan's mother cast one glance about the room and then set her course for the bed, where Rhea greeted her friend with a smile.

"How is she?"

"Asleep, at last." She breathed, one hand nimbly setting to redoing the braid Talia herself had undone when thrashing about; "I will stay with her, should the others ask for me. We have not yet determined what is the cause, but your son and Brelyna seemed intent on something that had occurred in a Haven of some sort."

"Haven…" Eleanor's fingertips cupped her chin in thought, before she turned to her son; "That's when she was abducted, isn't it?"

So, that was the connection. In hindsight Rhea knew the name had sounded familiar, but had been unable to place it. When she had been told of her daughter's brief and unwilling detour, the name of the place might have slipped her mind in favor of thinking up ways to destroy those guilty. When she had then found out those guilty were all dead by Aedan's hand, partially, it had faded into the back of her mind. Still though, that meant this was something that wasn't as entirely recent as she'd thought.

"Yes, that's the place…" Aedan nodded; "When we found her, Talia had…she'd been forced to partake in some kind of…_ritual_."

"Morrigan really should be here for such an explanation to work…" Brelyna sighed, hands rubbing over her face; "I barely even know anything about the theory of normal shapeshifting, let alone…I should, start with saying, Talia is a shapeshifter."

"…my daughter is _what_?" Rhea stared at the girl, uncertain if she had heard right; "Are you saying Talia is a Bosmer?"

"Wh- _No_, no, no, no, that's not what I…" Maryon exclaimed, hands up and shaking in dismissive gestures; "Shapeshifting is a kind of magic in Thedas, nothing more. I'm not the one to ask how it works, but some kind of ritual went down in Haven, and she drank…some blood, which led to an initially…unpleasant first transformation, from what she told me, told us." The girl was omitting something. Rhea didn't know what, but there was something Maryon wasn't telling her; "Her abilities with it have improved vastly though. I…don't think it's a threat. Talia has great control over it, I'm sure."

Eleanor nodded gravely. So, she knew about this? Rhea wasn't certain how to react to that. It was not as if she had ever _asked_ her about Haven, much to her own detriment, it seemed, but had it never seemed relevant to bring up?

"…what kind?" Rhea asked, keeping her voice low and measured. Anyone but a Dunmer would miss it, but she could see how Maryon's face paled, and at her own side, Aedan averted his eyes from her gaze. What were they concealing from her? Why were they behaving as if…_Haven_. The memory finally clicked. Haven, the crazed dragon cultists had abducted her daughter. The powerful sorceress felt an unearthly chill running the length of her spine.

"…I…"

"Maryon." She repeated, her voice hard and dry enough to crack the stones of the castle walls; "_What kind_, of blood, _did my daughter ingest_, as part of this _ritual_?" the last word _seethed_ with a venom she rarely used in conversations, other than when making threats on someone's life.

"She…" the girl was shivering now, the top of her feet pressing on the bars of her chair as if trying to rip it apart. Judging from the creaks she was well on her way too; "Talia…we…we…"

"Rhea, you…" Eleanor sighed with sympathy. Brelyna stopped her from whatever she was going to say;

"N-no, I can…Please, just…Whatever's afflicting her, it's not the blood. Can't be." Rhea remained impassive, though Talia's sleeping whimpers made her aware of having gripped her daughter's arm too tightly. She loosened her grip, but kept her eyes on her younger counterpart; "It was dragon's blood. They forced her to drink dragon's blood, and it caused a temporary transformation into one of them, into a dragon. Just, not a real one and we reverted it with little difficulty…"

"Maryon."

The girl looked at her, red eyes widened in fright.

"You are telling me, to my face, that my daughter, now in my arms, shapeshifts into dragons…" the look she gave the younger Dunmer could have boiled a man alive in his armor. To even consider _any_ kind of relation to dragons, blood or otherwise…she had difficulty comprehending it. Dragons were neigh-divine beings, one did not just _shapeshift _into one and not cause consequences. There was so _much_ so _horrendously _wrong It left the rest of her expression utterly dead, and another question on her lips, now set in a thin line.

"…I cannot even fathom how this was not the very first thing I was told the moment I met you - _any_ of you. Eleanor, you I can understand since Shapeshifting apparently is not uncommon here, but…" she turned her eyes back on Maryon; "…you. Of _all_ the people, Brelyna Maryon, I never would have expected _you_ to be _this_ thoughtless, _this_ naïve and clueless."

"It's not…I didn't…"

"Brelyna's watched me like a fucking hawk since Haven, _mom_." If at all possible, the room _erupted_. Rhea nearly threw her own daughter across the chamber when she'd spoken, out of shock more than anything else.

"_Talia_." Rhea stared aghast as her daughter pushed herself from her arms, working her jaw as if sore from the screaming. Talia sounded hoarse when she spoke;

"I don't want to hear you talk to her like that, mom. Ever." her own daughter berated her, emerald eyes sharp as ever, with roots of bloodshot red at the edges. She scrounged her face up and wiped at the dried blood underneath her nose, hand coming away with flakes of black. Talia looked down, eyes seeking the floor; "…she doesn't deserve you talking to her like that."

Talia looked around the room, taking in the faces of those present. She was glad to see Aedan here, and J'zargo's presence was a surprisingly welcome surprise. She'd always thought the cat cared, deep down, and now at least she knew it. Brelyna had never been in doubt, and for that she was more grateful than words could ever express.

Eleanor's presence was probably going to make this a lot more awkward than it needed to be, but considering how much she liked the Teyrna, there wasn't really any way she could send her off. It would be bad enough already that her own mother was here, now, and that apparently the shapeshifting thing was being dragged out into the open.

It wasn't like it could actually get any worse.

…

…

…

When Mundus didn't immediately set to proving her wrong, Talia drew in a shaking breath, trying to force out the images that had been seared into her brainstem. Blood, death, terror, agony, the whole thing, she forcefully shoved down, into the deepest corners of her mind.

Nightmares were not needed right now.

"How are you feeling?" her mother asked her, remaining where she'd been when Talia had removed herself from her arms. Something tickled her chin where it didn't use to, and it bothered her till she realized it was her braid that had gotten longer. When had it gotten longer?

"…tired. Overtired, overawake…Slept too much." She wasn't sure which she felt like more, just that her body was decidedly _not_ ready. Talia curled up at the end of the bed, hugging her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She felt better this way, didn't want to touch her mother when she found out about Hakkon - there was a very real risk of spontaneous combustion, and she wasn't fireproofed; "What happened?"

"You collapsed, right after the fight." Brelyna said. Talia gave her friend a glance, trying to remember. Fight, what fight? She'd…there'd been a fight, hadn't there? She was fairly sure there'd been a fight, but who had she fought? "Ser Lopez is still with the healers, by the way."

Ah. Right, Lopez. Geraldo Lopez de…something, from Rivain. Hakkon had hated the man from the very first moment, something about his magic and his blood being impure. Was Hakkon a purist? If so, he'd have to be pissed with getting a Grey Warden Breton. _Speaking of…Hakkon?_

"_What is it, Kiir?"_ his reply came reluctantly, irritated.

_What do I…tell them? About you and, whatever just happened to me? My mom will not take kindly to you._

"…_Krosis…you may tell them what you wish, Kiir."_ He growled, and she could feel the vibrations causing the hair to stand on her neck; "_I do not fear your life-giver."_

…_you probably should._ She sighed, hiding her face away in the space between her legs and chest. Talia didn't know who would come out on top if her mother went against Hakkon, but she knew_ she_ would not enjoy it since _she_ would be the targeted medium if he took over her body in self-defense. It had not been a pleasant experience.

"…right." She muttered, glancing up; "…should I go apologize to him or something?"

"Right now, _you_ should be lying down, and then we still need an explanation, either from you or Brelyna." Her mother was relentless in this, it seemed. She was always like this, always unrelenting, always a force of nature when she wanted to be; "You should know I will not relent on this, _daughter_, not when your wellbeing is in question."

"My wellbeing's being well, _mother_, and I'm just getting stressed out lately, that's all." Talia glared right back, for a moment matching her mother's gaze until she backed down, looking back at her knees. She could maul Ogres but not outstare her mother. It was so cliché she almost found it funny; "…Hakkon's not dangerous."

The room fell silent.

Talia swallowed her shame, because damn it all, she did not want Aedan to know like this. She'd wanted to tell him when _she_ wanted to, not when their mothers were doing the whole 'worried' thing on her after a stress-collapse. Still, in the end she knew she'd had two weeks to tell him, and she hadn't, all because she wasn't sure if he'd still look at her as…well, _her_, if he knew half her mentality was more or less taken over by some draconic entity. If he knew a dragon had open access to every part of her mind.

She also knew - hoped - it was a completely irrational fear, because he wasn't _like_ that, but still…the worry gnawed.

"Talia…" Aedan started, beating her mother to it by moments, if her opened mouth was any indication. His eyes were deep with concern and worry, and she could see the same in the rest of the room's occupants; "…who or what is Hakkon?"

"I wanted to tell you, I did, I just…just… didn't know how, and it just…slipped my mind…I didn't forget, I just…" Fuck. She couldn't even say it, mostly because the base reason for it all was her own cowardice, and inability to deal with her own problems on her own. Or rather, because she thought she could, but couldn't, and now she was here, neck-deep in shit of her own making. More or less; "…_gods_, I'm _fucked_."

"Excuse me, but…since I know mages from your homeland don't have problems with possession…" Eleanor coughed awkwardly, though Talia thanked the divines for the bit of distraction; "…I'm not quite sure I understand the problem here."

"Talia may or may not have come into contact with a dragon, and allowed a bond of sorts to be made." Her mother's voice could have frozen Vvardenfell over at the height of its eruption; "As you may understand, in our homeland there is a certain…stigma, against such acts."

"I didn't _allow_ anything to be made, it just _got_ made and I had to deal with it." Talia snapped at her mother, feeling more than a little humiliated and degraded, and it didn't _help_ that Mother was talking about this to Eleanor, with Aedan in the room. It was altogether the absolute _worst_ way she could even consider things coming to light, and frankly, she just wanted to blow a hole in the wall and take her chances with the drop; "So _stop_ fucking acting like I'm going to don a mask and start worshipping Alduin."

Mother simply looked at her, eyes set in bloody flint and fire, demanding an explanation; "Start, from the, beginning."

"It's back when I had to drink blood in Haven." She pulled her legs closer, curling up in self-defense. Against whom she wasn't completely sure, but her mother was probably a good candidate for 'biggest antagonist' right now. And that _sucked_; "It was taken from the Dragon they believed to be Andraste, though the spirit guarding the place called it 'Kulaas' instead."

"_Kulaas'_?" mother frowned at the name.

"I don't know what it means…" Talia sighed; "After the ritual, and…my first transformation, we thought that was all there'd be to it, that I'd just been forced through the shortcut to shapeshifting, and gotten lucky that I didn't get stuck in my new form…Then I started noticing changed, like my senses improving beyond what Grey Wardens had, and firebreathing becoming easier…Then, Orzammar and everything just went tits up…"

"The Dwarven city?" her mother's frown increased; "I was of the impression you did not get seriously hurt?"

"Well…I kinda did…" Talia huffed, blowing hair from her face; "After Alistair suggested we- _I_ tried out changing, with Morrigan ready to help-"

"Morrigan? Brelyna mentioned her earlier…"

"She was the one that taught me how to come to terms with shapeshifting as something I could _do_…it was _really_ weird and uncomfortable in the start…still is, kinda." Damn, she was actually going to do this with everyone in the room. A one-on-one talk would have been _so_ much easier. Particularly because there was a special memory from Orzammar she did not wish to remember, more than the others; "She's been teaching me more or less every single day since then…But, then we tried it in the Deep Roads."

"But it did work, yes?" J'zargo mused, reclining in his chair; "J'zargo knows it worked, he was told as much."

"It…worked, yeah." Aedan nodded, a hand rubbing at the scar running across his chest. Talia doubted anyone else saw it for what it was, mainly because she was the only one in the room, Brelyna aside, who knew what had happened.

"So…you became one of _them_, I take it." Rhea muttered. She might as well have disavowed Talia, for all her voice bore nothing but coolness; "…in form, at least. You did not lose yourself."

"Not…I, I came close to, later on, when I got in too deep, into the bloodbath and the…I killed a lot of Darkspawn. Like, more than _killed_, it'd be more accurate to say it was a slaughter…I might have lost sight of things, then, there, and…things happened…I'm not proud of what I did. Not entirely."

"You saved my life though…" Aedan muttered, and she felt like someone dropped a stone on her, because they'd promised each other not to tell his mother about that, and now she was here, and had been _told_ about that. That he'd said it anyway, to help her…it just made her feel even worse about _not_ _telling him_, even after all this time, she hadn't been able to tell him.

"You still haven't mentioned Hakkon, or where it comes from." Her mother's referral to Hakkon as an _it_ grated on her nerves - and that had the blood freezing in her veins, because _why_ did it annoy her? She couldn't rationally say, and more than anything else, that scared her. She did _not_ like Hakkon, barely even thrusted him enough to sleep at night, so why?

"…Hakkon came along later, deeper in the Deep Roads." She knew what she said now, it would all be news to Aedan, and J'zargo, and Eleanor, and her own mother. Only Brelyna knew what had happened, and even then she didn't know all the details; "…We'd come across a group of Darkspawn, and…I ended up chasing them down when they fled. Then it…all sort of just went to Fuckheim in a handbasket."

After this, if she was allowed to still walk free, Talia felt like she might just go and drown herself in a keg of ale. Like, not even drink it, just drown herself and hopefully acquire some sort of brain-damage that'd let her forget it ever happened.

"I'm not sure what caused the bond to be made right _then_, but all of a sudden there was this…presence, in my mind…" she looked down, away, anywhere but at the people around her. People who'd trusted her, only for that trust to be dismissed when she kept something like this from them. She couldn't look at them, not even Aedan. Her heart was beating faster and faster, and her veins were _singing_ with adrenaline and stress. It felt like she was about to blow up; "So, Hakkon announced himself, helped me kill all the Darkspawn, and then made a deal with me."

The room fell silent, and no one spoke. Only Brelyna seemed like she wanted to say something, and the expression on her face silently asked why Talia was lying, or at least, omitting the truth.

"This, _deal_, pray tell…what does it entail?" her mother's words sent chills down Talia's spine. It was, most of all, because she could hear traces of _fear_ in them. Her mother was afraid. Talia swallowed, curling her bared toes in anxiety. This wasn't how she wanted her break from the Blight to go - she wanted alcohol, good food, hot soaks and sex, all in ravishing amounts, combinations and without stop, not…this.

Right now she could even do with just the alcohol.

"Right, the deal, it's…kinda one reason I didn't…say anything." Didn't mean she hated herself any one bit less for keeping quiet though, even if she had damn good reason. Sort of. _Alistair_ thought it was a good reason. _…I'm judging idea's by Alistair's opinion now. If that's not sad I don't know what is…_

"Talia…"

"So, you know there's this Archdemon thing leading the Darkspawn, right?" she asked of the room, preferring _that_ over any one person in specific; "Huge, ugly semi-undead dragon that's also bigger than anything humans faced in the dragon wars, right?"

"I had…heard that, yes." Her mother sighed, rubbing the space between her brows. She did not look like the prospect had her thrilled, and for good reason; "I must admit, the notion that you have to face such a thing does not provide me with comfort. Only knowing that you, as a mage, at least will not be at the very front does my heart some good."

"That's…Yeah, that's kind of the thing…You see…"

"I'm not going to like this am I?" Aedan muttered, looking at her with an expression of defeat that about matched what she felt; "Please tell me it's not what I think you're going to say."

"…so, apparently the current Archdemon, before it was corrupted, was Hakkon's nest-mate, or lover or…something, I'm not a hundred on the details, but…" fuck it, here went nothing; "…Because I'm basically acting as Hakkon's extension of will and senses, sort of, it's…He provides me with power on condition of me slaying the damn thing…"

"…was there anything else?" Rhea asked, her voice uncharacteristically weak. Talia winced at the way all color seemed to drain from her mother's face. The older she'd gotten the more she'd come to realize her parents weren't the invulnerable pillars of godhood she'd once viewed them as, but still, it was something rare to see her mother like this. She swallowed;

"…I don't really have a choice in the matter, and I more or less have to do it alone…"

When no one spoke - she'd frankly expected her mother to start shouting right now - Talia just slumped back down into her crouch, staring at the covers;

"Since you're all thinking it, I'll just admit it straight out: Yes, I'm pretty much _fucked_."

* * *

**Well, to be fair she pretty much is…Somehow, despite how I seem to love doing stories where the main character keeps secrets of some kind, I find myself despising the revelations of them, mainly because I can't pull off a naturally-feeling reveal and its reactions to save my life.**

**The ballad at the start of the chapter is my way of doing a little shout-out to a story I greatly enjoy 'Living an Indoctrinated Dream', by Aberron. It's full-on awesome-sauce, with an actually GOOD Jack Harper, and not just a rinse-and-repeat cardboard villain.**

**[If you are not in the mood for politics, stop reading here. The rest of the AN will be political in nature, and I apologize for this in advance. It is my personal opinion, and might be somewhat agitated by recent events]**

**As a curious note, I was somewhat considering a title or some sort of interjection that'd make a reference to the fact that Europe now bows down to Erdogan.  
Yes, we're now going to let **_**that**_** man dictate what we can and cannot say, and I am positively **_**throbbing**_** with irritation - read: rage - at the fact that Merkel scraped down to him when the sociopath demanded a German comedian prosecuted for satire. **

**I will say it here, and you may quote, persecute, accuse me and what-not for it, I will regret nothing:**

**Erdogan is a goat-fucker who holds Europe by its collective testicles with the threat of unleashing a storm-flood of migrants beyond the borders of Turkey, all the while we're not allowed to protect our own borders. Macedonia did last week, and every organization from the Red Cross to Doctors without Borders - (organizations I deeply respect but also think should stay out of politics of any kind - same thing with the Pope) cries crimes against humanity and paints the Macedonians as evil, twisted fuckers for defending their borders.**

**So here's a cheer, and me raising a glass, to the hope that my own country might regain control over our own borders one day soon, and that we might leave this undemocratic union that has become less of a people's organization, and more of a religion in its own right.**

**This is all my personal opinion. If I lose readers from this, I disagree with you but I will respect your choice and not hold it against you - don't think I **_**could**_**, really - and merely hope that you will still enjoy similar stories without letting this taint your experience.**

**This will be Roku, checking out. **

Talia: "And not-so-silently praying he didn't just lose all his reviewers because he tried his hand at being political...Actually, please don't leave, if he stops writing that's the end of me, and I'd very, _very_ much like to at least see myself reaching thirty years...I'M NOT READY TO BE ABANDONED!"

...stop...shouting...my head hurts...

Talia: "THEY'RE GONNA MAKE YOU ABANDON ME OR THE STORY GETS TAKEN DOWN OR SOMETHING CATCHES FIRE OR SHIT HAPPENS AND I DON'T WANNA DIIIIIEEEEEEEE-!"

Stop...fuckin'...I have you on the pc, you're not gonna...

Talia: "BUT IT'S NOT THE SAME- IT'S NOT THE SAME- IT'S NOT THE SAME! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO START TALKING FUCKIN' POLITICS ANYWAAAAAAAAA-"

*shuts down website*


	58. Preparations and Processions

_Thedas shares quite a few cultural similarities with Tamriel._

_Sadly, one of them is slavery._

_\- _Tribune Veruin Kratorius, 4E 202

* * *

**Preparations and Processions**

* * *

Redcliffe castle played host to a somewhat awkward congregation.

Brelyna and J'zargo were staring at Talia.

Aedan was staring at Talia.

Eleanor Cousland was staring at Talia.

Rhea Aulus was staring at Talia.

Talia was staring at…well, the floor. She'd just delivered what was perhaps the worst way imaginable of revealing her connections with Hakkon, and even then she'd ended up lying just because she was scared shitless of what her mother would do and say if she found out about the possession-thing in the Deep Roads.

Dear fucking _gods_, how had things ended up like this?

Well, she _knew_ how things had ended up like this, so the question was really more her way of not wanting to deal with reality. She knew this was all more or less her own fault, for postponing talking with Aedan about Hakkon, and now they'd all found out because Geraldo apparently managed to knock her about one time too many and she'd collapsed or…fuck, she knew _that_ wasn't even why either. The fight with the Viper hadn't been what caused this, but everything else was just way too terrifying to even contemplate.

So yeah, in hindsight she had a somewhat good idea of how things had ended up like this.

Her mother's voice was the first to tear her from her stupor; gazing into the empty space beyond the covers she sat on.

"You feared revealing this." There was little actual emotion in her words, as if the woman hadn't yet fully processed how she felt about what had been said; "…didn't you?"

"…_yeah_." A long, drawn-out sigh was the best she could do. She still couldn't even _look_ at her own mother, let alone the rest of the room's occupants.

"Because you were feared my reaction."

"…among…other things…"

"You feared my rejection." Again, her mother was not wrong. And it smarted something fierce to have her fears spelled out like that; "And, since you had not told Aedan of this, his as well?"

Seriously, it was grating on her nerves. Mothers were not supposed to be _this_ perceptive. Talia huffed a sigh that turned into a groan when she looked up and noticed Aedan's sort-of hurt expression. Gods, she was _never_ going to live this down, was she? _At this point suicide by Archdemon doesn't sound like an altogether bad idea…_

"_Yes_, I was scared shitless of what the people I cared about thought of me communicating with a _dragon_." She growled, hugging her knees closer in; "Happy?"

"I will be, when you are safe…" Mother sighed, reaching out. Talia did her best to suppress the instinctive flinch when the hand came to rest on her arm. Her mother merely sighed in exasperation; "…this…_dragon_, you are communicating with, who gave you this…task…" oh fuck, here it came; "…do you believe it intends to exploit you, to…harm you, should you fulfil its task?"

"…I don't…know. I don't think so, but…" gods, she wasn't prepared for this kind of talk; "Hakkon hasn't…told me about what'd come after…so, I…I don't know. He…hasn't tried to take my mind again or…anything…"

"…take your mind?" Aedan asked uncertainly. She couldn't look at him, not yet. There was a sense of physical pain whenever she tried. This again just showed how _not_ ready for something like this she was, because that _wasn't_ supposed to slip out.

"Talia?" her mother added, a special kind of pressure behind the word. It was the kind of pressure that if you didn't comply it'd just add and add and add until someone started crying.

"When…when the bond was formed, in the Deep Roads, there was…" her voice shook and she could feel her muscles tensing up. She was trembling, and she couldn't even tell whether it was fear or frustration or anger or…or something else; "…there was a short moment where my…where my mind wasn't entirely my own. Like, Hakkon's influence breached some sort of…some sort of barrier and I lost control of myself, but I was still…I was still in control, just…different…"

"Talia experienced a brief possession by Hakkon." Brelyna supplied, and Talia wasn't sure whether she wanted to slap or hug the girl for that, because it felt like she'd just been used to ram down a door, or break some sort of ice. Her breath caught in her throat and her fingers curled up and started digging the nails into the skin of her arms; "…Alistair can probably relay the details better than I, but…"

"Brelyna…" Talia growled, not even looking up. The sheets were far more interesting, and far less potentially condemning; "…it wasn't a possession, I was still…there, just shoved aside, sort of…I'm me, I'm not going to suddenly lose my shit, and I _don't_ need…I dunno, just…" she'd started working herself up into shouting; "…_fuck_, I'm not possessed, and I'm perfectly _fine_!"

"…then why did you collapse?" her mother's voice was damningly gentle, like Talia hadn't just yelled at the lot of them. Finally Talia dared to glare at her; "Talia, I only care about your wellbeing, nothing else. If you are sick, or something else is hurting you, _please_ tell me."

"I just…I don't know." Because really, she didn't. The collapse could be due to anything from stress to bad food to something entirely else and she had no idea what, only that Hakkon had nothing to gain from her injuring herself. The nightmare as well was likely nothing but trauma kicking in, considering all the shit she'd been through, honestly she was amazed it'd taken _this_ long for her brain to 'Nope' out on her. Most people were scarred for life after just _seeing_ a quarter of the shit she'd seen - the Tower of Magi alone should have sent her sprawling with a spastic seizure.

Did that mean something was fundamentally _broken_ inside her, since she _hadn't_ been smacked with the floor?

"You were in terrible pains…" Eleanor's words caught her off-guard - because she'd barely spoken a single sentence since Talia woke up - and she looked at the older woman. Concern that could be described basically as maternal was written all over her face and only added to the guilt humming and beating and kicking around in her chest; "…do you remember anything, like a nightmare or a dream that could have caused this?"

Pains. She'd been in terrible pains? Wasn't that just in the dream? But then…there'd been the dried blood under her nose, where'd that come from? _Fuuuuuuck_, what was even going on? Dreams weren't supposed to give you a bloody nose! Dreams weren't supposed to give you actual agony either, so what…what by Vermina was going on?!

"I…dreamt." At first she wasn't sure how else to put it. The details were already starting to grow fuzzy and unclear, just like any other dream. She remembered the eyes though…and the voice. She couldn't recall the words, but the eyes and the voice were like etched into her consciousness; "I…don't remember exactly what happened…"

"You don't remember anything at all?" her mother prodded, though she did it gently. It was still prodding, and it was irritating because she really _couldn't_ remember much more than fuzzy images and negative emotions…and…

"There…there was a voice, and a pair of eyes, like, glowing, white eyes…I think they belonged to the voice, or…the voice belonged to the same person or…persons…" gods, couldn't someone else get to deal with this? She had enough on her plate already, and _seriously_ didn't need mental trauma or whatever this was thrown into the pile; "…why's it even important? I dropped _before_ the nightmare, not _during_ it."

"Everything about your psyche could be a clue. It could be this nightmare is important, or, as you suggest, that it was merely a nightmare." Her mother sighed.

"_Yes_, thank you."

"…it could also be your nose started bleeding for a reason." Of course she wasn't going to just let it go. Frankly, her mother rediscovering her maternal instincts was not exactly timed all that well; "It is just another reason I will not let you out of my sight in Denerim, I suppose…"

"…fucking knew it, you still think I'm going to lose my shit?"

"I would rather be nearby, _should_ something happen, is what I am thinking, _young lady._" The edge in her mother's voice was not lost on Talia, and she could feel that old urge to simply obey because of it. Apparently there were some things she hadn't outgrown, even after three years in Winterhold… "-and I do not care for that tone of yours, especially after keeping secrets from your friends and family like this. _Honestly_, I'd thought three years in Skyrim would have helped you outgrow certain things, yet it'd seem you're still as immature as ever…"

"Gee, wonder where I got _that_ from, you or dad?" Talia stared flatly at her mother, not feeling like admitting to what was basically true. She _knew_ mother had the longer end of the stick here, and hated the fact that she knew it.

"…to my shame I must admit it likely stems from me." That wasn't to say there was any indication of her mother giving ground though, and Talia realized their argument had become something of a show to the rest of the room's occupants; "Which is why I will not allow your stubbornness to cause you trouble where I cannot drag you back out. When we leave for Denerim you will not leave my sight for even a moment until I permit it."

"Yes, _mom_."

"…that doesn't really work when I _am_ your mother, you know?" a trace of a grin snuck its way onto alabaster lips, followed by a relenting sigh; "…very well, then. I will continue to keep an eye on your condition, _and_, and I _cannot_ stress this enough, do _not_ trust dragons, Talia. You of all people should have the education to know just why that is."

"…"

"…because of the Dragon Wars, right?" Aedan piped up when Talia didn't bother replying. Mother and daughter both looked at him, one surprised that he remembered, the other that he simply knew.

"Indeed." Mother simply nodded; "The entombed worshippers still rise from their graves on occasion, and rarely do they not cause harm when they do. The ones known as Dragon Priests especially, and they were said to have the kind of connection to their respective dragon overlords that I do _not_ wish for my daughter to even come near, let alone be tempted with."

"I'm _not_ becoming a Dragon priest!" Talia exclaimed, getting to her feet. She pointed a jagged finger at her mother; "And the fact that you'd even _think_ I'd ever want to worship a fucking lizard is beyond me!"

"Good." A simple nod was all the response her mother deigned her with; "In that case, I believe we should continue this at a later date. We leave for Denerim tomorrow, after all, and I would not wish for you to miss out on the festival more than absolutely necessary."

"Of _course_ not." Talia replied with a barely withheld snark. Honestly she'd rather say quite a few things Aedan's mother shouldn't be present to hear, but right now she just needed to get the fuck out. So she did, not even bothering to put on her boots as she left.

"Well…" as the Breton left the room, the Khajiit sighed; "…This one thinks that went rather well, no?"

* * *

The door to the new smithy looked…well, _new_, and had probably been replaced when the old castle smith had been mauled by the undead. It was a lighter side of her that simply contemplated that Owyn at least didn't have to contend with an old or broken door, and that it could be an indicator for the kind of equipment he'd probably been given to play around with. _How does he even get materials these days?_

The man _was_ outfitting more than half of their armed forces, and serviced those of the sellswords who hadn't brought their own repair-kits. In short, Owyn was probably up there with the busiest men she'd ever encountered. Honestly, she had her doubts any of them would even survive this if not for him, and that was saying something, considering the state they'd first found him in.

Compared to his old smithy, the castle foundry, or whatever she was supposed to call it, was just that, a _damn foundry_. The place had two floors, with a massive forge connecting the two, and a set of bellows the size of bloody mammoths supplying it with air. Dozens of people, mostly children and adolescent villagers, worked the machinery, each and every one dressed down to their smalls.

If Talia hadn't been so damn focused on looking like she had a purpose for being here, she might have let her eyes wander a bit more than she did. Still, she focused on scouring the room for Owyn, even though her senses were somewhat thrown off by the thundering clangs of hammers on metal.

Canals of stone allowed liquid metals to flow from melting pots into forms of granite, and massive hammers struck unfinished blades and bars of metal with a force greater than any man could achieve on his own.

Drop hammers and Stamp mills, it seemed, were suddenly all the rage. Their constant thundering betrayed the sheer amount of work Owyn no doubt labored under, though from what she knew of the man, he probably enjoyed it, bloody workaholic as he was…maybe she should ask how his daughter was faring? She'd forgot the girl's name, but hoped _he_ hadn't.

At the center of the massive chamber, trudging in circles under stone-vaulted ceilings, a pair of atronachs lumbered around, pushing massive wooden beams like mules in a mill.

Thát one was a surprise. She could honestly say she'd not seen it coming, that Atronachs worked in the forge, but in hindsight, it was also pretty damn genius. Contrary to their looks, they weren't made of natural ice, and so were neither brittle nor prone to melting from the heat of the smelters. They also didn't require food nor rest.

Perfect workers, really. She was so caught up in marveling at how _she_ had never considered using atronachs as physical labor, that she didn't sense nor hear the approaching pair of feet. At least her hearing could be excused with the constant thunderstorms of metal on metal resounding all around her.

"Amazin', aren't they?" someone shouted right next to her. Had to, over the noise.

"_Son of a cock!_" She leapt into the air, skin electrified with fright and surprise. She was glad no one else saw it. When she managed to whirl around on her ambusher, she found none other than Owyn standing there, equal amounts surprise and disbelief painted across his sooty face. The man looked like he'd hung himself out to smoke with the hams, honestly; "_Fucks' sake_, Owyn…"

"A-apologies, Messere, I didn't realize you hadn't noticed me…" he rubbed his neck awkwardly, standing around as she looked at him. Gods, could she actually be pissed at him for that? Nah; "But…but you've seen 'em, right? Best damn workers I've ever had, mules too."

"The atronachs?"

"Aye, thát's the name." he grinned, his teeth a blazing white compared to the rest of his complexion, even though they were actually yellow; "That woman, Lady Aulus, she came down here one o' the days, offered her help. I thought, I say I thought she couldn't do much, woman such as her, in a place like this, but then, ho _behold_, then she took one look at the sorry asses I'd had pulling the machinery, and whipped _those_ things out."

"…my mom did that?" she asked, missing the look of raw disbelief in his eyes; "Why?"

"…She's your-…" the smith started, eyes widened in surprise for a moment, then simply nodded as if he wasn't even surprised; "_Right_…should have known."

"You're not surprised?" she gave the man a look, trying to discern if she'd just ended up breaking him, or if he really was at the point where no shits were given; "Most people wouldn't believe such a claim."

"Well…with everything I've seen this past year…" the smith gave a shrug; "…I've just stopped being surprised at events these days. 'Long as me and mine aren't in immediate danger, I just go on as before."

"That's…a remarkable mindset."

"It is what it is, I suppose…" Owyn shrugged, before giving her a once-over; "Say, now that you're here, I'd thought about some improvements to those Warden robes of yours."

"Improvements?"

"Well, I figured you wouldn't mind me at least drawing up some schematics, and I have a few pieces you could try on if you've got the time for it?" he gestured at the other end of the room, where several suits of armor in varying sizes and kinds hung on stands. Hers was easy enough to spot, even from this distance, because it was the only one with those white and blue colors. _Really, we're grey Wardens, _Grey_ Wardens. Shouldn't the uniform reflect that, or did I miss something?_

The pieces Owyn had prepared for her were…well, they were something. The Warden robes in and off themselves were sturdier than the dresses the Circle put on their mages, being lined with metal scales, but still. They were fragile compared to what Aedan and Alistair wore. They were, of course, also still offering more protection than her own robes, but this was mainly because the dark-green uniforms of High Rock battlemages were meant for agility before being able to take a hit.

The smith had laid his pieces out on a table beside the robes, and Talia allowed herself an encouraged gander at what he had to offer. What first caught her eyes was a corset-like piece of garment she wasn't entirely sure what to do with. It was kilted and stuffed, with strips of platemail sewn in in vertical patterns. _Actually…scratch the corset, this is more like a vest, really._

"I figured the scales wouldn't do much against hard blows from the side. They're meant to stop piercing, mostly, so the platemail-jacket should stop something like an axe or a sword from getting' through…" the smith shrugged; "Dunno if the weight's too much for your style o' fightin' though…"

"Does it go under the robes?"

"Aye, got the idea from some of those Orlesian sellswords. They're wearing plated jackets under their armor, so I figured the principle could be applied here too, you know?"

Talia looked at the smith, unsure how to proceed. There was a lot more confidence to be found in the smith these days than when she'd first met him. He also wasn't drunk, which could only be an improvement when it came to his line of work"…you know, compared to when we first met, you're like a completely different man, Owyn…"

"My girl's safe and happy, I've shelved the booze and have plenty to do…" he gave what could best be described as an awkward, yet proud grin; "Don't take much more than that to keep me in high spirits."

Next to the plated jacket, she found four nearly identical pieces of steel, clearly meant for her arms and legs. Vambraces, really, but heavier than her own. These looked like they could stop a sword at full swing, and even had a pair of hook-like spikes at the edges. Too short to be meant to stab people though, so she couldn't make out their purpose.

"What are these?" she couldn't really _not_ ask. Spikes on Vambraces was something you really just didn't see a whole lot of.

"Sword-breakers." He nodded and smirked, as if there was a joke of some sort going on; "It's an Antivan concept, a bit like our billhooks, just for the arms, you know, with how they prefer jumping about instead of donning proper armor. Not that, you know, there's anything _wrong_ with jumping around, just…"

"Right. So, what'd they do, break swords?" also what was a 'billhook'? She assumed it was something like a fishing-rod, but that just didn't make sense in the context he was using it…unless the Antivans used weaponized fishing-rods as weapons? _That would…be kinda awesome, actually._

"I suppose it happens…" the smith shrugged; "-most o' the time though, they catch the blade and prevent the other guy from stabbing you while _you_ stab him. Seein's they're on the bracers, you could probably use them as weapons too, I suppose…It's good quality steel, so they won't break off in some bastard's jugular, if that's your worry."

"…right." She wasn't sure a blacksmith should be getting _this_ creative, or take such joy in making things to kill humans in a Blight, but she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Mainly because that'd gotten Aveel bitten once and he'd cried for the guards to kill the horse. _Right, fond memories and all…_

"I've got something else too, in case you don't plan on jumping around so much."

"I dunno…jumping's kinda my thing." She muttered, even as the smith bent over a crate to heft something from it. At first it looked like a chainmail, but she quickly noticed it was far too short for that. Scales of what looked like reddish steel glinted with the fires from the forge, reminding her of the scales one would see on a snake, rather than a soldier. _It's…beautiful, whatever it is._

"Finished this last night, actually." He explained with clear pride in every word; "Word travels, you know, and your abilities aren't as secret as you'd probably wish they were. So, word came 'round that you'd learned how to shapeshift, and I thought to myself 'Right, Owyn, here's your sodding chance to finally have a proper 'n noble purpose for those overpriced scales of yours'."

"…scales?" now that he was lifting it fully into the air, she could see it indeed wasn't a shirt, but something far more akin to a skirt, only it seemed to curve, probably because it was fastened at the front and wasn't meant to constrict the legs; "What scales?"

"'side from the Orlesians, some o' the first sellswords came to Redcliffe were Nevarans, and one of them was this besotted noble bastard, always going on about how life was shit and he was down on his luck but would make a name for 'imself…" Owyn grinned, showing yellowed teeth that still contrasted with the soot in his face; "Well, just so happens he had a drinkin' problem, and lacked the coin to pay with. Well then, he offered his heirloom, of all things. _This_." The smith patted the scales with affection; "_Real_, genuine dragon scale-coat. So, quicker than you'd say '_Fuck Orlais'_, I offered to buy it off of the bugger. Was right happy too, considering the coin I had to part with, but the price…Felt like I'd been handed the bloody crown of Ferelden, wherever _that_'d be at these days…"

"So wait…this is…these are _dragon_ scales?" Talia muttered in abject awe, somehow feeling extremely awkward at the realization. Maybe it was because _she_ could now technically grow these things. At the smith's nod, she reached out and touched the scales. They felt like steel, yet…also sort of…flexible, and not nearly as heavy. _Right, 'cause scales are either horn or bone, neither weighing like metal…_

"They are, though I'll admit one's missin'." She almost felt…bereft, when he took the scale-skirt out of reach and placed it on the table. It was the weirdest sense of belonging, and she couldn't explain it, even to herself; "Had to test it somehow, and didn't wanna bad scale on."

"Test it?" she _had_ to ask.

"Right, see that axe over there?" he gestured vaguely at a pile of weapons next to a grinding stone. Aedan's sword was oddly enough among them, the Cousland insignia on the pommel recognizable even from this distance. Sten's too, but that was simply the fact that his sword was the only one longer than the stripped-down man sharpening it. She didn't see _one_ axe, but nodded anyway; "So, I tried breaking the scale…broke a _chip_ off the axe instead. Tried melting it next…didn't find it, but it's not started burnin' - scale's horn, so you'd smell burnt hair if it did. Eventually we'll empty out the forge and I'll be buggered if it's not still there, intact and all…"

"So, you're…I mean…How do I say this…" because fuck if she wasn't secretly afraid of offending him. Owyn had been one of the most open-minded people she'd met on this bloody continent so far, and the last thing she wanted was to irritate him by assuming he was giving her something like _that_ for free.

She also didn't want to irritate him by asking what he wanted for it, in case he _was_ going to offer it free of charge._ This is why I prefer taverns over social gatherings…and politics. Fuck politics in particular._

"Consider it an investment on my part." The smith laughed, and for a moment she wanted to smack him in the face, right up until she processed what he was saying, and was left gaping, staring at the man like he'd grown an extra head. Everything else in her life considered, that probably wasn't even an impossible feat; "The way I see it, we only survive this if you Wardens do. Everyone knows it takes a Grey Warden to end a Blight, and you lot's the only lot of Wardens we've got. It's in everyone's best interests if you don't die horribly before the Archdemon bites the dust."

"I…bu-but this…Owyn, for _fucks' sake_, this is _dragon scale_!" she wasn't even sure why she was saying this, actually _protesting_ his gift. Maybe it was because dragon scales were about as common as talking dogs in Tamriel, and she felt more than a little undeserving of something you'd normally offer a king for his daughter's hand; "Have you _any_ idea how much this- I can't even- I mean, _thanks!_ Thanks, but fuck me, I don't know if I can take it!"

"If that's how you feel…" the smith sighed, though not with one ounce of defeat in his voice; "Well…I _guess_ there's a way you could repay me. Not coin though, I'm making more than enough with all these soldiers in Redcliffe, and the Bann makes sure I have the materials I need. Castle's even feeding my assistants, I'll have you know. So, you can do me a favor in Denerim instead, if that'll make you feel better?"

Well, when he put it like _that_…Owyn was right though, wasn't he? Ferelden's survival depended on the Grey Wardens, and she _would_ very much like to survive this and live to tell the tale, and Hakkon hadn't said anything about accepting help. Actually he'd probably be telling her to take it, if he could be bothered to make his thoughts known. _Aaaaand I'm actually hoping to hear him speak. Dear Arkay, I'm fucked in the head…_

"I…guess." Talia swallowed, curling her toes inwards. Her nails scraped on the floor and she remembered she'd not actually bothered putting on her boots. And Owyn hadn't even commented on that. _Great_ "So…what is this favor?"

"As a blacksmith and armorer of profession, I'm a member of one of Ferelden's main smithing guilds. That means a certain percentage of my profits go to the guild coffers, I attend annual meetings with the rest of the guild in Amaranthine and exchange ideas, concepts and innovations at said meetings." Somehow she couldn't imagine that, the whole "exchanging ideas" thing. It sounded way too altruistic for a businessman to be involved with. On the other hand…in theory it was a nice idea. _I wonder if the Empire has something similar. Maybe I should have paid more attention in economics…_

"…right."

"A colleague of mine has recently moved his workshop to Denerim, and I have yet to receive word of whether his business is better there than back in Amaranthine." The smith explained, hands idly going to a pipe dangling from his belt. When he seemed to notice, something like a grimace of irritation crossed his face, and he let the pipe go again; "Name's Wade, a bit of a character really…his partner's a bit more annoying, but friendly enough from what I recall, provided you're bringing business, and coin. Wade's an exceptionally skilled blacksmith, specializing in armor like me."

"So…he's good at his work." Owyn nodded; "Then, why wouldn't business be good?"

"Wade, as I said, is a bit of a character. He's…very selective with the work he accepts, which I can imagine would lead to some financial…instabilities." Hands once more seeking the pipe, Owyn gave her a pleading look, almost as if begging for permission to smoke. She gave him a shrug, because really, he was offering her dragon-scale armor for free, the sodding least she could do was to let him smoke; "…Worked well enough in Amaranthine, because it was so close to Vigil's Keep and constant business, but I'm not sure he'd do well enough in Denerim."

Talia nodded, waiting for him to ignite his pipe. She wasn't quite sure what he was smoking, but it didn't smell like hemp. The scent was far more…acrid, sour. And yet somehow still spicy and very pleasing to the nostrils. Having puffed a few breaths, the smith nodded his thanks and continued.

"So while I'd like for you to check up on him, and give him a letter I'll have ready by the time you're leavin', there's _one_ more thing you can do while visiting him." Whatever he was smoking, it slowed down his speech and generally made him seem a lot more collected, not lazy, like the hemp would do to people.

"Which is?" she asked, and almost regretted it when the smith flashed her a grin.

"Wear the pieces here, make sure he remembers he's not the _only_ goddamn smith with some talent under his belt. Besides…" somehow, the look in Owyn's eyes only grew more mischievous now. Like he was a child, which in itself was pretty damn weird. Still, she _liked_ his way of thinking: "Wade's always wanted to get his hands on some dragon scales. He finds out I got me hands on some before him, _and_ worked it into something useful, I'd imagine he'd start sulking. And I'd get to enjoy it if we're all still alive for the guild meeting next spring."

"So basically, you'll give me a pretty much priceless piece of armor, and all I have to do is go to Denerim and rub it in your friend's face?" she inquired innocently, though the smirk was getting harder to suppress. Owyn inhaled a long breath through the pipe and blew it into the ceiling, forming little rings of smoke in the air. _I wonder if I can do that too…_

"Pretty much." He nodded, watching her with an expression far too juvenile and youthful for a man of his age; "You up for it, Warden?"

She answered him with a shit-eating grin; "Are you _sure_ we're not related?"

* * *

"So…_this_ is Hossberg"

Veruin wasn't entirely certain what to feel, riding through the city's massive gates on his assigned steed, a chestnut warhorse clad from mule to hoofs in lamellar armor, much like what the Warden in Laysh, Herman, had worn. It was a markedly different design than Imperial armor, and the concept of armoring _horses_ was utterly foreign to him.

The Empire didn't employ much in the way of cavalry, and what it _did_ field was meant for light screening forces, not…he wasn't sure what role these horses would fulfil, other than maybe charging straight _through_ enemy spears. The concept remained strange to him.

They had been travelling for the better part of two weeks, and their escorts - weary-looking men in lamellar armor - had remained courteous, but silent. It was as if they were afraid of offending them, these newcomers to their land. Odd, truly, when one considered it should usually be the newcomers who worried about such things, not the natives. Still, he had managed to get some base details from them, soldiers to soldiers. As the commanding officer of the expedition, he was the only one here.

Hossberg was the capital city of the Anderfels, and as a result thereof was also the nation's most prosperous city. The streets were paved with tiles and illuminated throughout the nights, the houses solid and of stone and brick, and the people wealthier than most of their countrymen.

In a way it could have been a perfect description of the Imperial city.

In spite of their initial reception in Laysh, the Herzog had warned that not all of their land would be as receptive to non-humans. It had been a thinly veiled warning that incidents might occur should they bring the Khajiit or Argonians to the Capital. As an added precaution, he had also opted to have their elven delegates remain in Laysh. He would rather risk their ire than their deaths, or a diplomatic incident.

"We are headed for the Palace, I would assume?" their escorts were more willing to speak with him than the delegates, and so he was the one to ask. His companions merely paid apt attention to everything going on around them, and received more than a few stares from the denizens of Hossberg. He did not wonder at this, seeing how Catilgoner and Factis both rode with all the grace of fishermen, yet dressed in robes he would not be surprised to find in the Emperor's personal wardrobes.

Dhevsa wore the red garb of her people, though with a grace worthy of royalty. Of all the delegates, she was the one most suited for a saddle, and most practical of mind. It was actually surprisingly refreshing, meeting a diplomat with an understanding of the world beyond the polished halls of politics.

Chrgine and Matrle, true to Bretoni heritage, dressed more like mages than diplomats, with flowing, billowing robes of deep green and azure respectively. Those two garnered the most looks, especially the latter, whose eye-catching robes would be sure to make her stand out in any crowd. _Then again, that's probably her intention…_

"Aye..." The leader of their escort was one of the Wardens from Laysh, a Constable, from what Veruin understood. The man looked like he'd lost a fight with a troll, and still managed to walk away from it. His name was Vezi…Vezemer? For all he tried, the Tribune could not pronounce the man's name. The Warden's graying hair hung to the end of his neck, giving the impression that the Wardens did not care overtly about primness; "…It is likely that King Augustin has already received words of your arrival long before the messenger we sent from Laysh arrived here."

"I feel…exposed." Murzob Yagish grunted, visibly uncomfortable at the amount of attention they were receiving. While the man's fellow Orc had been chosen to remain in Laysh, the steel-eyed Yagish was the sole non-human with them now, and even then the Tribune could not escape the feeling that this was still too much; "These people are looking at me as if they never saw an Orc before…"

"_You_ wanted to come." Matrle quipped, smirking whenever she caught a citizen openly staring at her robes. Bretons, damn them, all loved to be admired. The Tribune had never much cared for them. Far too obsessed with their appearances, the lot of them. But they made for good diplomats, and knew how to behave in politics, so they were a necessary evil…Gods, he wished he actually had a say in what was going on.

In the end though, he could only offer advice, not actually issue the delegates any orders outside of life-threatening situations. This was why he never _asked_ for diplomatic missions.

"Anything we should be wary of?" Dhevsa inquired, eyes hard and observant, trotting her steed up next to Veruin's own. To see a lady, and a delegate at that too, riding a beast so obviously meant for war, reminded the Tribune of his younger days, even before he had entered the navy, of days spent pining away in youthful romance. Better days, back before the war…

"Mmm, it's not impossible that he'll have heard of your non-human companions…Actually I'd say it's fairly likely he's heard of them." The Warden muttered; "I'm no politician, but I'd suggest making sure he doesn't end the meeting with the impression that you brought abominations or demons to his shores. Andraste knows the Darkspawn are enough trouble on their own…"

"Your country is a highly devout one, is it not?" the Redguard nodded as she spoke, already knowing the answer; "I can understand the need to ensure pious minds are reassured, especially when Beast folk and Orcs are unheard of. Do not worry, we will act with the utmost courtesy and respect."

Veruin was fairly certain she meant there'd be no mention of the Eight. _Just another reason the absence of the Nords here was an unexpected blessing. Even the reformists would never have agreed to neglecting the gods._

It would seem Vese…Vesi…the Warden was correct in his assumption that word had indeed traveled ahead of them. The closer they got to what appeared to be the palace, the more crowded the streets became. A sense of excitement and curiosity hung in the air as the sides grew thick with spectators, and people appeared in their windows, openly gawking.

The soldier in him disliked the exposure and attention. He had never been one for parades.

The rest of him just wondered if he wasn't getting too old for this shit.

The entrance to the palace itself was a magnificent entryway, dozens of meters tall doorways with gold-encrusted decorations adorning the finely carved oaken doors. The designs of the decorations themselves were utterly foreign to the Tribune, who caught himself staring longer than he should at carvings of dragons and authorial figures locked in battle, each painted in vibrant colors or simply plated with leaf-gold.

It was a stark contrast to the harshness of the landscape and towns they had passed through on their way from Laysh, and gave credence to the tales of how the king cared little for the lands beyond his capital city. Clearly, the man had priorities that did not favor small townships like Laysh.

Somehow, Veruin felt disappointed. He wasn't entirely certain why, as he hadn't harbored any hopes of the humans of Akavir, or Thedas, being any more noble or nefarious than his own countrymen. It didn't make the grandeur of Hossberg's Royal Palace any less grand, but it still seemed to take away some of the shine.

Still, this was for the diplomats to ponder. He was merely here to ensure their safety and act as the military liaison, should such be needed. Being the commanding officer of the expedition, this much was required of him, regardless of how he felt.

It didn't mean he wasn't feeling excited, of course. Any man would be, when faced with such a new and foreign culture. He was simply…wary. Soldiers could not afford to be dazzled with golden surfaces, and those unlucky naïve ones who were, never made it to where he was.

"It would seem something of a reception has been prepared for us…" Dhevsa muttered, steely eyes on the courtyard beyond the doorways.

Indeed, what appeared to be an inner courtyard of sorts, marble floors polished to the point where he felt like sullying them with his armored boots alone, awaited them beyond the doors. White tiles in perfect symmetry, each and every one decorated with a small carving that, in the grand picture, formed a massive mosaic in white.

He had no idea what it was supposed to be though. The parts he could see _looked_ like a stylized image of a flame. He gave them credit for design, but not originality. Frankly it seemed like the whole bloody nation was obsessed with their prophet and her flames. It reminded him of the Nords and their obsession with Tiber Septim.

Lined up on both sides of the grand courtyard were spectators, many if not all of them in opulent and rich dresses, leading the Tribune to suspect the entirety of the local nobility was gathered here. _One could eliminate half the country's leadership with a strike here…hypothetically, it would take less than a single cohort to do, if done properly…_

It was, of course, merely speculation. Veruin took a slower gait, allowing the delegates to dismount and walk ahead of him. He vastly preferred it if _they_ were thrown to whatever passed for Senche's around here. Conversations started bubbling around them, even as he followed the delegates up the middle of the courtyard, feeling the leather of his soles padding with each step he took. Every sense he possessed was sharpened and on edge, fully aware of his responsibility and just how far from Imperial territory they were. His armor felt constricting, and the wolf's-head pelt flowing from his helmet to his shoulders and lower back, like his only real barrier against the stares.

He really was too old for this shit.

But, at least he was human. Yagish, the Orc delegate, seemed far more uncomfortable with the attention, much of it levelled on him in particular. Not surprising, if indeed these people had never before seen an Orc. According to the Warden, it was only the Orc's clothing that had kept the denizens of Hossberg from panicking the second they entered the city itself.

The Tribune's eyes wandered the crowd on both sides of the path, highly attentive to any sort of detail that might reveal an assassin or ambush, any sort of trap. His nerves were so frayed at this point he might just stab the first person to greet him. This was why he never,_ never_, attended parades. The attention alone was enough to send his blood-pressure up where it really should not be.

"Tribune." He was made aware of Dhevsa's presence when he picked up her voice, barely more than a sharp whisper. She walked beside him, at the rear of their group; "We might have a problem."

"…glad I'm not the only paranoid one here." He muttered, finding amusement in her apparent discomfort. At least he wasn't alone in it, which was something, he supposed. The Redguard did _not_ seem to appreciate it; "What is it, then?"

"We are the first from Tamriel to make contact with this land in centuries, yes?"

"To my knowledge, we are…" he nodded, unsure of where she was going with this. They kept walking, keeping up appearances. At least _his_ face was sufficiently concealed by his helmet's encasement that his expression wasn't visible to anyone, and his voice equally muffled; "Why?"

"Because I just saw a Khajiit in the crowd."

* * *

**First, I am _very_ well aware of the fact that the Anders do not practice slavery.**

**Second, since it's been a while since we heard from our good friends in the 6th Cohort, and Anderfels in general, I feel it should be reminded that Anderfels, in the way I have had it explained to me, researched and otherwise found information on, runs a lot like the Novgorod Republic, with a mixture of Byzantine Empire and Teutonic Order thrown into the political fray, based respectively on their affinity for cavalry over infantry, piousness and titles of nobility.**

**A lot of people have different opinions on this, I am merely using mine.**

**Right, so this chapter ended up a bit longer than the others because I wanted to bring some attention back to our dear Tribune. Traveling in the Anderfels takes time, namely because you need a bloody army to escort people, just to keep the roads repaired. That, or the Green Men, but apparently _they_ can't be buggered to sit still and wait for the road to be done.**

**Hossberg is often stated to be prioritized way over the rest of the nation, and as such the palace there would have to be even more opulent than it would otherwise have been. Think, the Winter Palace, just more eastern European style than French.**

**Now then, this time I hope I can get through the responses without getting my arse torn off. Last time just went to illustrate why voicing your opinion on politics is a decidedly bad idea. But yeah, as always I'm thrilled to get a grasp of your minds, especially on the last bit of this chapter.**


	59. In which something unexpected happens

_Elf-blooded, also known pejoratively as "half-elves" and "half-blood", are those sired by a human and elven parent. The elf-blooded appear physically human and are in fact considered purely human. Indeed, the concept of being elf-blooded is a purely legal distinction, rather than a genetic one._

\- Brother Genitivi, Chantry Scholar on the culture of Ferelden's city-dwelling elves.

* * *

**In which something very unexpected happens**

* * *

Veruin Kratorius, veteran of more naval engagements than most would have even cared to remember, and Tribune of the 6th Cohort, was at a momentary loss for words.

Dhevsa's observation had him utterly dumbfounded, a rare thing indeed, and he wasn't sure how to even react to it. When he tried to see what she had, he came up with nothing. No furry ears or faces, no cat-like features, nothing.

The confusion left him unable to properly follow the proceedings with the rest of his group, and caused him to only come to when they had finally come to a stop in what strongly resembled - and thus likely was - a throne room.

To an officer of his relatively low station - he knew it was by no means low, but everything was relative, always - the throne room was like another world entirely. It was a place he was never meant to go, never meant to see, and a place with events and proceedings he would only know of should an officer above his station see fit to relay them. It did not often happen.

"All rise, for His Majesty, King Wilhelm Augustin, First of his name, King of the Anderfels, Lord of Hossberg, Righteously appointed by our Lord, the Maker's grace and will!"

Dear Stendarr, what a title. Veruin was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he yet wore his helmet, but knew he couldn't take it off because of the bloody pelt. This was one of those times where he truly disliked the workings and machinations of courts, in that they would likely not _ask_ that he take of his helmet, but talk about him not doing it anyway for the next years.

Give him pirates any day of the week over this.

Still, he was glad that he had not taken a seat yet, as this left him free to instead observe their surroundings. Remaining on his feet meant he had, for a brief moment, been taller than the rest of the room's occupants, which had allowed him to properly survey his surroundings. Any second now, any second he let down his guard, an assassin, assailant, conservative or libertarian could jump forth and unleash a spell or a bolt. So many ways for an attacker to kill if he or she did not care for their own lives. He did not worry overtly for himself, but his charges were unarmored.

Gods, he _hated_ Escort missions. Not because he hated civilians, or even the delegates, but because he hated having to watch over them. Watching his own back was enough trouble in a place such as this, but now he had to be acting security for the rest of their small group? Give him soldiers, not this. Soldiers he knew how to handle, could give orders and expect them to be followed, for fear of a lashing otherwise.

Back when he'd been a mere Centurion, it'd been with the stick instead. Soldiers these days had no idea how easy they had it. It helped then, at least, that he could mostly ignore the seemingly mandatory introductions, presentations and gift-giving that seemed customary on both sides of the ocean.

He'd missed the first bits of exchange, as well as what had been said. Much as he could have a bit of privacy inside his helmet, it went both ways, and prevented some of the more..._soft_-_spoken_ conversations from reaching him. Gods, this wasn't what he had intended when he signed on for the Legion, to stand around in courts. That it was a court no one had known about until very recently only made matters a little less aggravating, but still dull and time-consuming nonetheless.

"Kerha Dhevsa, of the Imperial province of Hammerfell." Veruin couldn't see the speaker, now that everyone was standing, but it was probably one of those multicolored buffoons at the throne. People here had a sense of fashion he couldn't quite comprehend, and had no desire to either. It reminded him of the pictures he'd seen in colorful books of the Daedric Prince of Madness, back when he was still a tyke. Purple and yellow and green and…things that just went against his every instinct to ever touch with anything but a torch.

He watched on as the Redguard woman presented her gifts to the king of the Anderfels, Wilhelm Augustin. The king was a wiry-looking man, not at all as obese or lazily appearing as the Tribune had expected. He was still draped in riches, of course, with more gold and jewelry than Veruin suspected was healthy for the human back to carry. Unless the human was a Legionaire, of course. Then it'd be expected of the man to wear it. The weights, that was, not all this impractical glitter.

Speaking of glitter…Dhevsa's gift appeared to be a functional - or at least merely intact - Dwemer gyroscope, though apparently in solid gold, not brass or Dwemer metal. He'd only seen those a few times before in his life, and had always been amazed and confounded at the sheer technological intricacy they betrayed.

It was probably worth more than what he'd make in a whole year.

The king certainly seemed curious though, which he supposed was the point of it all; to ensure sufficient curiosity that the ruler of the Anderfels would grant them land for a temporary military encampment, most likely at Laysh since it lay so far from the capital, but in an ideal position for resupplying from Tamriel.

That the Redguard was presenting a piece of Dwemer technology, but had not yet mentioned its true origins, made Veruin wonder if perhaps her goal was two-fold; to present the king with a gift he would truly and genuinely find intriguing, and to give off the image that Tamriel was far more technologically advanced than they actually were.

Perhaps he had been underestimating her?

"Ambassador Murzob Yagish, of Orsinum." Even as the Orc stepped forth, gift in hand, Veruin could sense the irritation radiated from the man. Orcs were in general a rather proud people, and mispronouncing the name of their homeland was rarely a good idea. The irritation at least seemed to help the brutishly appearing delegate distract himself from the widening eyes of the crowd.

The King as well, seemed surprised, even as the Orc bowed before him. Probably the very first Orc to ever bow before an Anders king. It was history in the making, but then again, Veruin knew everything today likely was. Every word any one of them spoke would most likely be in the books for centuries to come. Thát in itself made him all the more pleased _he_ was not a delegate.

The Orc presented a chest, one of the larger ones their packhorses had hauled from Laysh. From it, he withdrew a set of armor so splendid even the Tribune for a moment felt genuinely dazzled. Dark, reflective plates of Ebony, a set of armor made entirely from the extraordinarily rare and priceless material. The dark, volcanic glass-steel was amongst the rarest of metals in the Empire, and to gift away an entire suit of armor like this…

"By the best smiths of my people, I, Murzob Yagish, son of Kazbob Yagish, offer to Your Grace this suit of Ebony Armor, made from the priceless veins of Ebony running through the fiery ashlands of Vvardenfell!" true to nature, Orcs were hardly the most discreet of diplomats, which was made all the more evident when Yagish beat his own chest while speaking, or, exclaiming loudly; "The only armor that would fit a King, no spear, nor axe nor sword, arrow or claw will penetrate it. No enemy shall ever harm its wearer. On behalf of Orsinium, and in the name of our great Emperor, I offer you this token of the Empire's extended hand. May your enemies perish in terrible woes before you in countless battles to come!"

Veruin was pretty damn glad he wasn't supposed to say anything right now. Much like the rest of the throne room's inhabitants, he was stricken with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Mostly the latter though. To think the Orc had brought something so costly it could have paid for several galleys, he was unsure of how to even think of that.

"Such a gift is indeed a tremendous sign of goodwill, Ambassador. I will ensure to wear it on my next campaign against the Darkspawn" The king nodded, his expression surprisingly open and curious; "I will admit to curiosity though, when it comes to your people. I have never quite seen your like before. Later, would it be at all possible for you to tell me more of your home, and your kin?"

"I would be honored, your Majesty." Yagish clasped a hand before his heart, expression set in grizzly satisfaction and pride. The man knew he had made an impression, and seemed content with leaving himself something of a mystery to the court. Had Centurion Mallin misinformed him, then? It seemed to Veruin that the Orc was a rather capable reader of crowds, if nothing else.

Yagish was the last of their delegates, at least. Right now, that left Veruin at something of a conundrum, mainly because he wasn't quite sure of how to proceed from here, yet he was the leader of the entire expedition, which meant he _had_ to proceed from here. Gods…

"Tribune Veruin Kratorius, of the Imperial Legion, sixth Cohort." He felt ice running the length of his spine at that. _He_ was being called forth?! By the gods, no, this was not what he wanted. At all. When his name was called, he both saw and felt every pair of eyes in the room turn towards him, and he thanked the gods for the small mercy of his helmet. Traveling for almost two weeks, and not expecting to be presented in person, had left the Tribune's facial hair somewhat unsuited for royalty.

His legs didn't seem to understand his reluctance, however, as they carried him forwards. The woolen rings holding his helmet to his head turned clammy and cold with sweat. He now stood in the center of the room, before the throne, and felt like his heart was about to give out on him right then and there. He was too old for this kind of thing, too old for him to keep his eyes and ears constantly open to threats while now suddenly having to speak to a King. _Speak to a King, Mara…I've never even once spoken to the Emperor, how can I speak to a foreign king?!_

"Tribune, that is your rank in your Empire's military?" King Wilhelm asked, regarding Veruin, leaned forward with his fingers intertwined; "I assume it makes you a high-ranking officer?"

"Yes, your Grace." How else could he reply? Did this mean he was going to have to explain every detail of the Legion to this king? How _long_ would that not take? "I command the Sixth Cohort, and lead the Imperial Expedition my Emperor Titus Mede the Second ordered."

"…You will not remove your helmet?" the man sounded surprised more than anything, luckily. Veruin groaned internally at that, because he wasn't _supposed_ to take something like this off. He pinched the nose-guard and lifted it, opening at least the small space before his eyes, nose and mouth.

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but removing my helmet is…a rather awkward procedure." He apologized; "Not to mention it takes time. This is the best I can do."

For a moment, the King seemed uncertain of what to say to that. Whispers ran along the crowds on both sides of the room, most of them about the _audacity_ to remain helmeted in the King's presence.

"I must admit, this day is one I had not ever seen coming." The king sighed; "Tribune Kratorius, I have only heard rumors as to the purpose of your expedition here. Could you tell me, in honesty, what caused you to cross the ocean, to seek contact with us? Did you even know of our civilization beforehand?"

"We had…rumors, mostly, your Majesty." Veruin omitted the entire Tsaesci-invasion, mainly because he had not yet seen a single one in Thedas, and for all he knew neither had these people. Besides, much as he wasn't a diplomat he knew it was a bad idea to start out with mentioning an invasion; "An Imperial mage accidentally misplaced herself and others to a land south of here, and managed to contact the Empire about her discovery. It would be an understatement to say that an expedition was quickly arranged, when the Emperor was told of the evil creeping up from the south, this "Blight", as you call it."

"You have come to investigate the Blight, then?" King Augustin muttered, rubbing his eyelids; "As guests of the King, I shall allow you supervised roam of the libraries, as well as offer whatever experts we have to your need."

"Thank you, your Majesty…" really, why was _he_ the one playing at diplomat? Why didn't the delegates say anything? The gods seemed to have a cruel sense of humor, that much was certain, only Veruin did not appreciate being what he suspected was the butt of their jokes; "That is, however, not the only reason we are here."

"Oh?"

"When my expedition has collected sufficient information on the Blight, the Empire will likely decide on whether or not a fully equipped Legion should be sent to, ideally, cooperate with any forces currently and at the time combating the Blight." That did…not come out exactly the way he'd hoped it would, and in the edge of his vision he could see several of the delegates grimace at his choice of words. What was worse, he was fairly certain what he was about to say would only worsen that; "The Empire has in the past dealt with a force of similar name, and we suspect, nature. If this Blight grows to be too serious a threat, the Emperor will not likely allow it the chance to spread to Tamriel."

"_gods, he didn't…_"

"_Sweet Mara, he did…"_

"…_who let the Tribune…"_

"_That'd be the king, Matrle."_

"I believe the delegates would benefit from being allowed to mingle with the court." The king declared, and at first Veruin wasn't sure what that meant. When then the rest of the room's denizens started leaving through the massive doors, he understood it was the king's way of granting the two of them some semblance of privacy.

At last, only the guards remained with them. That, at least, Veruin could appreciate, if not for the fact that he now had no way of keeping watch over his charges. He would have to put his trust in the guards around here, and that they were up to par.

"…not a great many men would so openly threaten with armed invasion, Tribune. Do not think I do not understand your words for what they are though; a warning…" King Augustin grumbled as he lounged back in his throne; "Still…I am not averse to aid, and neither, I suspect, would Ferelden, the nation currently threatened by the Blight, be."

"Thank you-"

"Neither am I naïve, however, Tribune." The king's words took on a harder edge; "My sources inform me that you brought with you a small army. Do you require so many soldiers for a simple task of investigation? How do I know you do not secretly plot to overthrow us?"

"It is…not my place to know the mind of the Emperor, your Majesty." Yes, see, this was a reason Veruin had wanted to leave _everything_ to the delegates. He wasn't even allowed to say anything _if_ he knew anything about any plans for an invasion or any overthrowing planned for the future; "But by the Maker I swear no foul play is the intent of my mission. In truth, though I had wanted to omit this for the sake of diplomacy, our Empire was in the past invaded from Thedas, by armies we only barely withstood at the time. The soldiers of the expedition were brought in case such hostilities should break out once more."

"…I see." The king's hand idly went before his mouth; "I am not aware of any incursions launched from Thedas across the seas, from the Anderfels or any other nation. If you speak the truth, then I understand the decision to bring along soldiers. You are camped in Laysh, are you not?"

"For the time being, your Majesty."

"Do you intend to remain there, or move your forces elsewhere?"

"Our initial intend was to establish an outpost on the outskirts of the town, from where we could receive supplies from the Empire." Veruin explained. He did not add how taking over the town had at one point been on the table, nor that the Wardens had mentioned to him how uncaring the king was for the outer hamlets of his kingdom; "We will not remain in spite, however. If you wish for us to leave we shall do so, and secure an outpost further down the coast, outside of your borders."

"…for an outpost such as you describe, how much land would you need?"

Was the king extending to them an offer to stay? "No more land than could be covered by the hide of a well-grown ox, I should think."

"That is an…interesting way of putting it." King Augustin mused, seemingly confused; "You intend to make the hide into string, then, I would assume?"

"Indeed, it is a customary way for an outpost to be established." Honestly he was far more surprised that this king was aware of the custom. Did they share that much culture or was it simply thát easy to discern? "Any plot of land by the ocean, and rather close enough to a settlement that we may resupply from it, would be greatly appreciated and no doubt viewed by the Emperor as a gesture of similar goodwill to the presents offered here today."

"It would open routes of trade between our nations, I assume."

"Most likely yes, your Majesty."

"Much of the lands surrounding Laysh is barren and infertile. It would be no loss granting you this in exchange for your soldiers protecting the nearby towns." The king hmmm'ed; "Provided of course you recognize that it still belongs to the crown, not the Empire."

Veruin nodded. That would be for the diplomats later to figure out the finer details of. Right now he was just moving with the momentum he apparently had.

"I understand from Laysh' _Herzog_ that Darkspawn often appear with little warning, all across the Anderfels?"

"…have you ever seen these creatures, Tribune?"

"I thank the gods that I have not, your Majesty." Veruin sighed, and froze. He knew his mistake the moment those final words went beyond his lips.

"I had…heard, from Laysh that your people do not worship the Maker." King Augustin muttered, a grim smile on his face; "He has an odd sense of humor then, to have seemingly sent you as the promised deliverance from the Darkspawn. Already rumors are spreading of your arrival, and what it could mean. As you might have noticed, the people of the Anderfels are devout. We hold the Maker and Andraste true and close to our hearts, for our fellow man sees fit to abandon us to our plight…"

"I would not know, your Majesty. To know the will of any god is beyond me." Although he certainly would not object to it if they were viewed as saviors, he did not like the implications of added responsibilities. His men were already tasked with protecting the delegates as well as establishing a healthy relationship to Laysh - he did not think they could also fulfil the role of saviors for an entire country; "What…if I may ask, what is it these rumors say about us, specifically?"

"That the Maker himself, or his bride, sent you to finally relieve us of the plight my people have suffered under since the very first waves of Darkspawn cropped from the mounds of Hell itself." Well…that was certainly not the worst reception his men had ever received. Usually the public didn't like it much when soldier started swarming their streets and taverns on leave; "But, as you said, to know the mind of God…To us mere mortals, it cannot be done; "But, back to the matter at hand."

"The Darkspawn, your Majesty?"

"The Darkspawn…" the king seemed to tire of the word itself, likely having heard it daily for as long as he had reigned; "They are unholy creatures, made when the mages of Tevinter forced their way into the Golden City, and were cast out, deformed and maddened by their own sin and corruption…" Somehow, the king's words made Veruin's skin tingle with adrenaline and apprehension. He had not known his men would face creatures considered outright 'unholy'. That…placed some more trepidation in his mind. Sending his boys against regular enemies, that was standard, but…

"Are they unkillable?"

"They bleed and die like any other mortal creature, if that is your conundrum." The king muttered offhandedly; "…the problem is that they hold no fear, feel no pain, need no supplies and do not have civilians or settlements to protect, not to mention that even their weakest are stronger than the common man."

The king made them sound like Orcs, in a way. Though Veruin remembered tales of the Draugrs of Skyrim, the restless Nord dead. Both sounded like these creatures, and both he knew, could be killed.

"Intelligent, then?"

"The day the Darkspawn gain intellect will be the day Thedas falls." When he apparently realized that to someone from outside of Thedas, that would not mean much, the king continued; "Simply put…most of them are dumb as swine. And yet, they hold a devilish cunning that still to this day takes veteran warriors, even Wardens, to their deaths."

"I meant if they employed tactics, your Majesty." Meanwhile, Veruin could feel his knees begin to ache. He wasn't all that young anymore, and this standing around for so long, without moving his limps? It wasn't good for him; "Even if they know neither fear nor pain, if they do not strategize, I am confident in my men's abilities to handle themselves."

After all, they'd given the Dominion a what-for during the Great War, and the elves had, if not outnumbered them, then definitely outclassed them. Most of his men, granted, had not even been born back then, but he still retained veterans, men and women who'd served with his predecessor, and stayed when he assumed command.

"Your confidence is…uplifting, Tribune." The king hummed, rubbing at his chin; "…very well, in return for what aid you and your countrymen might provide, I will grant you a plot of land to do with what you wish, not far from Laysh. Near the ocean, as well as the main road. Until your own supplies are restocked from across the sea, we will also grant you loans from our granaries, with the expectation of one day soon seeing them repaid with interests."

"T-thank you, your Majesty." He bowed, even as he was aware of the pelt nearly falling from his shoulders; "I will relay this information immediately."

"Do so, Tribune." As the king waved, the guards near the room's doors stepped forward to open them; "I look forward to speaking with you once more, when we have further events to discuss. In the meantime, I would suggest you acquaint yourselves with the diplomats and delegates in Hossberg; it would do you much good to know the lay of the land."

"I will, your Majesty." Veruin nodded, and added for emphasis; "And, again, thank you. The Emperor will surely be overjoyed with…"

"Your majesty, a dispatch has arrived from Orlais!" the Tribune paused as a young man, barely more than a boy, came running into the room, face gleaming with sweat. He looked like he'd been running ragged from the gates of Hossberg to here, if not more.

"…" King Augustin briefly seemed to contemplate disregarding the boy, then whether or not he should send Veruin out before hearing the message. In the end, he simply leaned forward, chin resting on intertwined fingers, and regarded the young man calmly; "Speak, then. What is this matter so apparently urgent that it bears interrupting a matter of state?"

"It's Empress Celene, Your majesty. She's been murdered!"

* * *

Leather-straps, fresh from the workbenches, creaked softly as they were tightened around the back of her shin. The steel plates they held against the fabric of her light trousers pressed in, making it evident wherever there was the smallest of folds in the clothes.

The tips of her boots had been reinforced with steel-caps, making them slightly heavier, but far more durable as a tradeoff. If need be she could break someone's -_ something's_ \- shin with a single kick. Talia did her best to not think about fighting humans.

Fighting Darkspawn was…it was getting easier, and not just in the sense that she could _literally_ stomp them these days. She remembered…she remembered, back at the start, back in Ostagar, when she had first been fighting them, _really_ been fighting them…she'd been terrified. Not in the moment, though, but afterwards. She'd fought something that, like the Draugr, really didn't know the concept of fear, pain or mercy. It had wanted to kill her, and nearly managed, and yet…here she was, and she had killed so many more of them that she had at this point simply lost count.

She was only nearing her twenty-second nameday, and already she had killed more…_living_ beings - they were, even as corrupted as they were, Darkspawn were still alive, and she had killed more of them than she had ever thought possible for a person to do. The boots on her feet were new, for all the blood, all the grime and shit and filth she had waded through with her old ones, combined with the poor care she had shown for them, had taken its toll at long last.

The leather had been soaked through and stiffened, and had been about to break when Owyn got his hands on them. He'd discarded them as a lost cause almost instantly and instead sent for the cobblers to craft her a new pair. The same had applied to the rest of their group, at least. So, she wasn't the only one who had neglected their equipment.

And they would need everything to be at its best now. Morning had come, and with it their departure for Denerim. The thought alone, of returning to that city, caused her skin to crawl with something that wasn't quite fear, and wasn't quite not. Teagan had hauled ass so fast she'd felt like Niko would have died if they kept it up, and now…now they were going back there.

Back to the place where everyone she knew wanted to kill them would be. Loghain and Howe, as well as probably whatever remained of the Fereldan Army after Ostagar, every single soldier probably spoon-fed how the Wardens had betrayed their king.

She lifted her arms, allowing the assistants - a pair of boys, barely even in their adolescence - to strap her in with the plated jacket. The dark fabric and leather, lined with plates of steel the width of her thumb, all rested quite snugly against her undershirt, and even that alone made her feel…stronger? She wasn't quite sure, but somehow, wearing even this much protection helped her confidence. Not so much in their chances, but in her own odds of survival.

She exhaled when the boys told her to, and felt the jacket's strings tighten at her back.

"Almost ready there, Tali?" Daveth approached, not even blinking at seeing her out of her robes, and basically stripped down. Neither did she, actually. At this point Daveth had become something like an extended family, a lot of them had, and she simply didn't feel like he'd actually bother _looking_ at her. The archer's Warden armor was concealed, covered with a simple set of dark green robes, similar to her own, and the ones the others would be wearing as well.

Not so much for the traveling in comfort, but for the disguises they were. While Mother could turn invisible - and wasn't _that_ nice? - the rest of them couldn't, and so for the sake of being thorough, everyone going to Denerim was going to dress up in the guise of sellswords. After all, it was common knowledge that Redcliffe was full of mercenary companies these days. What were a group of Green Men added to that mix?

"Just about…Where's the others?" she huffed as her breastplate was hefted over her shoulders. Owyn had added a plate to the back as well, making it heavier, but also making it feel much more like asset of genuine armor. She could still bend over, though her days of doing backwards summersaults seemed over at this point. It probably didn't really matter though, not with what was to come. The boys strapped the metal over her jacket, tightening the belts and clasps to the point where it simply _couldn't_ chafe. Talia huffed as she released the breath she'd been holding, frowning even as Daveth's own expression turned somewhat more somber. _After the Landsmeet, we'll be facing down the Horde. One last time. And that's assuming the Landsmeet goes our way. If it doesn't…_

"Aedan 'n the Teyrna's saying their goodbyes to the Bann. Sten's not coming, which I don't like but there it is. Qunari don't just hide in a crowd, even them hornless ones." The archer sighed, leaning against one of the supporting arches at the wall; "Our illustrious leader's making some final preparations…He's nicked a crossbow, if you'd believe that."

"What about the others?" it went unspoken - because it was an unspoken fact - that close as they might be, she considered their group split in two, Wardens and non-Wardens. It was just…easier to deal with that way. Wardens were family, non-Wardens were friends. Jowan was…technically speaking not a Warden, since they hadn't gotten him through a Joining yet - Divines be thanked there'd been a general lack of Darkspawn in the near vicinity since they'd returned to Redcliffe.

"Wynne's staying here." Thát got her attention. Talia's head whipped about to stare at the archer; "Don't look at me, her choice. 'Parrantly she's too old to play adventurer these days…She's stayin' in Redcliffe until the soldiers here get called to Denerim. Cíada's comin' with us though, which means her boy-toy's comin' too."

"Don't like Cullen?" she mused, nodding in understanding as to Wynne's reasoning. It wasn't something she thought about when the older mage was going with them all over Ferelden, but…Wynne _was_ old. Too old, probably, to even be involved in fights.

"I generally don't much care for Templars." He shrugged, leaving it at that. She would have asked more, if he hadn't continued, a changing expression of unusual hesitation on his face; "Look, 'bout Denerim…"

She didn't say anything, sensing something actually _important_ was coming up.

"There's somethin' I…need to do there." He grimaced, and she rolled her shoulders to signal the assistants to back off, so she could walk over to Daveth. Leaning against the wall next to him, she simply nodded, silently urging him to go on. She had a feeling he'd shut up - for once - if she actually spoke; "You know Cíada's cousin lives'n Denerim right?"

"Mmmm."

"Well, thing is…_fuck_ should probably have started out with this like _months_ ago, but…" the usually so smooth Daveth, the Daveth she had seen exploiting _Chantry sisters_, of all things, was gone. Returned was the Daveth who had been with her in Ostagar, who'd been with her in Kinloch, who'd been with her in the Deep Roads. It was a problem that she couldn't ever figure out which was the real one.

Was the smooth, suave ladies-man Daveth the real one, only occasionally letting the war get to him, showing moments of grimness?

Or was the Daveth before her now, the one marked and scarred by the war, living a life many would call a nightmare, and covering it all up behind a facade of carelessness, the real one?

"So, know how Al thought he had a sister until the Arl told him he didn't?"

Yeah. _That_ had been a fun afternoon, just about a month or so back. Best part had been where Alistair had then asked who the girl, Goldanna, in his dream had been, and the Arl had looked like the boy had grown an extra head. She nodded, not really knowing how else to respond to that.

"Well, thing is, I kinda do…" he sighed, holding up a hand to forestall her 'What'. Because damn right she was going to ask 'What?'. This was something…well, actually it was probably really personal and _not_ her business at all, but…damn it, this wasn't something he was supposed to just spring at her like, out of nowhere. And why hadn't he mentioned this _last_ time they'd been in Denerim? "But, it's a half-sister. I mean, we grew up together 'n all, but…well, I mean…"

"…you didn't fuck her, right?" she dared, seeing as he wasn't going to speak immediately. Daveth's eyes turned the strangest kind of _huge_, and she hurriedly added; "I mean, _before_ you knew she was your sister, I- fuck, I mean, you…J-just go on, okay?"

"I'll temper me sense of decency for thát one, you know?" he did allow a small grin, however; "Right, but…no, I didn't _fuck_ my sister. Someone _else_ did."

"…you're not going to tell me now, right before we leave, that you're going to Denerim to beat up your sister's boyfriend, right?"

"It'd literally _kill_ you _not_ to take a piss on me, wouldn't it?" he scowled at her, and she honestly couldn't tell whether it was genuine or not.

"Well, then stop beating around the bush. You wanna tell me something, tell me…or, don't, whichever suits you."

"My sister's not with a boyfriend, she was raped." His words were delivered with deceptive calm, and it took her more than the moment it should have to process his words. And when she did, she wondered why she hadn't considered that until now. Daveth_ was_ a self-proclaimed thief and pickpocket, so he'd probably lived his life on the streets, and with a sister…_fuck_.

"…_Fuck_." It bore voicing.

"_Yeah_…" he looked away, as if right now she was not exactly his best friend. In hindsight she didn't blame him, considering how the topic had gone tits-up; "Well, not a whole lot was done because the fucker responsible happened to be the son of the fucking Arl of Denerim. No one really even cared that a Noble raped an elf, or fucked up her wedding, or…"

Talia stared, and honestly couldn't get her mind to work. Daveth had stopped himself when he seemed to realize what he'd just said, and now stared at the ground instead. Her brain simply refused to grind its gears, and she couldn't look away from Daveth's ears, both of them perfectly round and human and _Whatthefuck?_

"….eh?"

"Never would 'ave guessed it by just lookin' at this here mug, would you?" he asked quietly, still not meeting her eyes, though now it seemed more like he was ashamed, rather than mad; "Remember, back when Alistair told us he was a Royal bastard?"

"…Yeah?" she answered with no small amount of uncertainty, because she had officially lost all ties to wherever the fuck this conversation was going. Was Daveth half elf? Did that mean he'd grown up in that place where only elves lived? Why was he telling her, and why now?

"Yeah well…" the grin on his face was as fake as the smile Howe had no-doubt plastered on in Highever. Daveth looked like he wanted to laugh at something, probably the situation as a whole. Why couldn't she ever have conversations that _didn't _lead to some sort of earth-shattering revelation? Like, couldn't she talk to…maybe Leliana about…fuck, _shoes_? "…you're kinda looking at the half-elf son of Arl Urien Kendells, and I'd love for you to help me murder my ass of a rapist half-brother when we get to Denerim. You in?"

Talia's mind had simply ceased all functions. Someone had pulled the big brass lever, and everything had broken down inside. This was too much, _too fucking much_. This was too much and her psyche couldn't take it at all.

"Sure." She grinned, one corner of her lips twitching as the thing known as her brain simply gave up and moved out; "Sounds like fun."

* * *

**Alright, so I'm going to say this as it is: There's most likely not going to be another update for the rest of May. Simply put, my finals are approaching, and I cannot afford to even _consider_ writing a chapter until I'm done with them.**

**So yeah, it's not for lack of interest. Honestly though, I'd hoped to be done with this story - just the book, that is - before the finals came up. Sadly, things were not meant to be that way.**

**So, I'm going to leave you with heartfelt gratitude, and a thank you for the mere fact that I've come this far. While not my longest story ever, relatively speaking Talia is my most successful piece of work I have ever done, and quite frankly I am very well aware of the fact that I would not have been where I am today had it not been for the fact that you lot actually seem to - for some reason - like what I do.**

**With that, I will bid the lot of you a good night, and a hopefully successful exams-period - to those who like me are enslaved in these chains of servitude.**

**So yeah, See ya around**


	60. Three Kinds of Trouble

_Every settlement in the Anderfels, from the largest city to the smallest hamlet, is protected and enrounded with fortifications of such a kind that they cannot be scaled without difficulty. Where Hossberg's walls tower above the landscapes, even the most miserable of towns have stockades and walls capable enough to hold out a Darkspawn raid._

_As such even Laysh, a town that has received scant attention from its nation's monarch, can boast a palisade as thick as eight feet of timber and stone, and fifteen feet tall. Wood is scarce in the heartlands of the Anderfels, and most larger settlements construct their fortifications of stone instead. Each wall is broad enough that two men in armor can pass each other at the shoulder, and a railing is often in place. _

_Flat, simple towers mark regular intervals in these walls, and provide both overview and advantage to the defenders. In Laysh no towers are large enough to support counter-siege equipment as the Anders know it. Equipment of this sort in most of Thedas seems larger and more cumbersome than Imperial counterparts, though the larger versions seem able to outrange our Ballistae._

\- Initial report on the structure and strength of Anderfels fortifications, Centurion Idoria Mallin.

* * *

**Three Kinds of Trouble**

* * *

"Tribune, what is going on?" Caitte Matrle could, at the best of times, be considered overtly curious and impatient, qualities an ambassador to her people really should not possess. Veruin hadn't had a say in who came, so he had long since decided not to bother with her more than strictly necessary. She was a Breton, and that came with all the political intrigue it could. Even now, with the apparent state of upheaval amongst the natives, her azure garb still caught stares.

Still, she had good cause for her current state of confusion. The delegates had all awaited him outside of the throne room, and now looked to him for answers in a way he'd only seen fresh recruits stare when the concepts of a Scorpions inner workings were explained to them.

He took a moment, pausing as he thought over different ways of approaching this.

"…Empress Celene of Orlais has apparently been murdered." That was just about the long and short of it, really; "As far as I am aware, some sort of civil war is going on down south in Orlais, and her opponent managed to catch her in an ambush. Beyond that nothing is known, it would seem."

"How does this impact our diplomatic relations with the Anders?" Dhevsa cupped her lips with a delicate finger; "Will it impact or otherwise disturb our agreements with the king here?"

"Not that I'm aware of, no." Veruin shook his head, frowning in annoyance when the shake caused his visor to slap down over his vision once more; "Matrle, will you relay back to Centurion Mallin that we have been granted a plot of land just north of Laysh, by the sea. Have her set the engineers to work on a permanent fortification, and investigate whether the infertile land is caused by corruption. If so, have the priests and battlemages have a go at it, and have a fortified camp prepared for our return in one week. Also, ask of her whether the foci have been prepared, we need to be able to speak with the White-Gold Tower as soon as possible."

"Of course, Tribune."

"In the meantime. Dhevsa, you mentioned a rather…unusual individual catching your sight?"

* * *

Centurion Idoria Mallin, current officer-in-charge of the 6th Cohort, while unaware of the problems currently faced by her superior officer in the Capital, was facing problems of her own. Clad in her Lorica Segmentata, she stood over one of the main long tables of the town center, in the company of Laysh's mayor, its Wardens and the captain of the town guard.

"How far away are they?"

"dozen miles, fifteen, at most…" Warden Hermann grumbled, gesturing at a large parchment map. It showed Laysh as a mere square, with the ocean on the left and the Wandering Hills as a slightly darker area to the north-east. The latter was the source of their current problems; "Darkspawn often emerge from that area, digging their ways up through what most suspect are old Dwarven roads, or tunnels they've dug themselves. Usually raid-groups no larger than a few dozen of the sweinfuckers, but our scouts have picked up at least a few hundred this time, and we believe they're heading our way."

"What's the usual way of handling this?" Mallin demanded more than asked. She knew she was a guest here, and lucky to even be treated as such, but there was a stark difference between professional soldiers and individual warriors. She was the former, the Wardens the latter. It did not lessen her respect for them, but she was pragmatic if nothing else; "Assuming the Cohort wasn't here."

"A small force we'd engage and drive off, it's not all that rare…"Hermann gestured at the areas around Laysh; "We're used to small groups breaking through the surface all across the nearby countryside, which is why Laysh mostly depends on fishery to make do."

"Define a 'small force'"

"Dozen, maybe two dozen Darkspawn. Genlocks mostly, nasty little fucks…" the captain of the guard, Ingolf Surström, sighed. Younger than Mallin by a good few years, he struck her as someone better suited for the training camps than actual military service. His youthful appearance and the way his voice seemed to dip and rise only added to that. The only detractor from his apparent youth was the way his eyes were set behind wrinkles, too many for his age; "Problem is when they actually outnumber our Wardens. Even Genlocks can easily kill a grown man, Hurlocks…much worse."

"Wardens are different from normal humans, I take it?" Mallin glanced at Hermann as she spoke. True, he seemed…taller, than the others, but only a little, and nothing else really stood out; "Or just better trained?"

"…something like that." The Warden answered vaguely; "As it stands, we have a serious problem. Laysh has only ten Wardens, and the town guard won't stand a chance if a mass of Darkspawn breach the walls. As it stands, either we receive reinforcements from the outside, or Laysh's survival hinges on your decision, Centurion."

Divines help her, but Mallin wasn't overtly keen on risking the lives of her men without the consent of the Tribune. And if he'd been here to give that consent, he'd also have been here to assume command. She'd served in the navy for most of her career, and what land-combat she'd seen usually amounted to chasing pirates to ground. Darkspawn was an unknown to her - if she got her men killed, possibly even the Cohort wiped out, death in combat would be the best she could hope for.

"How long until they get here?"

"At normal speed, I'd say we've got a day…optimally" Hermann muttered, digging fingers into his thick moustache; "We've sent ravens for-"

A flash of ethereal blue illuminated the room, blowing out candles and causing papers to fly about. The snap of magical displacement causing the rooms other occupants to leap with shock. Mallin managed to only wince, knowing what was occurring before she even saw who had appeared.

"MAKER'S BREATH, _WHAT_ IS THAT?!"

She was surprised to see the Bretoni delegate, Matrle, however. She'd expected the Tribune himself would be the one contacting them. Had plans changed, or something_ more_ gone wrong?

"Delegate Matrle." Idoria greeted the woman courteously.

"Centurion Mallin." The Breton acknowledged her tersely. Her spectral appearance visibly unnerved the rest of the people in the room, though they no longer seemed to fear it. Mallin found a sense of crude amusement in that she as the only woman stood fast; "Tribune Kratorius wants me to tell you that the Cohort has been granted land just north of Laysh. He wants to investigate whether the soil can be-"

"That's fine, but we have a situation here." Mallin broke her off when it became clear nothing was life-or-death in the Tribune's message; "Darkspawn are encroaching on Laysh, and the locals won't be able to hold them alone. I need confirmation from the Tribune on whether or not I can involve the Cohort in the fight."

"…Stendarr, there's always something…" the ghostly woman groaned.

"Centurion, wha- who is that?" the Herzog stammered, hesitantly approaching the transparent woman; "Wait, I…she is one of the delegates but…"

"It's a fixed link, Herzog Nochmann, she cannot actually see nor hear you." Idoria apologized before turning her attention back to the delegate; "Matrle, I need the Tribune's sanction on this; I can't deliberately involve our forces without his approval."

The spectral apparition froze, as if made of ice. Not in the sense that the Breton was hesitating, but because when the instigator of a fixed link shifted their attention, the mind ceased transmitting. It was a mage thing, and Idoria really did not mind it staying beyond her knowledge, she had more important things to handle.

"She…stopped?" Hermann muttered, tossing properness aside to wave a hand through the still visage. When then the ghostly woman suddenly snapped back into motion, the Warden looked ready to wet himself. The Centurion had to admit, even in grim hours there was small bits of fun to be found; "Andraste's fucking knickers…"

"Permission to engage with the Cohort granted, Centurion." Matrle replied, then sighed; "...the Tribune says to put on a show for the locals, show them what the boys can do...Wait, you _are_ alone, yes?"

* * *

"So…" Cíada drawled, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, as well as evident irritation. Atop her horse, she was clad in the same dark-green garbs as the rest of them, all as one dressed up as members of an Anders mercenary group known as the Green Men. Talia didn't know a whole lot about them - neither did anyone else in the group, really - but for reasons she could not yet quite gleam, though she suspected it was to appear completely legitimate, their commanding officer - if sellswords had one such - had chosen to accompany them.

Two-sock whined pitifully, not understanding why _he_ couldn't be carried everywhere on a horse.

Lorthrich Irondahl was a man set like most would imagine an Imperial Centurion. Heavy, muscular and clad in thick plate, his face was the only part of him that showed any skin, revealed behind an opened visor. One eye was gone, covered with an eyepatch similar in make to the one Ser Gilmore wore, and she had joked that they could pass off as one another, seeing as Lorthrich as well was a redhead. The sellsword had decidedly _less_ hair than their beloved knight - and with the way Brelyna was looking at him like a love-struck puppy when she thought he wasn't looking, clearly the _beloved_ part wasn't wrong - and seemed to be somewhere in his late forty years of age.

Aside from Ser Irondahl and a dozen of his men - disguises aside, the Green Men were a legitimate guard-detail for the Arl, as well as the Teyrna. Aedan's mother, however, was not traveling in noble dress-up, but simply that of a carriage-driver. The Arl was the only official member of nobility in their group, and as such the only one to ride the overtly fancy wagon.

And where the Arl went, so did Ser Perth and his men. There was a certain sense of nostalgia in seeing the plate-clad knights riding at the front and rear of their entourage, helmets opened to enjoy the frisky morning air of early Fereldan winter. Puffs of steamy breath pulsing, they looked perfectly at ease with the task.

She herself could feel the armor pressing underneath her garbs, and idly wondered if there would even be a difference for Cíada and Jowan. Their robes had been infused with enough enchantments that she'd honestly been worried they couldn't do a thing without them. Luckily, it did not appear to be more than an inconvenience, for the time being. Morrigan had shunned the robes altogether, taking them alright, but transforming into a black crow the moment the garbs had settled on her shoulders. That girl had the weirdest aversion to proper dressing Talia had ever found in a person.

And speaking of aversions, and mages…Cíada seemed unhappy with the newest addition to their group, and _not_ the mercenary captain.

"So?" Alistair drawled in turn, turning a lazy expression the elf's way. His own helmet was covered underneath enough robes to make him look like some sort of overgrown…_thing_. Still, it was a good thing they'd opted for the non-winged version of the Warden helmets when they'd robbed the compound in Denerim. _That_, would have been harder to hide.

"Is anyone going to inform me of why exactly we're bringing one of _them_ with us?"

"You're not speaking of me, are you, Ser mage?" Irondahl chuckled ahead of them, turning slightly in his saddle to watch the annoyed elf. As he did, the warhammer at his waist slipped from his robes and shone in the early morning sun's cold light, wrought steel and hardened oaken stock made for one hell of a murderous instrument. Aside from it, his only weapons seemed to be a small buckler shield dangling on the side of his horse, as well as a crossbow of a very odd design, slung over his back.

"Is she talking of me then?" their other new addition to the group piped up, most of her face concealed underneath a hood of thick fabric; "I mean, I'm the only one here who's not been here before, with you, I mean. You're talking of me then…or, wait, did I miss something again?"

When Talia had heard a Dalish was coming with them to Denerim, for a purpose she was not informed of - because for some reason it was an agreement between Mother and the Dalish Keeper - she had imagined it would be a bigoted asshole, much like Daveth and Cíada had both independently described them.

She had not, as such, expected the lovechild of a puppy, a kitten, a squirrel and something else equally adorable, all mashed up and made into an elf. Talia hadn't felt this kind of desire to violently snuggle something since the day she'd first met Brelyna. Merril just…gave off that kind of aura, and frankly speaking she wasn't entirely sure what to make of Cíada's reaction to the equally diminutive elf. Dalish, that she was, but arrogant?

Talia had rarely met a more humble creature.

Actually, in hindsight it wasn't all that surprising she'd bonded with Jowan the way she had. Merril, that was. Talia had seen the way those two would whisper together, smile together and even just seem to enjoy being around each other. It didn't _look_ like anything romantic was going on - and far be it from her to mind something like that - but instead just the kind of comfort one would usually draw from an old friend, not someone supposedly a complete stranger.

It was really kind of subtle, at first, the way they acted around each other. Talia hadn't met the girl before she'd suddenly joined them at the literally eleventh hour, so for all she knew the two of them had spent time with each other since the day they'd come back from Orzammar.

Still, that wasn't even a week to get to know one another. Maybe it was something worth looking into, or maybe she was just being childishly curious at the strange, adorable new friend Jowan had made. Maybe it was because she still sort of considered Jowan to be _her_ responsibility, even now. She didn't know, wasn't sure if it was even her place to snoop into at all.

What she _did_ know, however, was that she needed to talk with Aedan. Not, about Merril, that was, but about the whole…her not daring to tell him, thing. Whatever else she was supposed to call it. He was riding up ahead, talking with her _mother_, of all people, about thing she couldn't hear over the background-noise of everyone else also talking.

They hadn't spoken since the bedroom when she revealed all that stuff about Hakkon. And that left her feeling like something she really loved had died, or someone she loved had died. Like she was missing something pretty fucking crucial somewhere in her body, yet couldn't actually feel anything beyond the hole in her stomach and the way she'd get knotted up inside whenever she caught him looking at her, before one of them quickly averted their eyes. When _he_ didn't, and instead smiled sadly at her, it somehow felt all that much worse, and that was when _she_ turned away.

_Fuck_, she'd really stepped in it. She'd done something _bad_ to their relationship, and now she didn't know where that left them at. She hadn't tried this before, hadn't really ever seen it mentioned in her books how to fix something like this. The books never had the relationships screwing up because of someone keeping secrets. She'd been perhaps a bit too selective with her reading, she knew that, and had only picked the stories that ended, well, _happily_.

This…she didn't know what to do with this.

"Cíada just doesn't like the Dalish." Jowan whispered, probably thinking no one but Merril heard him. Thing was though, when he was the only one to speak at that very moment, hearing him wasn't all that hard; "Just…don't take it personally."

"Oh. I'm…sorry, I think?" the girl hesitated; "Did my clan do something to you? I knew one of the hunters used to put bugs in my hair and call me weird. Did someone put bugs in your hair? I swear we don't all do it."

"…what?" Cíada stared, looking as if she wasn't entirely sure she'd heard that right; "N-no, no one put _bugs_ in my hair. I _make_ bugs, not- That's _not_ the point!"

"Oh, I missed the point then, didn't I?" Merril slumped in her saddle. She already seemed very insecure in it, and now reminded Talia of nothing short of a dejected child. Thedasian elves in general did, at least the ones she'd met personally. It was preferable to the Aldmeri or the Bosmer with their…things. Both were races she'd prefer not to interact with if she could; "Did some of our kin do something to you?"

"_Your_ kin, not ours."

"_Oh_…But, you're an elf, aren't you?"

"_Yes_, I do happen to have pointy ears."

"Me too." Merril responded with a bit too much eagerness. Had it been anyone else, Talia would have assumed sarcasm, but…Merril didn't seem physically capable of sarcasm, nor of understanding it; "That means we're kin, doesn't it? We're both elves."

"Difference being you're a Dalish, I'm a flat-ear." The mage grumbled.

"Cíada, stop being a brat…" Cullen sighed, earning himself a scathing glare. Apparently he had been supposed to support _her_, not the Dalish elf; "Look, let's all just… _try_ getting along. At least until we reach Denerim."

"Your ears don't _look_ flat. I think…" Merril muttered, turning to the nearest person, who so happened to be Talia. Dammit; "Are her ears flat?"

"Well, her _ears_ aren't flat…" the Breton grinned, eyes shifting downwards.

"You implying something?" Cíada growled, shifting her glare from Cullen to her. Talia held up a hand in surrender, keeping the other firm on Niko's reins. It didn't really matter, when he mouth was set in a shit-eating grin, and her eyes on the elf's _very_ modest chest.

"You know what they say, right?" Daveth pitched in, his grin matching Talia's; "Flat is justice, take it as a complement."

"I'll fuckin' vomit acid all over you, bow-boy."

"Wouldn't surprise me, with the way you hold your liquor."

As Daveth and Cíada descended - or ascended - into what was really just a pointless argument, Talia couldn't help but realize just how much she loved her group. Not just the Wardens, but the others too. Leliana and Morrigan weren't Wardens, and they'd still stuck by. Brelyna and J'zargo didn't even have a personal stake in Ferelden's survival, yet they'd stuck by her. Cíada and Cullen weren't Wardens either, and still they didn't leave when Darkspawn entered the equation.

Honestly, as much as she sometimes wanted nothing less than to kick their teeth down their throats, she loved them.

As the sun started setting, dipping into the horizon like it really couldn't be bothered either way, the entourage steered off the road, setting up camp within sight of it. Eamon's carriage rolled up so that it faced the road, ready to leave again at first notice, and the Arl stepped out, shaking yawning much like the elderly man he was.

Pine and oak filled most of the what they could see of the skies, with only the former still retaining its green splendor. Leaves carpeted the forest-floor, resulting in an unbroken background-noise of crunches whenever an armored boot would wade through them.

As their group consisted of more than thirty people now, a single campfire wasn't exactly going to cut it. Hence several had been built in a loose spread, with what logs and boulders the men had been able to find placed between them. It really looked just like an oversized version of the camping

The Arl's entourage - thankfully - included cooks and chefs, which meant that for once, they weren't going to be subjugated to Alistair's dreadful attempts at cooking. Bodahn had really been the only actually _skilled_ chef they'd had, and to see him again here, even though Sandal seemed saddened by something, was really nothing short of a blessing from above.

His potato-and-leek soup was absolutely _divine_, and seated at one of the campfires as they wolfed down portions of it, she found herself back in the first days of their task, only slowly starting to realize the importance of what they were doing, still reeling from Ostagar but optimistic nonetheless - before they'd heard of Loghain blaming _them_ for the defeat.

Actually, maybe Bodahn's food was really the only good thing about those days. Everyone Alistair knew was dead, Dela was dead, Lothering was probably going to still be overrun with refugees when the Darkspawn rolled in, and there was a general sense of impending doom.

It was _good_, nonetheless, and thoroughly warmed her bones and muscles from sitting on a horse for eight hours straight. Washed down with watered ale, it was altogether not the worst meal she'd ever had. Alistair's food _definitely_ took several spots on _that_ list.

Still, it didn't completely lull her into a sense of complacency, nor did it really drive off the sense of something _missing_ in her gut. Aedan sat _right next to her_, and yet, neither had said a word to the other yet. She really, _really_ wished he would say something, because she damn well couldn't get a word past her lips.

There was this air between them, like wall she could perfectly well _see_ through, but not reach past. There was glass between them, cold glass that didn't want to let her do or say _anything_ and she didn't know how to deal with it. Everything was so damn fucked up and she couldn't unfuck it.

In the end, dinner ended with not a word passed between them, and she felt like she'd start crying if anyone actually asked her to say anything. This wasn't supposed to happen, _they_ weren't supposed to be like this, mute and fucked up and awkward. Aedan slowly, hesitantly, wandered off without a word, and she was left sitting on the log, feeling like she really just wanted to die. She drew up her knees and hid herself behind them, hugging them in with the crooks of her arms.

How had it come to this?

She didn't even know for sure. She'd kept a secret, and it'd ended up blowing up in her face, alienating them from each other because of the trust she'd shown wasn't actually there. And now she sat with the smoking ruin of what they had, trying to figure out if she could mend it, because goddammit she loved him and she _hated_ not knowing where they stood or if _her_ fuckup had pushed him away.

"You know…" someone sat down next to her, a voice she recognized as belonging to Daveth; "The two of you, that's just damn fuckin' painful to look at."

"…I don't recall asking your opinion." She growled, eyes narrowed and looking at him _without_ moving her head. She was _not_ being in the mood for his fucking-around-mentality. Daveth simply shrugged, biting down on an apple that looked like it'd seen better days.

"Might not 'ave, but the way you two're carrying on is pretty fucking distracting, and distractions' not what we're in need of right now. In fact…" he paused to take a new bite, then continued before he'd even finished chewing; "…in _fact,_ I'd say we need to _not _be distracted when we get to Denerim. So, way I see it is I'm gonna give you two choices 'ere."

"…_fuck_ are you on about?"

"Well, we can either _A; _discuss this like adults, or whatever counts for it these days, and come to a civilized 'slution." Something was apparently displeasing him with the apple, and he spat a chunk of the fruit into the flames; "…or _B_, I drag you to wherever Aedan's gone off to, tie you to a tree and let the two of you figure shit out where _you_ can't escape from. Also I'd be tyin' pretty-boy to a tree as well, just to be safe."

"I'll fucking kick you in the dick if you try it." Talia snarled at him, still not having even moved her face from behind her knees. She hated this, hated the sense of discord and discomfort, hated arguing with people she considered extended family; "…why do you even care, we're not even fighting."

Daveth didn't immediately reply. Instead, he leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees and his chin on the back of his folded hands, staring into the fire as if searching for an answer in the flames. Well, she'd tried _that_ already, and it didn't really fucking work. Much as she loved fire, it turned out that flames as a rule weren't awfully talkative.

_Figures_.

"…I grew up in Denerim's alienage." He finally said, and it sounded so final she'd been about to mention that yes, she _knew_ that, when he continued, his voice unnaturally somber and low; "Being a half-blood, I looked like a human, like the people who'd come into our community and assault us, injure us, insult us, disrupt us and generally do what they could to make us miserable…I suppose I came across as something of an unwanted reminder, like a symptom of the life we led…"

He paused again, sighed and seemed to try and force a smile onto his face. It only ended up as a mockery of one, and he slumped instead, once more looking into the flames. Actually, he hadn't even looked_ at_ her yet.

"Being like that…perhaps you'd be surprised to hear I didn't really have a whole load of friends, growing up…Still, Cyrion treated me like I was his by blood, even went so far as to arrange this whole wedding-thing to include me too…" a sad chuckle ended his words. Talia glanced at the archer, and found tears on his cheeks reflecting the lights from the flames.

Was he saying what she thought he was…

"Wait, you…you're_ married_?"

"…supposed to be, by now…" he grinned, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand; "My sister, Nasura was to wed this dream o' a guy, Nelaros, you know? Me…I don't really…know how the old man pulled it off, what they told the matchmakers, but…Nesiara, she…Maker help me, she w- _Is _the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I…I don't know what she thought, at first, when she realized she'd been handed off to…well, me…"

A shaky breath seemed to catch even him off guard, forcing him to stop as he gripped his knees for support. Talia found she couldn't breathe.

"You know what…the first thing she actually said to me when…when I had a chance to talk to her? When we had a moment away from the whole…festives thing…Said she didn't mind I was a half-blood." He breathed, clutching his legs harder, while Talia sat frozen, both enraptured and dreading the end of his tale; "Might imagine, until that point I'd been shit-scared it'd be someone who'd hate me on the spot…Felt like someone'd just…pulled away the curtains or…I actually started looking forward to the whole thing, all o' a sudden. Then, then Vaughan came, and shit just…Ho, I…haven't actually talked about…about this before with…When Vaughan arrived, he already knew who I was. 'Course he did, in hindsight…Levelled charged, 'accused me of theft and had me locked up."

"…locked up?"

"Aye…" a slow nod was for now all he seemed capable of; "I knew how he…what he liked to do with women, and he knew who I was. Took some joy innit, I bet, having me locked up while he…Right…" he drew in a long breath, his voice nearing the breaking point; "I only came out a few days later, and returned to the Alienage just to…Vaughan had raped them, both my sister, my cousin and Nesiara. He'd raped them, and I didn't know what to do."

"…tried killing him?"

"…was _one_ guy, Tali, I couldn't do shit but die like a fuckin' hero if I'd tried…" regret, anger and tears mixed up in his voice; "He'd _raped_ my family and the girl I was to wed, and I couldn't do _shit.._. And for some reason, for some _fucked up_ reason, half the Alienage, half the people _I grew up with_ decided I was to blame, that I'd somehow one time too fuckin' many reminded them of what humans did…"

"They…threw you out, because of…"

"I left." He stated flatly, all emotion momentarily gone from his voice; "I'd have woken up one mornin' with a slit throat if I hadn't. I had to start stealin' to get by and, you know, that's really all there's to it now…Duncan recruited me a month later. I don't even know what happened to her, to Nesiara…"

"_Daveth_…"

"My…my point is, that I lost the girl I'd have spent the rest o' my life with, because I didn't…I suppose I _couldn't_ do any more than I…than I did." He breathed and curled his hands into fists; "Call me fucked up, but…if I see something like that happen again, or lose people I care about 'cause of things that could 'ave been avoided…I can't take that shit, can't really handle it, you know?"

Daveth feared losing people he cared about. She knew that. She remembered his nightmare in the Tower all too well, remembered the screams, remembered the rapes…had this been what caused that, what broke him like this?

"But eh, listen to me goin' all on about things…" she did not believe the smile he plastered on, not for even a second; "We survive this whole thing, who knows, maybe I'll see 'er again…Would love to, sure, but dunno where she'd be these days."

"No idea?"

"Well…She came from Highever's Alienage, might be she's just…gone home?" he shook his head; "Doesn't matter now, anyway, and won't if we don't beat this thing. You 'n Aedan, on the other hand…Something's fucked up, what's it?"

"…I fucked up, Daveth." She breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper; "I fucked up and I don't know how to unfuck it up…"

"This 'cause of that dragon-thing in your noggin?" he asked, tilting his head a bit; "Hakkon, right?"

"I should have told him." Talia grumbled, rocking back and forth on her log. Her ass was getting cold but she didn't even care; "I should have _told_ him but I didn't and now I don't even know how to talk to him…"

"You tried yet?" his words, delivered so _casually_, felt like something approaching an insult. And if she didn't know him she'd have taken it as such.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…I mean, from where I'm standin', looked an awful lot like the two of you both wanted to say somethin', somethin' fierce." He sighed, pulling a short wooden item from inside his garbs. It took her a few moments to realize it was a pipe. Huh; "Mean, far be it from me to get mixed up in your…thing, but looked to me like two of you need to fuck 'n make up, as they say."

"Daveth, I _betrayed_ him, betrayed his trust…_How_ am I just…how's this supposed to be fixed?"

"Depends…why'd you not tell 'em?" he shrugged and withdrew something from a pouch at his belt and stuffed it into the pipe's chamber. He fiddled with it for some time, apparently content with letting her figure out the response on her own.

The problem was…she _knew_ why she hadn't told them. That was the exact reason she felt like such a piece of shit over it, because her reasoning was built upon her _not trusting them_. Upon her not trusting Aedan. Daveth picked a short stick from the ground, held it into the flames and then used the smoldering tip to ignite his pipe.

It made him look old.

"Because I was afraid…"

"_Of_?" he prodded, pipe held a few inches from his lips. Smoke trailed from them as he spoke.

"…" Talia looked down, unable to press those damning words over her lips. It felt like a physical barrier was stopping her, a block in her brain refusing to let her speak. It wasn't even a block like the one Hakkon had created at first. It was just…her _inability_. It always seemed to come down to that, her inability to do the things she knew needed doing. She knew it was her own, personal weakness, and hated it all the more for it.

"You know, things'd be a lot easier if you'd learn to trust just a bit more, eh?" Daveth mused, sucking on his pipe before calmly exhaling through his nose. Streams of smoke poured out, reminding her of when she was in her…_other_ form. The image wasn't as amusing as the comparison itself, and even then hardly worth more than a huff; "Like, you could say we're tradin' secrets, right? I just told you 'bout my dark 'n horrible past - and mind you, you're the only one who knows - so maybe I could be the only one to know why you'd rather have kept things from pretty-boy? You know, like one of them confidantes?"

"_Heh_…Careful Daveth, you're losing your suave and careless rep here." She scoffed, kicking a small stone into the edge of the fires.

"Eh, I'd like to think I'm more'n smooth 'nuff to make up for occasional bits of wisdom." The archer grinned, running a hand through his unkempt, neck-length hair. None of them had wanted to do too much shaving or shearing, now that winter was setting in. Hell, snow was probably going to be coming down soon at this point, and she'd rather not be camped outside when it did; "So, how 'bout it?"

"…I…I was afraid he'd look at me…_differently_, if I told him." It felt like pulling a coarse rope from the bottom of her chest, each word dragging against her throat; "Thedas has this 'possession' thing and I didn't want him to start thinking I wasn't…me, anymore."

"Right." He nodded, brows relaxed and unperturbed. Talia felt irritation rising again, only for the rouge to speak again; "So…You didn't tell him on your own terms, because you were afraid he'd find out anyway and somehow that meant you just didn't tell him? I mean, I'll be honest, Tali, you're about the weirdest girl I've ever known, and since I don't think Aedan took you for your ti-_titles_, I don't think he'd have shunned you, if you'd just pussed up 'n told him."

"…I _know_." She growled, angry not at him, but herself. Mainly because he was right, and she couldn't refuse anything he'd said; "But I can't- I can't talk…with him, not now. Not when he just goes…quiet, around me and just keeps giving me these sad looks and it's _fucking driving me up the wall_." She grabbed her knees hard, nails digging into the fabric of her garbs. She hardly even felt the pressure on her skin, so thick were the green fabrics; "I can't…I don't know how to deal with this, Daveth. I don't…know how to deal with a relationship. I never tried this before, no one ever told me what to do…Books don't really hold up to the real thing…"

"What, you mean reading words on paper isn't the same as getting' a good ol' round of horizontal waltz?" Daveth grinned, his words more sardonic than anything; "And here I was, thinking I'd lost out on, like, a hundred times the sex I could've had…oh wait, I just forgot I can't read." He punctuated his words with a slap of his palm to his forehead; "My, what a relief."

"I can set you on fire"

"Wha- what I meant is, that some relationships work, some don't…I think. Fuck if I know, haven't really ever considered…you know, trying again."

"What with those Chantry sisters then?"

"Couldn't…" he sighed; "Couldn't get myself to…you know. Point standing is, that love's _nothin'_ like the books…I think, maybe…It's got its kinks, its quirks, up's and downs 'n all that. Couples fight, even _I _know that's normal, and I wasn't even officially married before they locked me up."

Talia dearly wished Aedan would just _shout_ at her. Argue, complain, just _talk _to her. This silence, it was torture.

"…how come you didn't mention Nesiara in Redcliffe?" she asked instead, wanting desperately to distract her mind and heart with something, _anything_ but what she deep down knew was a problem of her own making. She was a coward, and well aware of it.

"Didn't seem relevant at the time." He shrugged; "It was…more private, and I know you've got a sister so I figured mentioning what Vaughan did to mine would do it…" he sighed, yawned and stood. Talia remained where she was; "Look, you've agreed to help me, 'least I can do is return that favor. I'll have a talk with Blondie, get a watch with Aedan tonight, and see how he feels on the whole thing - _without_, mentioning this, of course. You dig?"

"You don't…I…" fuck, this wasn't something Daveth was supposed to get mixed up in. Normal people could figure this kind of things out on their own, couldn't they?

Then again, she wasn't normal. Never really had been.

"…thanks."

* * *

**So you guys know how I said there probably wouldn't be another chapter in May?**  
**Well, fuck that promise, I've never been much good at procrastinating, so whenever I've taken breaks from work, or just during breaks at school, this is what I have been doing.**

**You've got only yourselves to blame, by the way. Serves the lot of you right for giving me so much encouragement.**


	61. Test of Mettle

**Test of Mettle**

* * *

The streets of Laysh were filled with an unusual sound - silence. The streets that would otherwise be vibrant, teeming with the life of its denizens, now held only the soldiers of both the Anderfels and the sixth Cohort, preparing for battle. Where children should have played and tumbled in the streets, soldiers clad in thick steel now stood watch, stacking crates and sharpening blades.

Dark, purplish skies above did little to encourage optimism in the people of Laysh, and what had at first seemed almost exotic to the Legionaries, now brought about whispered stories of when the gates of Oblivion opened up, and the skies bled fire.

Centurion Mallin observed the town guardsmen moving about, restless and unorganized, but with little evident fear. This wasn't a new thing to them, it would seem. Next to her stood one of the Cohort's scribes, one of the Immunes, with as precise a list of their equipment as had been possible to compile within an hour of the Tribune's sanction. The Immunes were a special sort of people, to most, as the concept of non-regulars in a Legion seemed odd to civilians.

"How many Polybolus do we have that can be moved onto the walls?"

It was pure genius of design, however. The Immunes didn't serve regular chores, and weren't made to patrol or otherwise do non-combat tasks. Instead, they were the mind and appendixes of a Legion, cooking, constructing and repairing. They filled every kind of role from engineers to carpenters and doctors, and no Legion could remain coherent without them for long.

"Assuming we can have them lifted up there, Centurion, only the Scorpios can actually fit. The walls have about two meters of walk-way, and-"

"Move them to regular intervals along the north-eastern ramparts then. I want at least one at every gatehouse in case the Darkspawn bring battering rams." Idoria did not feel like waiting for redundant details. All around them, soldiers were rushing to and from, digging ditches and planting stakes.

Marines or not, all Legionaries knew how to defend a city.

"Yes Centurion."

"How many bolts do we have, for both the Scorpios and the Ballistae?"

"…150 bolts for the Scorpios, same for the Ballistae."

"Fire pots?"

"Just fifty, Centurion."

"…Alright, have the men place prepare them on wheels and ready to be moved to designated locations. Send the battlemages to me when they're done with the moats, I'll have their next task."

"Centurion." The man nodded, clasped a hand over his heart and took off at a fresh trot. The man out of sight and mind, Idoria turned back to the map before her, laid out over a table that had been taken from the nearby tavern.

Laysh was laid out before her, its streets parallel lines with the buildings as simplified, dark squares between. It was nowhere near as detailed as she would have liked, but for reasons she could not comprehend, no one had ever thought to actually map out their town in greater detail than 'Town Center here' in the middle of the town. It was frustrating, because it was a symptom of the lackluster organization behind these people's culture.

The Empire would hopefully change that, with time. Once they survived this, displayed the fighting skill of the Legion and spread their influence throughout this new land, they would change things. Leave be what worked, change what didn't.

"Centurion." The voice greeting her was one she had grown accustomed to hearing this past week. Warden-Constable Alexander Hermann, scales and plate covering him all but to his head, stopped by her side to observe the map as well, holding his immediate tongue.

"Warden-Constable." She returned it, not looking up; "How are preparations on the north gate coming along?"

"Your men are…impressive." He started, hesitating before continuing; "I must admit I had not thought of ever using mages to dig ditches. It seems…menial. I can't help but think of much more our mages could do if not for the fear of possession."

"The men and women of the Legion are amongst the most diligent and disciplined you will ever encounter, within and outside of the military." Idoria replied with a bit of mirth behind it, glancing at the Warden as he ran his thumb and index finger through his thick, coal moustache; "Although you are correct in that they do not face the threats of possession by the demons you know, they are still every bit as mortal as you and me."

"Aye, I…suppose that would be the truth of it. Speaking of discipline, how well do you think your men will hold up when they see the Darkspawn for the very first time?"

"Quite simply: they will." She replied with absolute confidence. The men knew her officer's stick smarted more than one would expect, and that she knew where to strike; "My men have spent years fighting pirates of all sorts, everything from Orcs to Khajiit and Argonians. They will hold their formations, because I _command_ them to hold their formations."

"I take it from your get-up that you lead by example?"

"I did not earn my rank by catering to a senator or Lord." Idoria patted the mace at her side. For human foes she would have foregone it for the sword, but unless you could cut the Darkspawn apart, simply slicing into them rarely did the trick. She was proficient with both, as Centurion she had to be, and saw here more sense in pulping the enemies of the Emperor than giving them cut-wounds; "Should I fall, others will assume command in my stead, and carry the battle forward."

Her words didn't seem to faze the man as much as simply making him hum in agreement. Unsurprisingly, given that he was a warrior more than anything, and would likely not know how to lead from anywhere _but_ the thick of a battle. Instead, his eyes wandered to the soldiers rushing through the streets, with arrows, pila and pilums.

"Those spears your men are all carrying, I haven't quite seen their likes before…" he muttered, and Idoria glanced up to see where his eyes had landed; "I noticed most of your men are carrying two?"

"Pilums, yes, we throw them before a charge." Anything more was information he did not need; "I'll have the auxiliaries hold the walls with the town guard, which should free up more soldiers for the ground. Ideally we'll hold them _here_, and _here_…" she gestured at where she'd used a piece of charcoal to sketch up the ditches and moats outside the walls. The battlemages were infusing the ground to the point of mud, and then drew up spikes of raw rock from the condensed minerals in the ground. They would do the same with the town's streets when they'd finished with the outside; "This should funnel the enemy into more easily manageable corridors. Any news from the scouts?"

"Aye, and nothing good." Hermann sighed with clear irritation; "The Darkspawn group is growing as they move, getting constantly reinforced with random groups surfacing along their route. We should have foreseen that."

"How many now?"

"…nearly a thousand." And Idoria wanted to break the table in half, because Akatosh damn it, she wasn't prepared for _that_ kind of force. Her own men numbered only in just below five hundred trained soldiers, and if the tales of the Darkspawn were true, that might not save them in the end; "I hope your soldiers are as good as you say."

"I'd still favor our odds if those were a thousand pirates or, or bandits, but…" she blinked, trying to refocus from the shock. _A thousand?_ "…call your men together, meet at the town square in half an hour."

"What are you thinking?"

"Change of plans…" she muttered, keeping the anger and frustration from reaching her words. It would do no good to let these people know how potentially doomed they were, and as the present commanding officer, she _had_ to keep in control.

"Understood." He nodded and took off for the northern gate where most of the Wardens would be.

Right now, that left her with two objectives; assembling her own men, and figuring out a better strategy. She started off at a brisk pace while trying to complete the latter. The first plan was out of the picture now - there was no way they could actually hold the perimeter against a thousand of these creatures.

If these Darkspawn - and she had seen depictions of them in Laysh's council chambers. Horrifying things - breached the gates, they would need to turn the streets into layered defenses. There would be no way otherwise they could hold a numerically superior enemy force, and Laysh was, blessedly, seemingly planned for just such a need. The town only had four main roads, arranged in a cross, while smaller streets formed rings in two layers from the other walls to the center.

If the Darkspawn got through the gates, these intersections would be the logically most feasible places to hold them. The intersecting roads would allow her men to move quickly from one defense to the other, depending on where they were needed, and holding them would mean depriving the invaders of easy movement.

It would also make deciding where to have the Ballistae placed a lot easier, and make their transportation simpler. Even as she crossed the streets to where she could see the men and women of the 6th Cohort working, she was plotting out where to barricade, where to place sentries, where to plant stakes and where runes and magical traps should be laid.

A Quaestor approached her, helmet in the crook of his arm, brow glistening with beads of sweat from laboring under the sun. Free hand clasped over his heart, he saluted and greeted her. She removed her helmet and returned it.

"Centurion"

"Gather the men and report to the town square immediately. We've just received intelligence that necessitates a change of plans." She paused for a moment, glancing at the Legionaries working in the sun, most if not all stripped of their armor, leaving those who had in their navy-blue gambesons; "Leave the Immunes to continue working, we need the walls prepared for siege."

"Aye, Centurion."

Gods, but this was hardly how she had anticipated the Expedition to fall out. Honestly she had foreseen issues with the natives, but nothing like this. Idly, she rapped her gauntleted knuckles on her breast-plate, feeling the reassurance that came from having one-and-a-half inch of good, Imperial steel between her skin and whatever was going to be taking a stab at her.

Those of her men wearing hamata, no doubt envied her the protection it offered over their own mail, but in truth, it went both ways. While her armor's merge of segmented plates, scale and solid chest-piece no doubt offered more protection from stabs and cuts and slashes, it was harder to move in, and harder to maintain. Mail, at least, provided its own rust-care.

Placing the helmet back over her head once more, Idoria felt that bit of reclusiveness from the outside world, that bit of protection from stares. It was a mentality she had never quite been able to shake, and now hoped it would not impair her in the fight to come. She wasn't going to let it.

Half a day had gone by since the sanction had been given to involve the Cohort in this fight, and in spite of her faith in the men, Idoria was starting to worry if her decision had perhaps doomed them to an early grave. The lingering worry, the fear that there was truly something to the tales she heard of the Darkspawn, it all came down to the strategy she now needed to formulate.

At the town square, her men had gathered and stood at attention, her Quaestors keeping them in line and at the ready. Armor had once again been donned, chainmail and steel bands tightened and ready for wear. The town guard was still streaming in, as were those of the civilians they had not been able to fit on the ships. Men, primarily young and middle aged, they would perhaps all be dead come morrow, depending on what _she_ did.

"ATTEN_TION_!" the shout rang across the square as she descended the only raised platform there was, that of the stairs to the Council Chambers. Hundreds of boots echoed the salute in unison, filling her heart with that much more bit of pride in the discipline she and her men represented, that the _Empire_ represented.

The gods would not find them wanting, she would ensure as much.

"6th COHORT!"

"Cohort ready!" the call went out, once more echoed by the roar of her men.

"Soldiers, it is no longer any secret that we might not live to see the morrow. Beyond those walls, a thousand Darkspawn are marching upon this town, with _every_ intention of brutalizing everyone within, every man, woman and child…" she paused, allowing her words to sink in. Grim faces looked upon her, men and women more experienced than any other soldier could ever hope to be. They were of the Legion, of the _Tenth_ Legion - this day was almost prophetic, in that regard; "…but we will not allow that to come to pass. Cohort! Will you allow that to come to pass, or will you stand your ground and hold this place, protecting the lives of thousands of innocents?!"

"Ha-OOH!"

"Will you stand with me, vigilant at the walls, and send whatever darkness comes our way, back down into the deepest pits of the underworld?"

"Ha-OOH!"

"Good! That's VERY good to hear!" she punched her palm, feeling the power coursing through her. It was power beyond what magic could ever hope to match; the power of discipline, of courage and honor; "At our side will be the citizens of this great town, and its Grey Wardens. Together, we will hold the Darkspawn at bay beyond the walls, and should they overrun those walls, we will hold them in the streets. We will _fight _them on the walls, and we will _fight_ them in the streets. You are the Imperial Legion, every one of you is worth _ten_ of those monsters, and I will see nor accept a single of our fallen who falls with a clean sword. Look to your Quaestors, and obey their orders. Look to your comrades, and keep them alive. Look to this town, and keep it in your hearts that if you fall, so will it. Cohort! Will you fall, or will you stand?!"

"Ha-OOH!"

"Today, our feet are no longer on Imperial soil. We stand instead in defense of this town, of Laysh, of the women and children, of the very _lives_ of those we have come to call friends!" her voice thundered like the storms over Bravil, and those unfamiliar with it winced at its force; "We stand in defiance to the greatest evil known to Thedas, the Darkspawn. Vicious creatures of malice, taint and darkness, yet they will die all the same, for you, you are the 6th Cohort! You are the vengeful spirits of the Tenth Legion! You are the sons and daughters of Tiber Septim himself!"

"HA-OOH!"

"We will prevail! We will win! And it will be so, because I COMMAND you to make it so!"

The resounding roar greeting her in return, would surely carry all the way to those monsters. The Wardens had told her that Darkspawn knew no fear. _Well_, she grinned with an almost sadistic gleam to it, thát was probably going to change - very soon.

* * *

Daveth would be the first to admit he wasn't really an early morning person. That was Alistair's niche, and more power to the cheese-eater for it. He could keep it, and Daveth wouldn't even _consider_ going for the title.

He was, however, quite fond of late nights. That was to say, he was so used to staying awake throughout the nights - both as a Warden but also from living on the streets in Denerim - that the blackest of nights still only seemed pretty normal times for him to be up and about.

So really, there were worse times to have watch. It helped, of course, that they weren't just them alone anymore, and that sentries with braziers dotted the perimeter. The sentries had hounds, of course, whereas he and Aedan would have to rely on their senses to discover any Darkspawn before they got the jump on them.

Speaking of the depressing bugger, Aedan hadn't yet spoken a word to him since their watch started. It was pretty fucking annoying, honestly, because in order to help Tali, he kinda needed his mate to spit something out, rather than just sit there and breathe, running that damn whetstone over his sword over and over and over. It was a constant repetition that was really starting to get on his nerves, much as he tried his best not to let it show.

"So…" he puffed a ring of smoke out, holding his pipe just short of his lips. Aedan didn't react to the word; "…you'nd Tali seem to be having some sort o' trouble?"

He reacted then, at least. Aedan sat a slight bit straighter, his cowl still pulled over his face for warmth, but didn't really seem all that keen on looking at his partner.

"…that…that's not something we need to talk about right now, Daveth…"

"Oh really?" Daveth mused, taking a draw on the mouthpiece before continuing, allowing the smoke to calm his nerves. They were pretty fucking frayed these days, what with their return to Denerim, and his impending "reunion" with Vaughan. He'd even brought the serrated knives for just this specific task, even if he hadn't showed them off yet. No reason for it; "'cause it'd seem to me the two of you don't really seem to talk all that much these days. Frankly, you seem _scared_ of talking to her."

He hadn't said that to Talia, of course. There wasn't any need to upset the girl more than she already was, and even then it was just a feeling, but Aedan had looked like his ass was on fire when he got up from that seat next to her, and it had really been nothing short of amazing that she hadn't just broken down where she sat.  
Tali was a strong girl, but he knew better than most that strength came in different kinds. And Aedan still didn't say anything, but the tightening of his fingers around his tools betrayed what was going on. Daveth hadn't survived in this shithole of a country for as long as he had, without knowing how to read the people around him. Leli did the same thing, but she'd had a mentor, or something, teaching her, he wasn't entirely clear on what the fuck had happened there.

"And since you're also 'peering to be scared of talking to me 'bout it, how 'bout I kick you in the dick, since you seem t'ave _lost ye balls._" Aedan's face whipped towards him now, angry, offering the exact reaction Daveth had hoped for. Few ways gave better results than insulting someone's manhood - that it was even true for Grey Wardens was either funny or just fuckin' sad; "Or, maybe you've still got your nuts, and feel like bustin' one in 'er, but you just don't have the guts to say it?"

"_Why_ are you doing this?" the swordsman growled, brows furrowed yet eyes averting Daveth's.

"'Cause I fuckin' care 'bout my mates, Aedan, and like it o' not, that includes you 'n Tali, so if shit's not right with the two of you, it needs to be fixed."

"…things are…I…I know what I'm doing, okay?"

"Nope, that's just not goin' to cut it. Tali's probably going through so much shite right now, and you're just sittin' here." Daveth leaned in, blowing smoke at Aedan's face; "So tell me, oh Noble Aedan, what's this thinking of yours that needs her to be in this state, eh? Puttin' the screws on 'er, are we?"

"Wh- _No_, I'm not-"

"Because frankly, it's only a matter 'o time before either Brelyna or Mamma finds out you're putting her through this, and then you'll _wish_ I was the one giving you shit."

"Rhea's the one who told me t- I…" Aedan shut tight like a clam, but that was alright, because Daveth heard what he said. He didn't _understand_ it, per se, but he got the gist of it, just about anyway.

"So, Tali's old lady's the one who came up with this strategy, eh?" he muttered, leaning back against one of the trees. The logs were too cold to sit on, and he didn't fancy getting his ass cooled down; "Gotta wonder where she got her parenting-training…So, what, you just squeeze her? See how long she lasts until something snaps?"

"Shut it, Daveth! For the love of Andraste, shut your _fucking_ mouth." Aedan snapped and threw down his whetstone, getting to his feet. Daveth was somehow briefly fixated on the fact that Aedan wore a coif under the cowl; "You have _no_ idea what it's like!"

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't…" Daveth regarded his friend passively. _Sheesh_, and people called _him_ immature, 'least _he_ didn't throw sensibility to the wind as soon as something got fucked; "…what I know is you two need to make up, 'cause this is causing division, and I don't give half a shite what Tali's mommy thinks 'bout it; I will tie the both of you to _that_ tree right there if you don't get this tension out, 'cause fuck me if I'm gonna get killed because the two of you couldn't work things out and get your heads outa your arses."

"Talia knows I love her, Daveth. I just wanted her to trust me, and she couldn't." Aedan spoke more softly now, having seemingly calmed down a bit. Daveth was still on his guard for another outburst though; "I don't know where that leaves us, and her mother says I should just give her some space, let her talk first…You think this isn't _Hell_ for me too? She doesn't _trust_ me, I've seen it in her eyes, and I don't know how to get past that…"

"I do."

Aedan stared like one of them had gone mad. Daveth didn't outwardly react to it though, taking a fresh inhale from his pipe before continuing;

"_Talk_ to her. Literally, Aedan, she's losing her shit 'cause she thinks you hate 'er, that you view her like some kind 'o fuckin' abomination. You say she knows you love 'er? She's scared, mate, piss-scared that you think she's a demon with human skin. Dunno what the _fuck_ her mom's thinkin', but if you don't talk to that girl 'fore we get to Denerim…" he paused, chewing on his lips. Fuck, why was _he_ the one doin' this? Wasn't _his_ relationship going over the side, was it? _Fuckin' awesome, a forcefully divorced gives advice to…fuck you even call this?_

"…Scratch that, actually you'd better talk to her before we even' leave in the mornin, else I'm going to tell Brelyna, and _she'll_ tell Roland, and…fuck it, I can't make threats 'in this state, not drunk enough…Just…_fuck_, mate, just go _talk_ to her. I'm not askin' you to beat down the Archdemon with your bare hands!"

Aedan, to Daveth's mutual surprise and elation, nodded. It came off as the kind of nod a berated drunk would offer, and didn't really seem like the whole thing had sunk in yet, but at least he'd gotten the arse to see sense, or something close enough to it that things might work out.

Daveth, if he were to be honest with himself, knew this wasn't _only_ about helping his friends - people who had become almost like family to him - even if that _was_ most of it, by a vast margin. When they got to Denerim, he needed to find and kill that son of a bitch Vaughan, and he couldn't do that without help. He needed Talia, and that required her sanity intact, which meant this wasn't something he could just sit out.

"Ey, where're you off to?" he snapped back when Aedan got up to leave, grabbing the older Warden by the arm. Then again, was Aedan really older? Daveth didn't actually know his friend's age, just assumed he was older by his brawn alone…

"T-to see Talia, I…"

"She's _asleep_, you fuckin' dolt." He slapped Aedan on the forehead, halfway down the rim of his coif; "'sides, you're on watch, and might as well stew in your own thoughts until our illustrious leader takes next turn."

Aedan slumped down on the log again, resting his face within the palms of his hands. Daveth sighed, allowing himself to finally relax, much as he could out 'ere. Aedan was a good mate, and honestly he just wanted to see the two of them find some peace, and some closure.

Maker knew, too few got as much these days…

* * *

"Hermann…" Idoria Mallin's voice was hard, terse and strained. Her jaw locked tightly, teeth pressed together so hard she felt they might crack. The steel of her armor felt like her only true reassurance in this moment, like the shell of a mudcrab when the wolves came at it.

"I know." He replied, his own tone set between frustration and simple agitation as it came from within his winged helmet. His hands gripped the stone-work of the battlement hard, as if he wanted to rip out a chunk and throw it at the lands beyond the wall.

"That's more than a thousand." She stated flatly, fighting to keep the wrath and frustration from entering her voice. Night was falling, the sun already paining the skies red in anticipation of the coming bloodbath. She would likely have shivered, if not for her padded gambeson keeping some semblance of warmth in her body. The rest of her was cold as ice, her mind racing with doubts.

"I _know_." Bits of mortar crumpled from his hands where he grabbed the wall. Even though they stood fifteen feet above the ground, she felt small compared to the army arranged against them. What had started out as news of just a raiding party had clearly been anything but.

The Warden had been right - their numbers _had_ grown. They could not yet make out the individual creature, but they could _hear_ them, and see the glow of their torches against the darkening land. _Definitely_ more than a thousand, maybe even two. Some of the roars sounded different than the rest -_ bigger_.

"…that sounded bigger than the rest…" she muttered, one hand resting on the hilt of her mace. Its bladed edges would soon see themselves steeped in the blood of evil creatures, and she was going to live to clean it off afterwards.

At least, that had been the plan when there was but a thousand of these things. Now, there were more, and she was starting to doubt whether she would get that chance to clean her weapon again.

"Ogres…" the Warden next to her muttered, stepping back to allow one of the archers, a Legionary in plate, to take up position, just as his fellows had all along the battlements. The man was shifting on his feet, likely adamant not to appear frightened before his centurion, but she recognized fright when she saw it; "We better hope your ballistae can bring those down…"

"The Third Legion in Skyrim has used them for effect against the giants of Tamriel…" she replied off-handedly, slapping a hand down on the Legionary's shoulder. The man nearly jumped, but remained where he stood, offering her a nervous, quick nod. She noticed his left hand was fingering an amulet of Stendarr; "The gods are watching over us in the battle, soldier. Stand fast, we will not fall."

"Your gods may watch over _you_, but my men and I place our faith in the Maker and his Bride, if it is all the same to you…" the Warden grumbled. The centurion had come to find that the people of this land were a devout one, and as such she asked that her men did not incite conflict over religion.

It would not have been worth it.

Then again…watching the overwhelming forces arrayed before them, had anything truly been? The women and children had been loaded onto every single ship, boat and barge in the harbor, and yet still that had not been enough. More than three hundred non-combatants were sheltered at the piers, protected only by barricades. Every man was on _this_ side of the town, weapon in hand.

The town guard was not what she would have wanted from a military force. They were ill-disciplined and nowhere near as physically fit as her own men…but they were determined, at least. This was their home, she understood that, and they would likely rather die than abandon it. Idoria counted on that alone to make up for their lacks. Their equipment as well was…lackluster. Most of the militia carried large shields she would have called tower shields if not for their odd shapes, as if the man who made them could not decide between tower shields and heaters. Spears, hatchets and the occasional sword was their armament, and she did not know if it would be enough.

The majority of them however, seemed keener on their bows and crossbows than melee weapons. If they could help her men in that at least, she would be grateful. If they could whittle down the Darkspawn before making contact, it would improve their chances.

"Are the fortifications prepared?" she turned back to observe the Warden as he spoke, arms crossed before his chest. She once more saw more of a warrior than a soldier, and the battle to come would determine whether that was what they needed.

"The streets are barricaded and we've set up the choke-points. All houses have been barred, windows sealed and doors reinforced. We need them funneled into the main streets if they break through." She counted off, glancing at the horde on the horizon; "…although I suspect it is more a question of when, than if…"

"Maker willing, Weisshaubt sends us reinforcements before the walls are breached, though if none have been sent by now…" Hermann paused, seemingly in brief doubt; "…I hope your men are as good as you say."

"Ask the gods for help, and take up arms yourself in the meantime." She muttered, lightly tapping the side of her helmet to ensure it was secured, before looking over the part of Laysh's walls visible from their position. A row of archers lined the wall, both her men and the natives, and behind them stood a similar row of her heavy legionnaires. Those of her men wielding swords had been sent to the walls, while those armed with hasta would hold the streets.

In the distance, the roars and growls of the Darkspawn were growing in strength. She offered a prayer to Mara and Arkay that it was because they were getting closer, not more numerous. The sun's final rays of light cast a doomed glow on the town, and Idoria felt an otherworldly chill running through her bones. _For the Empire._

"Men!"

"Ha-ooh." The chant held none of the vigor it had previously, now that her men could see the enemy. Even with all the discipline in the world, they remained mortals, and felt fear, just like she now did. It was in the face of such fear, however, that _true_ bravery would reign.

"Do you want to die today?!"

"No, Centurion!" the call was unified and followed by the ragtag shouts of the militia, banging their shields.

"Do you want to let the Darkspawn into this town!?"

"No, Centurion!"

"Do you want to show the Darkspawn why attacking Laysh was a really bad idea?!"

"YES, CENTURION!"

"Are you going to kill them all? In the name of both the Emperor and your king?!" she shouted to the soldiers at large, addressing both her own men and those of the Anderfels; "Are you going to be the ones standing when morning comes? ARE you going to send the Darkspawn, screaming into whatever Afterlife they have in store?!"

"HA-OOH!"

"HA-OOH!"

"HA-OOH!"

"Then stand fast!" she could feel the blood singing in her own veins, her skin crawling with the power that was her men's resolve. With the might of the Imperial Legion, they would prevail; "And when the monsters come at you, cut them down like the FILTH. THEY. ARE!"

* * *

**I may or may not have gone overboard with the chest-beating here, but when faced with this kind of enemy numbers, you want the men as hyped and pumped as you can get...**

**In short, next chapter may or may not also be pure Laysh.**


	62. Breach

_While the general consensus has always been that Darkspawn require an Archdemon to amass large groups and even hordes, the horde that attacked Laysh in 9:30 Dragon was led by no Archdemon. _

_It is as of yet unclear what caused the creatures to gather in such numbers and march towards a single target. All that we know is that it marked the start of the Second Nirnian War._

_\- Tribune Veruin Kratorius, 6__th__ Cohort, 10__th__ Legion_

* * *

**Breach**

* * *

Talia had, at this point, more or less gotten accustomed to waking up in new places.

It was a requirement, honestly, when as a Grey Warden you travelled the countryside and killed Darkspawn, demons, bandits…other things. There were probably more things they'd killed at this point, but somehow it felt wrong to place her victims in little proverbial boxes, like the dead bodies in the back of some sociopathic butcher's shop.

She didn't like killing humans, never had. It hadn't been so much of a problem back in Winterhold since most of the robbers and muggers and assorted sentient trash trying to make a living off of other people's corpses were scared off, rather than killed, most of the time.

That, and Brelyna was usually the only one of them who'd actively gone for the kill. Talia had just enjoyed inflicting maiming burns, even if that didn't exactly sound _sane_ either, at least she hadn't deliberately pursued killing her opponents.

Still, it had little to do with her current…_state_, however it had come to be. She couldn't move, first of all, which in itself should have caused her to panic. The next thing popping up in her mental landscape was the fact that she was standing, or at least seemed to be vertical. That, was new.

Because she was more or less sure she'd been _horizontal_ when she'd gone to bed.

Also she was cold, and could feel the wind on her bare legs. Thát got her woken up enough, fast enough, to open her eyes and face the day. Or, very early morning, actually. The sun hadn't even started to rise yet, which meant it couldn't be more than…what, six in the morning?

"-sake, Daveth…Why was this even necessary?" as her senses started waking up as well, she could make out two things. First, she wasn't alone here, and the other person was Aedan, and he was on the other side of the tree. Second, she was tied to said tree, and done so with some pretty thick ropes.

"Aedan?"

She spoke before her mind had managed to remind her that, oh right, he _scorned_ her these days. It was that same sinking, crushing realization that made her want to just burn through the rope and run away. Because if he'd been wanting to stay away from her before this, now he'd probably…she didn't know, honestly. She felt like she knew jack-all these days, most of that lack of knowledge being in regards to what Aedan was thinking.

"…Talia?" he sounded anxious, not that she was surprised, given the speed he'd displayed last night when getting away from her. She couldn't deal with this, couldn't take him being this close and angry with her, or scared or whatever the fuck he was these days. It hurt too much, she couldn't take it.

So she didn't say anything. She just stood there, feet a few inches above ground as the rope held her - and she suspected him as well - suspended. So, she didn't actually stand, she just-

"…how are you…doing? Feeling, I mean?"

What? She didn't understand, how was she _feeling_, doing? Was he wondering if it was her in her own head right now, or Hakkon taking control?

"…good."

"Are...I mean, you're not…I…I just wanted to know if…" he stopped at that, but she could pretty easily imagine what he was going to say. That he wanted to know if it was really her, or just some demonic dragon-thing wearing her skin, if she was even still alive somewhere inside, held captive by Hakkon's presence…

It fucking _sucked_, because she hadn't _done_ anything to deserve feeling like this, and yet here she was, feeling like the worst kind of shit because she hadn't been able to just _trust_ in her friends, in people she had come to consider almost like family. Even her own mother had hardly spoken to her since that day in the bed chamber where she'd told them, and she couldn't _take_ this emotional, abusive clusterfuck anymore! It was _not_ her fault that-

"I've been an ass."

"_What_?" she didn't actually, consciously _dare_ to hope that he meant something that could help them. She didn't dare that kind of optimism anymore, it always just came back to hurt her even worse, and now she had no idea what he meant by that and couldn't even look at him - for once not because of shame - to see his expression and his voice alone wasn't enough to go by and- gods, her mind was hammering itself into an early grave along with her emotional stability, if she even still _had_ something like that.

"I…" she could hear him swallow; "Daveth told me, what…what you…" he stopped again, and she could feel just that tiny spark of hope in her chest; "I'm so sorry, I never realized…I _fucked up._ You've been terrified and I just thought you needed space and it just made everything worse…"

"…what?" her voice was tiny, small, timid and yet held a hope she hadn't really dared to hold. He was…he was saying…"What are…what are you saying?"

"Daveth told me you think I…that you thought I was afraid of you…" he stammered, like the words actually caused him pain. To her, they felt more like soothing balm, like someone was treating wounds she didn't even know she had. She could not fully believe what she was hearing, yet the words were real, and so, so longed for; "Talia, I, I never meant for you to…I wasn't afraid of you, I wasn't. I could never be afraid of you…_for_ you, yes, more than…more than a few times, but…"

Gods, this wouldn't be nearly as heart-wrenching if she could actually _see_ him. But being on opposite sides of the damn tree, the only people she could see were the sentries making their walks on the other side of camp. No one else were up yet, so hers were the only ears Aedan's words would fall on.

Because Dibella's tits, she was going to smack him for this. Somehow, and she wasn't even fully conscious of why, yet.

"Then why…Why, _why_ the _fuck_ have you been avoiding me like the plague?" she didn't want to let her words ring with malice, but they certainly bore her frustration; "All I wanted, _all I ever wanted_, was for you to just look at me and not see some kind of abomination, and then you start acting like I'm going to kill you for looking at me weird and _have you any idea what I've been dealing with_?"

She realized with some small amount of shame that she'd accidentally reverted to High Bretoni for that last bit. It wasn't intentional, and it frustrated the shit out of her, because she couldn't control her own damn emotions right now, and it wasn't what she needed.

"…I've got no excuse…I misread the situation, thought you wanted space…"

"I wanted _you_, dammit…" she bit down, chewing on her lips as droplets started rolling over her cheeks; "That's all I wanted, _you_. Aedan you fucking idiot, I only ever wanted you, and I thought if you found out about Hakkon you would start thinking I wasn't me anymore. _That's_ why you avoiding me scared the fucking crap out of me!"

Her anger aside, she couldn't quite help the stupid smile growing on her face, in spite of the tears.

"…I'm sorry." He sounded half-choked, his voice thick with emotions she couldn't place between shame and…and other emotions. She couldn't even get a gauge on her own right now; "I'm so, so sorry, Talia, I…I can't even say I don't know what I was thinking because I _know_ what I was thinking and I was a fucking idiot for it…"

"Y-yeah…you are…kinda…" she choked a bit on her own emotions, because this wasn't something she'd been ready for. Her chest felt like it was on fire, for the first time in days in a _good_ way. Her lungs couldn't quite keep control over her breathing, even as she summoned up a bit of fire to burn the ropes apart. When they snapped, she could hear Aedan hitting the ground unprepared, while she herself merely touched down, bare feet touching on frozen ground.

Fuck, that was colder than she'd thought.

Aedan hadn't landed quite right, it seemed, and was still on his knees when she walked around the tree to face him. Or face him down, she wasn't even quite sure herself exactly what to call it. Regardless of which, he looked up when she stood before him, expression ashamed and uncertain. She stared down at him, eyes stern and set in flint.

"You're _definitely_ a fucking idiot, and an insensitive moron, and a clueless fuck-tart, and whatever else's used to describe idiots around here…" then she smiled, unable to keep the façade from cracking; "…but you're _my fucking_ _idiot_."

* * *

"STAND READY!"

"People of Laysh! Today is a very good day _not_ to die!" Alexander bellowed, his voice metallic from the inside of his helmet; "Remember that you stand in defense of your homes, families and children, your sons, daughters, brothers and sisters! The Maker is with us, I know it!"

"Battlemages prepare! Twenty seconds!" Idoria's voice rang over those of her fellows. She stood between the two main towers of the gate, clad in steel and iron, with her shield on one arm and her mace dangling from her waist. The enchantments on its razor edges hummed and pulsated with a soft, golden glow, almost as if with anticipation for the battle to come; "Order of attacks is Ignis, Tempestatis, Fulgur, Atronach! Attack in ten second intervals on my mark!"

"Ignis, ready!"

"Tempestatis, ready!"

"Fulgur, ready!"

"Atronach, ready!"

The four battlemages of the 6th Cohort stood ready, shedding their heavier cloaks to better move their arms and hands. Each man stood at the top of one of Laysh's towers, ready to unleash each their own brand of arcane destruction. Idoria turned to gaze back into the main street right behind her, where the artillery crews were loading one of the larger Scorpions with the first firepot.

"Artillery! Stand ready! Set for optimal firing angle, distance twenty actūs!"

"Forty-six degrees! Twenty actūs!" the spotter called in affirmation, and she briefly watched as the men cranked the cogs to set the piece appropriately. She was, however, already looking back at the oncoming horde once more when the call came; "Artillery ready!"

"Fire Markers!" Idoria called upon hearing their confirmation. Not a moment went by before the response came.

"Firing Markers!"

Markers, or magical guidance projectiles, were an invention borne from the counter-siege of the Imperial city, more than thirty years ago now. Balls of iron with runes etched into them would be fired before the actual projectile, and leave an arch of faint light in its trail, allowing siege-crews to perform more accurate shots.

True to form, the little ball shot off, pulling a tail of light with it as it whistled over the walls, before burying itself in the halfway frozen soil, roughly five hundred standard meters beyond the walls of Laysh.

"Good mark!" the Centurion called, before turning to observe the first of her mages; "Ignis, stand ready to unleash!"

"Ready, Centurion!" the man barked in turn, hands spread apart as trails of flames started flowing around him, surrounding him like streams of water might. It was often a mesmerizing sight to behold when a truly gifted mage performed his specialty, but Idoria did not have the time to watch. The flames surrounding the man grew in intensity, even as the roars and snarls of the onrushing horde did the same.

She could make out figures now, no longer a mere mass of darkness. Worst among them were the hulking figures she decided had to be what Alexander called 'Ogres'. Towering creatures that put the giants of Tamriel to shame, if not in size then in the sheer evil they radiated, like a malignant energy.

The horde was nearing, crawling forward like a sea of darkness and fire. Idoria kept a keen eye on when the first of the beasts passed the ditches dug to mark distances. Once she could no longer see the shallow trench, she bellowed the first set of orders; "IGNIS!"

Their first battlemage roared with strain as he brought an end to the dance of fire enveloping him, and stretched his hands for the blackened skies. Clouds covered the stars, as well as the center-points of destructive magic now appearing above them.

And when the skies bled fire, she knew it made an impression. Dozens of fireballs, each a raw hunk of primal, arcane flame rained down, much akin to the meteors stories said had rained upon a town in Skyrim. Instead of burning the innocents, however, these pieces of heavenly wrath fell to the ground like drops of rain, incinerating and scorching, ruining entire bodies within their vicinity.

The horde continued onwards, however, undeterred by the skies themselves turning against them. The battlemage sustained his bombardment for as long as he could, and no doubt reaped a bloody, scorching toll on the enemy. As streaks of fire yet descended from the skies, the darkspawn started getting close to the second set of ditches, and the Centurion turned away from the display of fiery death to instead find the mage next in line.

"Tempestatis! Five seconds!"

The man did not verbally respond, but she could see his form already enveloped by ice and frost-fire, a blizzard centered around a single person. He illuminated the top of his tower, even as the first of his fellows ceased his casting, the man's magicka spent.

"Tempestatis! Unleash!" she did not watch the man as he released the deadly arts. Instead, her eyes were on the next ditch already, the one where the darkspawn would be within range of their archers, as well as their shock-mage.

Even though she wasn't watching the frost-mage, there was no missing the sight of chunks of ice, some as large as a horse, raining from the skies in much the same manner as fire had only seconds before. These, however, fell with much greater speed, and hammered the ground like was it the Numidium itself making its wrath clear.

Each chunk of ice crashed into the ground with such as a mighty force that those near it not immediately smashed by its bulk were instead eviscerated when splinters and shards of razor ice exploded from the projectiles, maiming, brutalizing and killing by the bushels. Idoria knew, had a Legionary unit taken such massive casualties so quickly, it would likely have routed.

Yet the Darkspawn did not seem to care how many of their own were struck down. They were far more like Draugr than Orcs, it seemed, although all the pictures had shown them appearing more like the latter. For even as the skies in all senses rained death and destruction, the mass of bodies before them continued its writhing approach.

"Fulgur! Five seconds! Archers! Notch arrows! Artillery, ready firepots!" the darkspawn, the entirety of their army now rushing for the walls like an army of ants, reached the next ditch just as she finished yelling the first orders; "Fulgur!"

The last of their elemental mages spread his hands out before him, as if welcoming the Darkspawn. Then, first in the form of tiny, dancing sparks, arcs of lightning danced between his hands, before shooting outwards, hitting the oncoming monsters with the force of an avalanche. The creatures screamed and wailed as the wrath of nature was unleashed against them, with dancing strands of light touching down, killing, burning and rending wherever they went. Flesh was cooked and blood boiled as skin and armor burned and melted.

The spectacular mass murder was soon accompanied by a new sort of rain, as hundreds of archers unleashed their own kind of vengeance upon the encroaching monsters, blotting out the pale moon in but a moment, before they showered the Darkspawn. The first of the firepots then followed, a mere spark as it flew through the night with the burning rag, before it crashed into the site of the Marker, spreading a cloud of fire and stone-work shrapnel outwards.

Already the amount of killed Darkspawn surpassed their own numbers, and yet the monsters did not seem bothered in the least. Instead, they kept up their relentless charge at the walls, even as arrows and fire rained upon them.

"Atronach! Five seconds!" Mallin bellowed, and the mage in question spun his hands around the pulsating sphere gathering in the space of his palms; "Crossbows! Focus fire on the Ogres! Do not let them reach the walls! Atronach!"

Their final battlemage stepped up, spreading outwards the palms of his hands. Yet, his movements were calm, nearly placid in comparison to those of his comrades. Half a dozen spheres floated from his hands, and settled down upon the dirt beneath the battlements. With snaps of air sundered and flashes of bright magicka, six towering atronachs of ice and fury stood as tall as the Ogres coming towards them, their imposing bulks of frost-glazed armor already lumbering towards the Darkspawn.

Even as the battlements of Laysh greeted the Darkspawn with bolts and bodkins, the atronachs charged, driving into the dark masses like mammoths, crushing, mashing, spearing and tearing the darkspawn to shreds. An atronach on its own was an imposing foe, but six? Six were a small army in their own rights, and few mortals would dare charge such a force.

Of course…the Darkspawn were not concerned with preserving themselves. Even as their fellows were crushed and pulped beneath the foot of an atronach, they swarmed it relentlessly all the same, cutting, biting and hacking away, chipping and whittling down even the icy giants. One by one, even as they exacted massive tolls upon the vile creatures, the atronachs fell, pulled to the ground and hacked apart.

Idoria retracted her earlier comparison. They were _far_ more like ants than Draugr, it seemed.

"More fire on the Ogre!" she could not hear who was shouting, but it brought her eyes to the area immediately before the gates, where one of the Ogres, appearing more like a walking pincushion, was headed for them. Its horned face was set in a snarl, eyes glowing with malicious energies.

It wasn't a natural creature. She'd known that, rationally, from when the Wardens of Laysh had allowed her to look through their books on the Darkspawn. Ogres were some form of mutated undead, made from another race known as Qunari, and twisted by evil magic. It was much too close to Daedric workings, and she despised their very nature for it.

Seeing one of them rushing for the gates, however, even at the cost of trampling its own underfoot, infected her disgust for them with fear, for what could man do against such unstoppable hatred? It was nearly tall enough to grab at the battlements themselves! _Bravery. Bravery. Courage, damn it, the gods are watching!_

"PILUM! KILL THE OGRES!"

Her orders were followed, as the legionary archers stepped back and changed places with their comrades. Five seconds, and then spears with soft iron-rods flew at the charging abomination. The first struck, and then another, and another, until the beast was brought to its knees from shock and added weight alone, unable to move as the spears shredded muscle and lodged into bones.

That was one down.

"Archers!" once more, the cohort worked as a well-crafted machine, soldiers moving like cogs as the archers once again took their places at the front. The Darkspawn had reached the walls now, but…did not seem to be bringing any kind of siege equipment. Good, at least that would grant them some time. It did not set her mind at ease, for the sea of bodies was ever writhing and black, and now arrows started greeting the walls in turn, plucking her men from their positions; "Ignis, Fulgur, attack their missile troops!"

At this point, she would not have been surprised if her orders had gone unheard, such was the overpowering uproar just below them, as creatures worthy of nightmares scrambled at the walls, hacking and clawing at the timber and stone barrier.

Wait.

They weren't hacking or clawing…Idoria's eyes widened with horror, even as she drew her mace. Her blood was singing with adrenaline and fear, as much as rage and determination.

"LEGIONARIES! SWORDS FRONT! THEY'RE SCALING THE WALLS!" she was running, even as she shouted, to the nearest spot on the walls where the Darkspawn seemed to concentrate. One of Laysh's townsfolk stood there, desperately trying to reload his crossbow; "TOWNSFOLK OFF THE WALLS! TOWNSFOLK OFF THE WALLS! GET TO THE FIRST BARRICADE!"

The darkspawn below were relentless. They swarmed the walls like ants, uncaring in the way they used their own comrades, living or dead, as mere stepping stones. Ramps and piles started growing with each one that fell, and soon the Centurion could have jumped off the walls and landed safely on the pile before her position.

"FOR THE EMPIRE! FOR THE EMPEROR! FOR AKATOSH!" she screamed as the first darkspawn, a terrifying monster with skin the likes of a diseased corpse reared its head above the battlements. Sharp, predatory teeth in rotten, black gums snarled at her. Eyes the likes of which she had never seen, intelligent yet mindless, glared at her, promising pain of untold-

She swung her mace down hard, bladed edges catching fire upon impact. Evil eyes died as the skull was pulped, and the creature fell down, only for another to take its place. She killed it too, nearly losing her shield to its serrated scimitar. It died, but the sword was stuck in her shield and there was no time to free it before the next was upon her, flailing and laughing like a dying man as it vaulted the battlements. This was a scene more and more common along the walls as more and more ramps of bodies reached the battlements.

"STAND YOUR GROUND, SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF TAMRIEL!"

They would die here. She knew it already now, struggling to escape the wicked hatchet that was seeking her head. A sword came down from the side, Imperial steel freeing the creature's head from its shoulders. Idoria barely had the time to offer the Legionary a nod of thanks before the next creature was up.

She could see no end to them, only blackness beyond the walls as the night turned against them. Sporadic illumination from exploding firepots gave little comfort as they always showed only more writhing, twisted bodies rushing towards them. There was no end to them.

"ARCHERS! FALL BACK TO THE BARRICADES!" she was screaming, even as her shield was torn from her hands by a Darkspawn larger than the others, clad in yellow plates that could as well have been chitin. She bashed it in the head with her mace, repeatedly striking it, even as it merely laughed at her efforts. The axe it wielded was heavy and crude, yet the creature handled it as if it weighed no more than a stick.

Her strike was stopped dead when the Darkspawn grabbed her arm, its grip so hard she could feel the steel plate digging into the bones of her forearm. She screamed. The pain was nauseating, and yet seemed to make everything so much more clear…She could see her men, fighting for their lives as they stabbed and slashed away at the Darkspawn, only for each one slain to be replaced with another. More and more, her men faltered, dropping to the ground or off the wall. Armor that could have stopped Thalmor spears was shredded by crude daggers and axes, and swords found little effect when biting into yellow flesh.

"CENTURION!" she was ripped from the creature's grasp when a Legionary crashed into its hulking form, repeatedly stabbing his dagger into every gap there was to find in the chitinous armor. The Legionary was bloodied, ragged and his helmet was missing. A large gash marred his face, crossing down over what remained of his nose. Blood poured forth in such streams that it was a miracle he yet stood; "DIE YOU UNHOLY-"

The Darkspawn backhanded him, like he was nothing but a nuisance. The hit broke the man's neck and crushed his face, throwing him from the wall like a discarded doll. Her men were all the same along the wall, falling one by one as daggers and fangs broke them, tore them apart. Her unbroken arm went for the dagger in her belt and plunged it into the creature of darkness before her. Even now, on her knees, she refused to let it win.

It laughed at her feeble attempt at killing it. She knew it too. She knew there was no way they were surviving this, and…somehow, that brought her peace. Had she only been a Nord, perhaps she would even have welcomed this with the joy of certainty that she would soon dine with heroes.

She knew that wasn't for her. There was no glorious afterlife for a daughter of a Bravil peasant. There was no heroic tale to be had of her first and final true battle. She would be a body among the others, perhaps buried on her own, should there be any left to remember them.

A foot pressed against her breastplate, even as the creature broke her other wrist. It sent a wet sound through her body more than the actual air, and left her numbed with nausea and pain as she stared up at the towering beast. It tilted its head slightly, as if curious, then barked a laugh and kicked her in the face.

There wasn't any railing behind her, just the air. Open air, and nothing else.

For a moment, she was in the air. There was no pull, no sensation of the rushing wind that might have told her she was falling, only the lack of a surface. All she felt was the agony of her mangled hands, and the concussive force still lingering at the front of her head, where it felt as if the helmet itself had-

She landed hard, but not as hard as she should have. She knew, even as the air was driven from her lungs and her body screaming with agony, that she hadn't hit the ground. More sliding than moving with the momentum, she rolled off the cushion, and found herself stopped by the mangled body of one of her men.

His jaw had been torn from its hinges, and the armor's front was soaked in blood. Eyes that might have held courage and determination were now vacant, open and frozen in horror. Idoria's eyes froze when they came to a halt on the man's collarbone, where an amulet of Stendarr rested, stained red.

She did not remember the face of the soldier she had reassured before the battle, and this probably was not even him…but it hammered in the fact that she had failed. She had failed the men. They had put their trust in her, and she had failed them. The cobblestone street below the wall was littered with evidence of her failings, of her disgrace. Bodies of her men were strewn with generous hand, and the hard, cold surface watered with Imperial blood. _Divines let me die, the shame is too great…_

Above her, she could see the darkspawn. It still stood where it had when it kicked her from the wall, a drop she would not have survived if not for the body of her comrade. The darkspawn seemed annoyed that she was still moving. Eyes burning like coals through the slits of a horned helmet glowered down at her, promising to finish the job.

_"__Come_…then, you fucking bastard. I'll… bite your _throat_… out _before_ you _get_ me!" she wheezed, aware of her voice never reaching the beast. She could barely hear it herself, but…it felt better than just awaiting her death at its hands. Pain was clouding her judgement, she knew that, but didn't know much else beyond it. She only knew the agony, and the nausea, and the screams of her men.

"It's the Centurion!"

An explosion of fire and shrapnel erased the creature from existence, and blew much of the battlements apart. The heat was so great it felt as if it singed her skin over such a distance. More explosions followed, and where the walls were dominated by the Darkspawn, clouds of fire erupted, indiscriminately scorching everything it touched. For a moment, the walls were empty, no living of either side atop the battlements.

Then the first snarling face appeared over the wall, and she knew it was a matter of moments before they would once again swarm the walls. _Did we ever make a difference…_

"Get her behind the lines!" a voice she recognized was bellowing orders; "Mage, activate your runes, the walls are lost!"

Someone started dragging her away from the walls. And all she could see was corpses and fire. Then just fire, as runes plastered across the street were ignited, and a wall of fire rose between them, and the Darkspawn.

"She's bleeding out! GET ME A DAMN HEALER!"


	63. Broken

The Imperial Legion is commonly known to have been organized into three lines of rank since the days of Reman Cyrodiil, when the provinces Skyrim and High Rock were included into the Empire, and the Akaviri Invasion defeated.

The three lines of rank, or priority, are called Hastatis, Principes and Triarii.

Hastatis usually make up the bulk of any of the Imperial Legions, are consist mainly of free men and landholders from other provinces, as soldiers from the same province would be far more likely to desert. As such, it is not uncommon to see Nord Hastati in Cyrodiil, or Redguard Hastati in Skyrim. Making up the first line of a Legion's battle-formation, they are not so much expected to win a fight rather than wearing out the enemy before retreating behind friendly lines. The Hastati, on grounds of being the most numerous of the three lines, are commonly clad in light mail or leather, or a combination of the two, a shield, helmet and short sword, as well as the two pilum used by every member of the Legion. Most Hastati enter the Legion with little to no magical prowess, and are taught basic restoration magic by their respective Quastor, and most Cohorts' healers start their training here.

Principes make up the next line of rank, and from here the officers of the Legion are usually drawn. Older, more experienced and overall known as better fighters, the Principes wear heavier mail, and even partial or full plate depending on the province. They are known to carry both a spear, a short stabbing sword, shield, helmet and the pilum. Should the Hastatis be unable to win a fight and retreat, the Principes will continue the fight with spear or sword, often in tightly closed shield-formations. No Principes are allowed not to be proficient enough with healing magic so as to heal personal injuries. Combining this with their heavy armor, experience and being well rested, most battles end once the Principes enter the fray.

Should the Principes fail to defeat the enemy as well, and should the Hastatis be unable to reenter the fight, the Triarii will be called upon to end the battle. Older and far more experienced than the two first lines, the Triarii are clad in full plate and wield both spears and swords with deadly proficiency. Their heavy armor, tower-shields and high-quality weapons mean few enemies will survive even the first few seconds when clashing with the Triarii. Being the most elite of the Legion's soldiers, Triarii are selected from proven Principes, and sent to the province's academy for advanced training.

While a Legion of five-thousand and four-hundred men usually consists of twelve cohorts, roughly one-hundred and twenty of these men are engineers, battlemages and cavalry. Battlemages are distributed in such a way that each cohort contains ideally four.

"_Res ad triarios venit" - _It has come to the Triarii, we carry on to the bitter end.

\- Quastor Sevilius. 6th Cohort

* * *

**Broken**

* * *

Laysh was burning.

As the Darkspawn progressively flooded more and more of the north-eastern walls, fires spread where firepots and arcane flames were launched in retaliation. The front-most streets were carpeted in corpses, the vast majority of them of tainted flesh and chitinous scales. Yet the flames from homes on fire also cast their glow on banded steel and chainmail, where soldiers of the 6th Cohort had been slaughtered.

Even as the Cohort retreated behind barricades, screams and wails echoed from the parts of the walls where the defenders had been unable to escape. The townsfolk were slaughtered where they stood, and already the area beyond the first set of barricades was lost to them. The darkspawn swarmed the walls like ants, and the gates were creaking with strain as their towering brutes pounded them in.

It was odd, really, that she could sense all of it, even as she could not feel her own two feet. Idoria could only sense that she was on her back, somewhere behind the first set of improvised walls. The plan had been perfect, in theory. _What's…so warm…_

Even if the Darkspawn should take the walls, they had been prepared to retreat, and had raised the streets from the ground and up, using the stone-work of the roads to form barriers. Thick and low, they would not prevent any Darkspawn from scaling them alone, but the gap left between them allowed a ballistae to protrude, even as pre-set fire-runes set alight the homes of the townsfolk in a controlled perimeter around them. It was all they could do to funnel the creatures into as few streets as possible, and allow the Polybolus' explosive bolts to cause as massive casualties as possible.

"_Keep turning it!"_

Idoria couldn't _see_ the ballistae, but she could hear the crew, and feel the vibrations through the ground whenever a bolt was launched, and hear when it skewered through the Darkspawn lines before exploding in a blistering cloud of fire and death. Legionnaires stood on the raised walls, long spears stabbing away at whatever Darkspawn managed to get close enough to avoid the ballistae's fire.

Up above, in what could best be called relative safety, townsfolk stood on the roofs of their homes, firing crossbows into the crowded streets. It was a kill-zone by design, but what did that matter, when the enemy cared little for their own dead?

"_Get me another clip, we're almost out!"_

"_Mage, suppress the street! We gotta reload!"_

She couldn't see too much, right now. Her mind wasn't fully recuperated from the impact, but she could feel the cold winds on her skin, even as what had to be ice storms raged through the streets in the opposite direction, crippling everything in its path. _It's…cold…I'm cold…_

"Hey, hey, Centurion, Hey, Centurion, keep your eyes open. Arkay won't have you this day, come on." Something touched her cheek, and only when it started stinging did she understand she had been slapped on it. Someone's face was immediately above hers, and there was a soft, golden glow about them. A healer, she guessed. She knew none of the Cohort's healers, not even by association or look, only that they had them, and that they were experienced men.

"_WHERE'S THAT FUCKING CLIP!"_

"Breathe, Ma'am, breathe. Don't close your eyes." The healer sounded like he was trying his hardest not to notice the artillery-crew's shouts; "Just keep breathing, Centurion. Keep breathing, this might sting a bit."

"_We're out of Pilums!"_

She didn't know. Nothing felt like it stung, and she didn't know if that was good or not. There was only the seeping cold, mixing with the seeping warmth. At least her hands didn't hurt so much anymore, and she could breathe without the urge to vomit.

"_Here! Here! Get it loaded!"_ someone ran past her - she could see the top of a head moving quickly in and out of her field of vision - followed by the sound of something heavy and wooden hitting cobblestone, while something else sounded like it clicked into place with a heavy grinding of cogs and cranks. She recognized it as the sound of the Polybolus being reloaded; "_It's in, turn the crank! Turn the crank - they're getting too close!_"

"Come on, Centurion, just one last-" there was a flash of green in her vision, and the healer was gone. There wasn't even a scream, just the sound of something hitting the ground, something softer and heavier than the ballistae's clip.

"_Emissary! Kill the Emissary!"_

"_What the gods is a- Mage! Mage! Darkspawn Mage!"_

"_Someone get the Centurion! Get her to the ships! Where's the healer?!"_

"_The healer's dead!"_

Her men…they were starting to crack. She couldn't blame them, not against this kind of evil. They had come here…expecting what, exactly? She wasn't even certain anymore. She knew the Tribune knew what he was doing when they got here, knew that he had a mission, that _they_ had a mission, but that he just knew a bit more about it than she did. _Can't…can't let it end like…I'm not dying on my back like a common whore!_

Her body screamed in protest at the action when she strained her back and sat. Her head swam with the lack of oxygen, and for a moment she felt like blacking out again. The pain was there, but not as intense as before. A dull pulsating led her eyes to her wrists, where large black and blue spots showed bones only just put back into place, and the skin had yet to heal from the break. She tried moving her fingers, only for her left hand to fail her, the right responding somewhat sluggishly, but at least she could move it.

"Centurion!" she whipped her face around to the source of the call, finding one of her Quaestors approaching her quickly. He was lacking both helmet and shield, and his free hand was clutching a wound in his side, a golden glow pulsating between his fingers; "Centurion, we're being hammered far harder than we ever anticipated - these things, they- they just don't end!"

"What are our losses?" she got to her feet and looked around for- right, her mace was probably still at the wall. _Fuck_, that meant she'd have to opt for something else. She turned to regard the fighting men before the Quastor even opened his mouth; "Someone get the Principes to switch with the Hastati! Darkspawn don't tire, we can't afford to either!"

"We lost almost half the Cohort on the walls, no exact count yet…" He growled, though with the wince that followed, she couldn't tell whether it was from anger or pain; "All but a few of the Hastati are dead or too injured to fight, the Principes are doing most of the lifting, and the Wardens are doing what they can to hold the side-streets."

"…" Idoria's silence only allowed the screams of dying men to once again be all that was heard. Her men were fighting to the literal death just meters away, she couldn't afford to waste time…But _half_ the Cohort? They'd lost roughly two-hundred and fifty men in not even ten minutes?

"…Ma'am?"

"Get the mages refueled on whatever magicka potions we have left, and distribute our healing potions between the men, focus on the Triarii and Principes." She hesitated. Such an order meant little to no potions for the Hastati; "Healers?"

"Overtaxed, Centurion, they can't keep up with the flow of wounded."

"…have them focus on the men they can get back into immediate action, then." And pray for those she had just ordered abandoned; "Set to, and keep the lines intact. We lose this point and only one line of defense stands between the Darkspawn and the civilians!"

"Yes, Centurion!" he saluted with a hard fist over his chest. He reached down and unclipped a weapon from his waist; "Also, Ma'am, we found this."

It _was_ her mace. Well, then, she had no excuse not to join the fight now, and she'd be damned if she spent even a second seeking one out. With a nod of appreciation, she grabbed the handle of her weapon and tested her hand with it. Good, she could still swing it well enough. When she looked up once more, the man was gone.

Even as she surveyed what little of her forces remained here, she took what time she could to administer some healing to herself. Most, if not all legionnaires could do at least this much, and it would get her back in the fight. It was all she could do, though, before the warning came.

"We're on the last clip!" the crew of the Polybolus shouted, even as the machine kept thumping the ground with each bolt discharged. Ahead, down the start of the street, the numbers of dead darkspawn were now so massive that a hill of corpses blocked sight of the gates. The legionary aiming the ballista was doing his best to use the bolts sparingly, and aim at the densest clusters of darkspawn. Bolt after bolt flew forth with little pause, skewering entire groups at a time.

It still wasn't enough.

"_Alright_…_Akatosh aid us_…Alright! Fire-mages! I want this street under constant barrage! Nothing is allowed to live on it! Ballistae, I want your focus to be on whatever comes down that street too big for arrows to handle!"

"Yes Centurion!"

"Principes!" she turned to the men not on the walls - if they could be defined as such, low and clumsily built as they were - currently standing at the ready; "When the Ballistae runs out of ammunition, you need to form a hedgehog and cover the retreat of the townsfolk, then the mages will cover yours!"

"Ha-Ooh!" her men stamped their shields into the ground in response. If they were scared, they did not let it show. Perhaps they had accepted what she had; that they would all die here regardless, and so fear meant little?

"Last bolt!" even as the man shouted, the spear flew forth and slid through the chest of a charging Alpha, disregarding its chitinous armor like it was not even there. The projectile continued through more of the monsters before finally exploding, spreading fire and death. The moment they fired the bolt, the crew pulled back the ballistae and started making room for the soldiers; "We're pulling back to the next point!"

"Principes! Shields up, ready Pila, fill the gap with steel and courage!" she was not in the formation herself, much as she wanted to be. She had to keep in control, keep an eye on the fighting. She had no idea how the other points were doing, but prayed the Wardens were holding as well as Alexander had said they would. She was _trusting_ them on this, damn it all, and if the Darkspawn breached the other points, they could swarm them here.

There was no verbal response, only the sound of the first row digging the sharp tips of their shields into the broken street, and the men behind them drawing their pila from behind their shields. While the first row rested their spears in the holds of their shields, forming a phalanx of sharp steel just behind the gap in the low wall, the second row unleashed.

Idoria watched from behind the formation with the apathy of one who had accepted defeat. She knew they would die here, and only wanted to take as many of the Darkspawn down with them. If they could do that, and give the civilians the time to escape, somehow, her men would not have died In vain. Hoping for survival at this point, with half the cohort dead, was pointless. Some of the soft-iron spears buried themselves in the ground, but most bit flesh and dragged their targets to the ground, incapacitating if not outright killing them.

It didn't stop the horde though. The Darkspawn simply rushed over their own dead, snarling and laughing as they stormed towards the awaiting soldiers.

"Spikes!"

On cue, the conjuring mage shoved his hands into the ground, almost as if were it water and not dirt. At the same time, spikes of twisting metal grew from the ground in a steep angle ahead, skewering the approaching darkspawn like spitted pigs.

The creatures caught wailed and snarled, but died when their fellows simply kept pushing on, sending more and more onto the spikes. The bodies already stuck there started falling apart as the spikes widened the further they were pushed. Before even a minute had passed, the senseless horde had filled the metal stakes with bodies and now simply crawled over, uncaring even as they trampled their own.

It no longer surprised anyone.

"Principes! Present Hastae! Close shields! Complete Squamata" acting on her order, the soldiers who had just thrown their spears now slid their shields over the top of the first row, and the soldiers behind them again did the same. The angled shields thus formed the Squamata formation, which Idoria knew to be the best hope her men had of stemming the tide. With spears protruding from the gaps, the formation had become fondly known as the hedgehog.

"GIVE THEM- NOTHING! BUT TAKE FROM THEM- _EVERYTHING!"_

When the darkspawn managed to vault their own dead, and closed the distance between them and her men, it felt like standing behind a dam that was taking the full force of a tidal wave. The crash of steel against steel, of strained wood and groaning and shouting men was overwhelming.

"Hold them back! Do not give an inch!"

"Centurion!" the mage still on one of the roofs called her out, and she could barely hear him over the cacophony; "The gates are down! There's a really _big_ one heading this way!"

"Kill it!"

"I'm out of magicka, I can't even throw a firebolt, Centurion!" the mage yelled back, an impotent puff of sparks flashing at his fingers as if for emphasis. Shit, shit and more shit! Idoria did not normally curse over misfortune, but even if she'd accepted their eventual deaths, being crushed by one of those things felt too much like cheating.

"_Shit_…" the Centurion snarled, pulling her wild hair away. Sweat and dirt and filth and not a small amount of caked blood was already smeared over her face, making it difficult to keep her eyes focused. She knew she was going to die, but if her men could hold the gap, that would give them a chance, and as long as there was a gap, the hope remained that the Darkspawn would not bother scaling the barricades. Only she and the remaining Principes were still standing, and she dared not take men from the formation to focus on the approaching beast.

Thoughts of survival hardly even entered her mind as she stuffed her mace back in its belt and grabbed a spear from one of the dead legionnaires on the ground. He wasn't going to need it, but she was. And her legs still worked, at least. She could- _had_ to do this herself, or Laysh would fall far too soon. _Akatosh, Arkay, Stendarr, Zenithar, be with me in this my last endeavor! Divines, help me in this my task!_

There was a certain…calm, in knowing she was dead before the morrow regardless of what she did.

She was scaling the first roof before her prayers were done, huffing and panting with the mounting exhaustion from healing herself. She needed both hands more than stamina, right now. Even now, on the roof of the low house, she could see the approaching giant. Dark-skinned, horned and snarling, it was picking its way through the metallic spikes, deliberately tearing each from the ground like it was nothing more than a sapling.

Already as she jumped onto the higher roofs her feet started slipping on the loose ceramic tiles. She kept running, legs pumping to get as much speed as she could. There was no going back from this, she knew that, even as he boots scattered dirt and ceramics and dislodged tiles with every impact. She would live or die here, right now, all in the span of the next few seconds. And then, even if she survived this, by some divine intervention, she knew she had no way of getting back behind their lines.

But if she didn't do this, the Ogre would scatter her men, break the barricade and slaughter them as they retreated.

She was in the air before her mind finished that line of thought. Her boots kicked off from the tiles and sent the stone-work dropping onto the cobblestone. The warm winds from burning homes breezed against the insides of her legs and face, hair whipping in the wind and out of her face. In the back of her mind, she noted that if she died this day, this would not be the worst of ways to do so.

The Ogre saw her already as she leapt from the house, and ripped a meaty hand out to grab her. Even as the meaty claws grabbed her frame though, Idoria plunged the spear through its eye, driving the shaft through its skull with every bit of energy left in her body. The spear snapped in half when the Ogre jerked its head away, leaving her holding the pathetic piece of firewood. Idoria was left in its grasp, even as the halfway blinded monster turned its head back to snarl, and crushed her legs.

The agony was overwhelming. It blocked out everything else and caused nausea to roll throughout her body like a flood. The Ogre roared its anguish and hate, blowing out her ears with the sheer force of it. There was no sound beyond that, only the way the world seemed to grow sluggish as the monster guided the hand that held her towards its gaping maw.

Once close enough to smell the rot from its breath, and acting more on some odd kind of instinct than actual, conscious thought, she jammed the piece of the spear she still held into its other eye. The snarl became a howl of shock and pain as the monster was blinded, yet still alive, and Idoria found herself flung through the air.

_...I never...thought this was how I should end...But...perhaps it is all the-_

She landed well back behind their own lines, crashing through the window of a house, breaking the frame from its place and crushing furniture within. The world was a cacophony of pain and dulled noise.

For what felt like an eternity, no air would enter her lungs. Her body was constricted by dents in her armor pressing in, and her ribs felt like they were broken, at best. For a moment, she couldn't even contemplate anything beyond the pain.

It was all there was; the all-consuming agony of feeling her own bones harming her body, of her armor both saving and betraying her as the dents and bulges it had sustained when shielding her from blows now forced her bones inwards.

The world slowly started coming back into what could generously be called focus, if even at that. She knew, more from memory than senses, that it was night, and so there was little light to illuminate her world, but the glow from homes on fire did at least provide some.

She was…inside somewhere. She couldn't see the skies above her, so that had to mean she was inside somewhere. Most likely a house, someone's home. _We…shouldn't be fighting in cities. It's not…it's not a battlefield, it's people's homes…_

Her arms, when she tried lifting them, screamed with an agony so intense she nearly lost consciousness once more. Her neck, at least, was intact, and so she could turn her head to the sides, pointedly to the left where her arm was…supposed to be…_now I get the pain…_

Her left arm was…still attached, more or less, but blood was pouring out from the gaping wound where it had nearly been ripped clean off at the elbow. There was a piece of wood stuck in the wound, soaked through with blood already, and her fingers failed to respond. _Must have a…concussion. Only reason I'm not shitting myself with pain right…now…_

The arm was hanging on by what seemed to be a few strings of meat, shattered bone and shreds of skin. There was no way healing could put _that_ back together, she already knew that. The arm had to go, and she'd have to get the wound sealed before…before she bled out. _At least I…I hope I killed that monster. I can still…it feels like there's still fighting outside. My men yet live…thank the gods…but the arm…_

The arm had to go, and she'd have to do it herself. No one outside had the time to come find her, or they likely would have already. So she took the only revenue left open, and focused her healing spells into her right arm. It was blessedly still attached, but bent in odd angles in two places, and her wrist was pointing a way she was somewhat certain wasn't quite tight. _Right_, it wasn't quite _right_.

She _hated_ concussions.

With the golden glow snapping her bones back together, she could only bite down with the pain that always came from bones being scraped against each other. Magical healing or not, _that_ would always hurt like ripping the whiskers off a Khajiit.

The worst was now to come, though, and she knew that. Idoria had no weapons left on her, neither sword or dagger, but…she still had to do this. The arm had to go or she'd bleed out. Dear gods this was going to hurt. She knew that, and was affirmed in it when she leaned on her damaged ribs to hold down her ruined arm. Fresh squirts of blood stained the wooden floor, seeping between the rough planks.

Vomit spilled from her mouth as the pain and nausea became too much. Idoria clenched her teeth shut around the vile liquids and grasped at the ruined forearm, feeling nothing but the touch in her right hand. There was nothing left alive in her right hand, just a lump of meat that had only moments before been a part of her. Now she needed to get rid of it.

When she started moving the piece of flesh, however…the shreds of skin and tissue still connected to her upper arm started screaming in protest. Her arm felt as if the fires of Molag Ball's personal plane were consuming it, tendrils of nauseating agony licking at ever frayed and torn nerve.

She threw up again, this time keeping it within her mouth. Her face was too close to the wound for her to let anything contaminate it, she knew very well how easily wounds like this could and would become infected. The bile stung her throat and filled her nostrils and caused tears to well up in her eyes and blur out the world.

Her breathing was becoming harder to keep under control, and the remaining vomit in her mouth and nose only added to it. Her lungs demanded more and more air, faster and faster as the pain grew worse. Finally, she clenched her teeth down, pressed her eyes shut and _yanked_.

She couldn't even scream. The agony overwhelmed her with such intensity that she was left reeling, gasping and groaning soundlessly as the frayed nerves screamed their dissatisfaction with meeting air instead of flesh. Her back arched, trying to escape the raw agony of ripping itself apart, only in the end adding to the pain as it scraped the stump across the planks of the floor.

Her vision started filling with stars, and her head once again swam in the clouds.

Idoria snarled, screaming without sound as she _refused_ her mind the sanctum of unconsciousness. She needed to get back out there, and many of her men had suffered far worse than she had. She could breathe, and she could, hopefully, remain standing. That was all she needed to lead. She would bear the pain, and care as little as she could for what her nerves thought of it.

She could curl up and weep _after_ the battle was done, or she would be dead regardless of her own actions. Either way, she did not have the time to recuperate. And so with all the steely grit and will she had spent the majority of her life receiving, drilled into her mind, she rolled around until she was on her stomach, then dragged her knees up under her waist.

Thanking the gods that her legs were merely broken in _one_ place, it felt, she shut out the agony as bone and bruised muscle was forced back into working order. Her men needed her, even if she couldn't actually hear anything. She could see, she could breathe and she could stand.

Staggering back into the streets, she knew that would have to do.

Outside, sound still had not returned to her world. Only the dull ache of throbbing ears reached her, and the slight whine of something she couldn't place. Her eyes worked though.

She'd landed in one of the homes at the corner of the intersection her men held, and as she came out from the destroyed façade, she could already see her men. The formation had shrunk since she had taken off towards the Ogre, and even now she could see one of the Principes dragging another away from the fighting, leaving behind a trail of blood as broad as the man's body.

Why would the world not cease its swimming? She could not force her senses into normalcy, and even through the pain she could only focus so well. There was no sound, and her balance was off.

Up ahead, her men were desperately pushing against the Darkspawn onslaught, forming a wall of steel and wood against the tide. She could see them, even from here, the Darkspawn. They were dying in larger numbers than she had dared to hope. The men were stabbing away with spears and blades, keeping the gaps between their shields as small as could be, but even then she could see the strain it was taking on them. Boots were scraping the blood-stained cobblestones, slipping and giving way for fangs and hatchets to bite down and maim and kill.

They were holding, but it wouldn't be long before a hole was made that could not be patched. Even a minute more of this, and the wall would break, they needed-

Someone grabbed her shoulder, and the impact nearly sent her to the ground. When she turned, it was that same Quastor as before. His eyes were wide and filled with panic, yet it seemed directed at her state more than it was towards the fight itself. Mouth opening and closing, she realized he was speaking to her, yet there was not a word coming through, no sound at all.

Only the whining tone.

"We need to fall back." She ordered, though she was no longer sure if the words actually came out. They sounded distant, even to her own head; "Tell the men to fall back in thirty seconds, then have the mages and archers cover us. Make sure every position gets the message"

The Quastor said something again, pointing at her arm, the one she no longer had. Looking down as well, she noticed she had stopped the bleeding as well as she could, but the skin was turning pale. She'd lost more blood than she'd thought at first.

"I cannot-hear your words, get my orders done!"

There was hesitation, even if just for a moment, where the man looked like he wanted to force her towards the town square. It was the only place they had healers left, at least, as far as she knew. Then he nodded, walking briskly towards where the Principes were fighting for their lives.

The Principes hadn't managed to stem the tide, but they had fought better, and with more courage than she had dared to ask of them. Now, they needed to let the Triarii finish this, one way or another.

* * *

**So, it's not a Roku-story until someone's crippled. Centurions are tough as shit though, historically too, and Idoria didn't get where she is by spreading legs or looking pretty, but by being the better fighter, and better swinger of the command-stick if her men chickened out on an order.**

**I'm going through movie-quotes like the Hulk goes through shirts. Who can find them all, both in this chapter, and the previous one?**


	64. Miracle at Laysh

**A/N: I honestly can't tell you how nervous I was writing this chapter. I've had stories before where something similar caused people to think the story had 'jumped the shark', and as such I was in heavy doubts over how to do this. Those of you who've been with me for a while probably have figured out that I'm not the best at planning ahead. So when I do, it's often something that could potentially crank the story up a few levels, or kick it out the window.**

**Plans, even those made months ago, could still be jeopardized by my sodding insecurity, but…Sod it, did and done it, so here's hoping I didn't just fuck it all up.**  
**Enjoy the thing that's been four months in the planner:**

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"_Religion is the salve of the common folk. It comforts and assures, heals burns and wounds with the certainty that all will be well. Saints are the ones administering it, for they alone have been touched by the powers that be. Rarely, if ever, is a Saint recognized before after their demise. But in Thedas, one appeared who lived." -_ Quastor Sevilius, 6th Cohort, 10th Legion

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**Miracle at Laysh, A Soldier's Second Pledge**

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As the clouds started parting, the pale moon finally cast its dim glow on the town of Laysh, such as it still was.

In the north-eastern part of the town, great fires raged as the flames spread from the first houses, casting a light that could have been mistaken for the coming of dawn. Instead of roosters singing in the morning, however, the screams of dying men and women, and the sound of clashing weapons filled the cold night.

Quastor Sevilius of the third group, of the 6th Cohort, was trying his damned best not to panic.

Serving as one of the lower officers in the Cohort, he'd spent most of his time at sea, being ferried to and from different engagements. It had been strange, in principle, when the concept of merging naval and land forces was proposed, and the 10th Legion decided to dedicate their cohort to its purpose. It had been worse still, for the men and women with less than strong sea legs.

He'd entered the Cohort roughly three years after Tribune Kratorius assumed command, which made him one of the oldest officers in the Cohort, if not the Legion. Sailing with the Tribune had taken him all sorts of places, but frankly he'd prefer it if they had remained land-based instead of a marine force. The benefit of being a marine force though, was that they saw land more often than not, and most fighting was done with solid rock and dirt beneath his feet.

Centurion Mallin had entered their Cohort long after him, and was still by some considered new. Her skills, and talent for command, however, had done much to dissuade anyone from openly referring to her as 'fresh'. Instead, she had indeed won respect with her stone-faced methods, and it was up in the air whether the men feared or respected her more.

Right now though, Sevilius was certain it had to be the latter.

He was still not aware of just what had happened to the Centurion, to be honest. One moment she had been commanding the Principes to hold their ground, and he himself had been running between their own position and the one held by the Grey Wardens, only to return to a battered front-line, and a Centurion missing an arm.

Gods be good, the woman looked like she'd risen from the dead. Her armor was dented and torn, helmet gone and her hair was clumped up with caked blood he couldn't tell the owner of. Her left arm ended just at the elbow, and looked like it had been town from its socket.

And yet she was still fighting, covering their retreat.

"GET MOVING SOLDIERS! GET BACK TO THE NEXT DEFENSIVE POINT!" he shouted, doing what he could to force the Principes back faster than they were already going. The men were exhausted and shaken, he could see that. They were fighting monsters that just didn't want to die, and they were heavily outnumbered as it was. If the Grey Wardens failed on their side, they'd get swarmed here, and he knew that would be when the Cohort truly broke.

Looking back, he could see the woman staggering after them, sporadically applying restoration magic to herself. He knew the men might stop their retreat if he abandoned them, but his superior wasn't keeping pace, and there was only so much time the fire-runes could give them before they extinguished, and they _had to be behind friendly lines when the firewall went down_; "Centurion! Centurion we need to move!"

She didn't react to his words. Of course she didn't, her ears were bleeding and he'd seen her dilated pupils earlier. She was in shock, most likely from losing the arm, and her hearing seemed to be ruined, though he wasn't yet sure how, or when it had happened.

At least the giant damn monster hadn't broken their lines. He'd feared it would, and scatter the men, but for some reason it was just trashing around, stumbling into buildings and hurting itself and the darkspawn it trampled more than their men.

Stendarr preserve them, but it actually seemed like there was starting to be some thinning out in their numbers. The monsters had been packed at first, and seemed endless when they swarmed the walls and streets beyond, but…he might have been wrong, or even blindly optimistic, but there wasn't the same kind of momentum on them as before.

Any optimism he entertained was bashed against the rocks, however, once he noticed the covering firewall was starting to wane. They didn't have long now, and the Centurion wasn't looking like she was going to be in any real shape of taking charge right now. She looked at him when he grabbed her shoulder to pull her along, but her eyes didn't seem to fully recognize him.

She was growing pale, and it didn't seem to be from the bleeding. At least, the bleeding didn't appear to be the only cause. It could have been the treacherous lights playing tricks on him, but it almost seemed as if…something was darkening across her face. As if the veins stood out just a bit too contrasting against her skin.

It didn't look right, and only caused him to pull her along all the more insistently. They just had to get further up the hill, towards the town square, and he could get her to the healers. He could already see where the Triarii were parting to allow the Principes through, and the Polybolus was being aimed at the streets below. Laysh, if nothing else, was at least rather easily defensible by its center being at the top of the low hill. It allowed their archers some leeway, at least, and made it easier fighting downwards.

"We're last of the front. Close ranks behind us! Prepare the fire-cart!" he sent orders left and right as they passed through the three lines of Triarii. The men pulled close behind them in response, tower-shields scraping the ground as their long spears formed the phalanx, prepared to take the final charge; "Hold this position at all costs, men!"

"Stand your ground, Triarii!"

Sevilius knew the formation like the back of his hand, so much so that he could count the steps taken by each row of Triarii as they fell in, even as he continued steering the decreasingly stable Centurion to the town square. It felt as if each time he dared a look at his superior, she was looking worse and worse off. Her skin paled by the minute, and what he had at first been willing to write off as dirt on her face was now clearly the veins under her skin standing out, far too dark for it to be natural.

Divines, what was _this_ now?

"HEALERS!" he yelled even as he topped the slope and found himself in the square, where the Cohort had set up camp. Most of the injured he knew had been taken inside the actual town center, but the critically wounded were being treated right there, on the tiled plaza. Robe-clad men and women, both healers and their priests, were running about, an almost constant glow illuminating the dozens of rows of prone soldiers, both their own and of the town itself.

He hadn't expected to see _this_ many.

"HEALER! I NEED A HEALER!" he shoved his way through the retreating Principes, forcing his men to the ground if he had to. The soldiers were too worn out to actually resist him, and the healers sent him stares of scorn for it. That was, until they saw the person he was now supporting on his shoulders; "Healer! Meridia take it, someone help her!"

The one who ran to him, however, was not one of the cohort's healers, but rather one of the women he had noticed to serve in Laysh's temple, their _chantry_. Older than even the Tribune, judging by her looks, he had to assume she was one of their superiors.

"You shouldn't force yourself before those in more dire need of- oh Maker, another one." The old priestesses glare vanished and instead came an expression of undiluted regret and pity. It made the Quastor's innards churn; "She…I will take her, soldier…"

"Ano- what do you _mean_, another one?" Sevilius demanded heatedly, keenly aware of the sounds from further down the hill. The Darkspawn had made contact with the Triarii, he needed to get _back down there._ But he did not approve of the way this woman referred to his superior, so _sod_ the men, he needed _answers_; "Answer me, _priestess_, what is wrong with her? This _isn't_ just blood loss."

"She has the Taint. It is in her blood." The old woman answered grimly. Sevilius could feel his bowels freeze at her words, even as the woman on his shoulders sagged. The _Taint_, that was…that was what the Darkspawn carried, wasn't it? That was the disease they spread around them- _Akatosh_, how many of their men had been infected? "You should return to the fight, Soldier, I will take her."

"Not…not like this…I…_can't…" _the Centurion wheezed, her voice barely a rasp. Bloody coughing was starting to all but make her speech incomprehensible; "Quastor, I...I _order_ you to..." she hacked up blood, and the black veins underneath her skin stood out clearer for it; "I _need to get back out there_!"

Sevilius wanted to object - to the priestess - , wanted to demand answers or even that she removed a healer from their patients, but the sounds from down the street were becoming more and more dire, and he could feel the pull on his heart, as duty yanked from two directions; his superior, and his men.

"_Q-quastor_!" the word was a plea more than a command, and pained him with just how weak it came out. Steeling himself, he deliberately ignored his superior. Right now, it was all he could do. Her men were now his to lead, and his duty to command.

The fact that he needed healing himself didn't even factor in. He would administer what first-aid he needed himself, even if he had to do it while shouting orders. Finally, he shoved the Centurion into the woman's arms, too worn out and frustrated to notice how little the priestess seemed to be affected by his superior's weight;

"Get her to a Healer, _sod_ your Taint. Get. Her. To a damn Healer." He dared no longer risk postponing his return, and stepped about on the spot. One of the Principes limping by still wore a helmet, which the Quastor snagged and took for himself, along with the man's shield. If he was returning to combat, he wasn't doing so unprepared.

It spoke of either the other man's discipline or exhaustion that he didn't even speak a word of protest. Sevilius wouldn't have heard him if he had, either. Heart pounding in his chest, he was off, running back to where the Triarii were holding their ground as fast as he dared. His own balance was somewhat off, something he blamed on one of those creatures having pummeled him in the back of his head earlier.

Down below, as he came to the start of the checkpoint, Sevilius surveyed the situation as best he could. The Triarii were some of the most heavily armored soldiers of the Imperial Legion, meant to be the final line of defense that not even an Orc would be capable of pushing back. Their phalanx was intended both for offense and defense, and even the Thalmor had been stopped by their impregnable rows of spears and grit.

And now, it seemed, so had the Darkspawn. At least for the time being.

He had been right, at least, about the Darkspawn. From his vantage-point he could see all the way to the end of the street, where the walls were obscured by smoke and fire from burning houses on both sides. He couldn't see the actual street much, however, was it was littered with bodies almost every step of the way from the walls to their current defensive position. Halfway down the hill, the monstrous Ogre was yet staggering about, no aim to its movements at all - was it blind?

The Triarii before him spanned the street to such a degree that hardly an inch remained between the outermost man and the wall of the closest house. They had ensured all the buildings this far up were barred and reinforced, but had neglected setting them up with fire-runes. This was far less a strategic measure, and more because if they expended that much magicka on the runes, the mages would have been exhausted both mentally as well as physically before the Darkspawn had even arrived.

As it was, it was incredible that four battlemages had managed as much as they had. Right now, however, Sevilius needed to get-

"Legionary." A metallic voice commanded his attention before he could join the man. Turning to the source, he found himself facing one of the Knights of Laysh's Chantry, their Templars. Aside from minor details, these men might as well have been Knights of the Nine, or Knights of Iron, their armor was eerily similar. The man before him was bathed in blood of varying colors, and seemed to be swaying where he stood, though all expression was concealed behind his helmet; "Ser Karl. I am to report to your superior officer, where do I find her?"

"She's…unavailable right now. I'm in command." He wasn't even himself sure if that was true, actually. Too much chaos had erupted at the walls for him to yet know if the Centurion Secundae were alive or dead. Right now though, he just had to deal with things as they were; "Report to me."

"…Ser. Most of the Darkspawn seem to be congregating towards your main street, but we're still struggling to hold the side-streets after the beasts spread outwards from your last position. Casualties are…high, but manageable. The Warden-Constable believes we can come from the back and catch what remains of the Horde by surprise. Can you hold out here until such a time?"

"We'll hold. Tell your leaders we'll hold, or die trying." Sevilius nodded, drawing his sword; "It has come to the Triarii, we carry on to the bitter end."

"Ser." The Templar clasped his chest once and then took off, his encompassing plate-armor making him look so much like a Knight of Iron that Sevilius had to remind himself of where they were. The Quastor took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the Triarii.

The men, as well as their pyromancer, had prepared the cart they'd used to transport the larger ballistae, and had stacked it with flammable materials. It was the Centurion's idea, and for that he had to give her credit where it was due. It would come into work now, he hoped, when they prepared their counter-offensive down the hill.

"Set it alight."

The battlemage nodded and snapped his hands together at the cart. Tiny flames sprung up from the wood and hay, and quickly spread throughout the construction. Soon, it was an inferno on wheels, and Sevilius had it pushed forward to the point where it almost touched the rear of the phalanx.

"Triarii, center-split in five seconds!"

"Five seconds!"

"Three! Two! One! Split!" Sevilius bellowed, waving his arms for attention, then, as soon as the men started leaving the center of the street - leaving the Darkspawn momentarily confused - he motioned for the watchmen to give the wagon the final push, even as the monsters started pushing forward once more; "Triarii! As soon as the fires are past, close ranks and cut them down!"

The men complied, even as searing flames rolled past within inches of their shoulders. It all hinged on the cart keeping its momentum, and it did, as the men's discipline kept them from panicking near the burning cart. It crashed into the Darkspawn with both weight and momentum, and crushed those about to exploit the opening in the phalanx. The Quastor allowed himself a grim smile at the sight, and sounds, of monsters being incinerated. It was all they could do now, with no magicka-potions left, and no time for the mages to recover their full reserves.

It also gave the men a brief respite, something he knew was more valuable than one would think. Mere seconds of simply being allowed to breathe _was_ still entire seconds of simply being allowed to breathe. The cart continued rolling down the hill, flattenting and burning the creatures in its path before they finally managed to tip it over and stop its descent. Instead it was thrown aside, into the front of a house, to which the flames quickly started spreading.

But the Triarii were back in formation, and ready once more.

As they were fighting downhill, the phalanx hadn't bothered with overlapping their shields above. Instead the men behind the first line were handling their spears with both hands, stabbing away at the Darkspawn with greater force than the first line could achieve. The first line was more preoccupied with simply keeping their shields planted, using the foot-straps at the bottoms of their frames to secure their positions. The result was that only some Darkspawn could get close enough to the shields to actually attack them, and those that did received the spears from the third line of men. Even if the Darkspawn did not die from a spear in the chest, three more in the same place would do the trick.

It was meant to be impenetrable, and Tiber Septim take him, it actually seemed to hold up to its reputation, even against monsters such as these.

"Triarii! We hold this position or we die trying! The Wardens will attack the Darkspawn from behind, so hold your ground! Be the anvil their hammer strikes upon!"

"For the Empire!"

"For the Emperor!"

"FOR _TAMRIEL_!"

The shouts echoed both from the Triarii, as well as many of the Principes still capable of such. He would not involve them in the fighting now, they had served well and earned rest - as well as the fact that the Centurion would be likely to flay him if he sent depleted men into needless peril.

The Triarii worked in rhythmic precision, with the second and third lines stabbing away with clear and measured intervals. If a Darkspawn was not penetrated by the first row of steel, the second would spit it like a suckle pig. To Sevilius, watching this was beyond invigorating, as it seemed to finally have happened; his men were beating back the darkness, and had yet to actually take casualties.

"In the name of the Emperor, stand your-!" a flash of green erupted further down the street, causing the Quastor's heart to almost cease in his chest. It was too far away for him to clearly see it in the poor light, but something was moving towards them, and it was big. All he could see in the darkness was a hulking form, with lines of sickly glowing green crisscrossing in random patterns.

Once it was close enough however, he felt as if his heart might as well truly have stopped beating. The Ogre from the start of the battle, still to this point covered with the protruding ends of Pila and spears, had gotten back up and into the fight. Yet, this wasn't even what caused his blood to freeze. Rather, it was the fact that the monster clearly wasn't moving on its own accord, but acted more like the animated corpses employed by Necromancers.

The men had seen it too, and the chock it caused them broke their mechanical cycle. The darkspawn didn't hesitate for even a moment, using the break to surge forward, smashing into the orderly wall of shields. What had just moments prior been a controlled scenario was now a desperate fight for survival, as the frontline was forced to abandon their spears in favor of swords, or be cut down where they stood as the darkspawn grabbed and tore at their shields.

The phalanx was breaking, and the monster hadn't even reached them yet.

"HOLD FORMATION!" the Quastor screamed, running to the back of the third line. He started pressing the men forward, knowing that if they took even a single step back, the Darkspawn would continue pushing them all the way back into the square, and then the battle would become all that much more impossible to win. Had he remained where he stood, he would not have missed a one-armed soldier rushing past their lines and vaulting the barricade; "I SAID HOLD YOUR FORMATION, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

He might have actually had a chance at stopping her.

Instead, the first hint Sevilius received that his superior officer had lost her mind, was when he saw her jumping into the Darkspawn mass, fire-lit sword in hand. Even as he saw it, his mind failed to understand what the eyes told it, and he stood frozen to the spot even as the Darkspawn too appeared surprised by the newcomer. The woman should by all rights not even have been conscious, but resting, so what in _Arkay's Asshole_ was she _doing_?

"CENTURION!" he screamed, his voice borne out of both surprise, anger and panic. Was she intent on killing herself, rather than letting this _Taint_ do her in? _Forget the Centurion flaying me, the Tribune will BURN me if she dies!_ "TRIARII! OFFENSIVE FORMATION!"

When he saw the Centurion emerge, seemingly unscathed, from the mass of writhing, snarling bodies, he simply stopped trying to understand the how's. It didn't matter any longer, only that they reached her before the woman got herself killed.

The fact that she'd gotten her hands on a flaming sword, somehow, didn't even warrant his attention anymore. He was beyond that point.

That she wasn't turning to fight the mass of Darkspawn between them, but rather kept advancing towards the incoming Ogre, only further cemented to the Quastor that the woman had lost her mind. There was bravery, and then there was…whatever this was. Insanity?

He knew they weren't going to be in time, even if she seemed to be literally _burning_ her way through whatever got before her. There was no way the Darkspawn wouldn't have already mutilated the Centurion's corpse by the time they got to her…But if there was one thing to inspire vengeance in the men, it would be this.

"CLOSE RANKS! SPEARS FRONT! CRUSH YOUR ENEMIES UNDER THE IRON OF YOUR HEELS!" each bellow accompanied a push on the back of the third row as they advanced, as he _forced_ them to advance. The armor of the Triarii was thick, they _would_ advance, and they _would_ flatten the Darkspawn beneath them, or die trying.

And they had to do it before that monster flattened _them_.

He could see the progress the men made, courtesy of fighting downwards. He could see as their discipline and the weight of their bulk slowly forced their enemies backwards, spearing and spitting any of the monsters that weren't fast enough to get out of the way of Imperial steel held in the grips of vengeful sons of Tamriel.

"KEEP MOVING FORWARD! DO NOT WAVER! DO NOT FALTER! KILL!" he had not needed to shout, he realized, as the prospect of being shown up by their maimed superior was unlikely to be something the Elite would tolerate. Still, discipline, as well as his own nerves, demanded he kept doing so, even as the arrows of the town watch pitched in, picking off darkspawn further down the street; "KEEP THE MOMENTUM! KEEP THE MOMENTUM!"

They…they were actually prevailing. Sevilius dared not yet utter such aloud, for he could still not see a way for them to get to the Centurion before she was killed. The men would lose hope if he let as much show, and so he kept up the façade of the grim officer, determined that the men should only see him as such. He could only do what he did, and keep his eyes on the incoming Ogre further down the street.

Except…the Ogre was no longer coming towards them. Instead, it had stopped to face what appeared to be soldiers spilling out from the side streets and alleyways on the right side of the main street. They were all too far away for him to properly see them in this light, but he could see flashes of bright light.

The Grey Wardens had joined the fight.

* * *

Most who saw a Grey Warden, and _knew_ it was a Grey Warden, imagined them to be inexhaustible sources of strength, stamina and power.

They saw the towering Wardens of mankind, the chosen soldiers of the Maker…that is, when there was a problem with the sodding Darkspawn. If there wasn't, then people just tended to…forget, about the Wardens.

At least, everyone but the Anders. And Alexander Hermann was one such, an Anders Grey Warden, and a damn good one at that. He'd lived this long in a nation always beset by the abominable monsters of darkness and taint, and hadn't yet been ripped apart, so he'd have to be doing something right.

Still, Grey Wardens weren't inexhaustible, for all their prowess and fame. After only three hours of constant killing, the Warden-Constable could feel the weariness settle in his arms, even as he swung his berdiche with all the skill and power of a man who'd done little else for two decades. Each time his axe sang, heads were lopped from hideous shoulders, or entire bodies were cleaved from top to bottom. He'd stopped counting, really.

But with each kill, the blade was getting dulled.

Much like the leader of these newcomers, these 'Imperials', as they were called, he was starting to approach that certain age where one could say he was getting too old for this shit. Still, Grey Wardens didn't get _too old for this shit_. They either got the Calling or they died off before it arrived. Those were the golden rules, as some called them.

Common to all Grey Wardens, however, regardless of experience, was their dislike of Emissaries. It all stemmed from the fact that a Blight only truly began once Emissaries were spotted, and to see one here, so far from the supposed ongoing Blight in Ferelden, raised questions he did not want answered, but knew they had to be.

Once they rounded the final corner before emerging back into the contested street, Alexander was reminded of another reason he despised Emissaries. _Necromancy_. It was practiced by some in Tevinter, from what he understood, yes, but there never seemed to be a Darkspawn raid of proper size, during the Blights, without a necromancer being in the midst of it all.

He recognized the risen Ogre, too. It still had most, if not all of the spears protruding from its wandering corpse, and was clearly encumbered by them, but not to the point where it would blessedly just _die_, and stay that way. There was another one too, of the Ogres. It was raving about, smashing into the fronts of buildings as had it lost all senses.

"Split into three groups!" he instructed the remainders of his Wardens, as well as the Templars with them. Servants of the Maker knew no fear, but it did not make them immortal. They had already lost so many good townsfolk, and on this street, he could hardly see the ground for bodies, and resigned himself to having to walk _on_ them; "Wardens focus on the Ogres, Templars focus on the Emissary! It's got to be what's leading the Darkspawn!"

"Warden-Constable! The Imperials are moving down the hill, they've started their attack early!"

"What?" when he turned, it was true. The Imperials were forcing the Darkspawn down the street, their formation reminding him most of all of a tortoise or a centipede, relentlessly keeping its momentum with weight alone; "It's fine, the timing isn't too much off. When we've dealt with the Ogres here, we…"

He stopped. Because, before his eyes, there was a sight he was truly unprepared for. At first, he thought it was a Darkspawn - had to be, so dark, filthy and bloody as it was -, but when the distance closed between them, the Wardens as a whole stared at the incoming human, for it was nothing other than thát.

And there was…there was fire, in the soldier's hand. Its glow seemed to spread all across him, even visible from where the Constable stood.

"That's one of the Imperials…" Ser Karloff muttered beside him, the echo of his metallic voice barely reaching beyond the confines of his bucket; "…is he…_glowing_?"

Later, much later, Alexander would still wonder how he had never _truly_ understood what a blessing from the Maker the Imperials were. As a man of both rational skepticism and devotion, he had not at first bought into the concept of pagan foreigners being a true sign from the Maker and his Bride, but…there was something borderline _religious_ about the sight before him, in such a way that he could feel the muscles of his knees tremble.

A soldier, a _single_ soldier, was moving through the Darkspawn as if they were not even there, dragging a tail of fire and desiccated corpses behind him. _Her_. It was a _her_, he saw now, when she was getting closer. A woman, with but one arm, was brutalizing the Darkspawn in ways he had never seen before. It could have been exhaustion hitting him, or the flaming sword she swung, but there seemed to almost be a…a holy glow about her. A golden glow that stemmed as much from the blade in her hand as from the woman herself.

This…this couldn't be mere magic. It was too intense, even from here he could feel the shivers as something other than simple cold ran the length of his spine. It was far warmer, and had his heart and blood singing with a rejoice he couldn't explain.

"Maker's Brea-" a roar dragged him from the near-religious stupor and back to the task at hand. Shamefully, while _he_ had been so fixated on this…_visage_, this figure glowing with otherworldly light, the men had engaged the Ogres with renewed fervor. Reluctantly, he turned from the incomprehensible sight, even as the woman drew closer, and readied his axe for the final acts of the day; "For the MAKER!"

He cleaved his way through what few Darkspawn still lingered this far back, twisting the polearm in his hands to instead strike with the crushing hammer to break through the armor of a Hurlock Alpha standing before him. Had he not been a Warden, he would not have been fast enough to strike the monster down, but instead the blow struck true and sent the Hurlock crashing to the ground, where he finished it with two consecutive blows to the head.

Then the sun itself passed him by.

For a moment, Alexander could do little but stagger backwards as light made flesh walked past him, flaming sword in hand. All taint near her burned and withered away like so many dry weeds, and the blazing heat felt as if he stood in a bonfire, or the smelter of a forge.

The other Wardens noticed it as well. This close, no one could deny the presence of something that _could not_ be a mere human being. No mage, neither from Thedas or anything he had seen the foreigners do so far, could produce something like this. This holy light, this radiance of energy that scorned all that was tainted, even to the point that the blinded Ogre turned towards it with renewed hatred. If even the blind could see the light, what could this be but a sign from the Maker?

Blinded and wounded, the Ogre still drove aside the surrounding Wardens in its charge. Somehow, it could see where to go, who was the source of this radiant light. The awesomeness was so overwhelming that Alexander could not even comprehend that he should avoid the incoming monster, even as its thundering steps made the street tremble.

A blade of fire cut the air, accompanied with a sound like nothing Alexander knew. When the blade met the Ogre's charge, it did not stop the beast dead in its tracks. Indeed, the Ogre continued, only its roar had ceased and its arms hung limp. Slowly, step by step, the monster came to a grinding halt, and the reason became clear as the legs fell apart from under it, and the beast crashed to the ground with a whimper, while black ichors spew forth from its wounds.

The woman, her eyes of white fire, stood before the monster as it's body churned through the corpses, and planted her foot on its horned skull.

"**I c**as**t** **y**ou **o**ut fr**o**m th**is** pl**ace**, cre**atur**es of **Dar**kn**ess**. **By the Lady** I **sha**ll p**urge **yo**ur** k**in**d f**ro**m e**xiste**nc**e**." she spoke with the Prophet's voice, clear and heavenly, yet with justice and wrath for the sinners and abominations, even as she drove the flaming blade into the Ogre's head.

Alexander sank to his knees, unable to support himself against what he was witnessing. His skin was as if on fire, and his blood and heart sang with rejoice and praise to the Maker, for the sight before him was nothing if not a miracle. _Maker and his Bride be praised!_

Andraste had finally sent them her Champion.

* * *

**This marks the end of the Battle of Laysh. It's the first time I've really tried an entirely original arc in this story, so I'm dying to know what you think of it so far.**  
**All characters in the arc, minus the king himself, are oc's, which you probably already knew. Tribune Kratorius is heavily inspired of Liam Cunningham in Centurion, both in appearance and to a certain extent his personality as well.  
****Centurion Idoria Mallin is...I don't think she's inspired by any one person, as much as when I once saw a picture of a female Imperial Centurion, and I thought "I need one of those some day"  
**

**As always, my Archivist has been a huge help in figuring out the pro's, cons and details of everything ES-related. Rhodry is basically my talking punching bad I can throw ideas at, sort of. I don't really know if there's a better description.**

**This, of course, is nowhere near the end of the 6th Cohort's storyline. I have deliberately not written on what's going on in Hossberg, and we'll probably be seeing a lot more Imperial influence in the future.  
**  
**I wasn't kidding back when I said I wanted this to be an actual crossover, with politics, realistic interaction and all the insane consequences that could ever come thereof.**


	65. Intensive Tutoring

_I never quite understood the reluctance of the Legion when it came to using airships. True, the first models we constructed from the schematics left behind were…inadequate, to put it mildly. Slow, expensive and fragile, levitation-magic was the far superior option._

_But…what if you didn't have a mage available? Or needed transportation of something far too common for a mage to be designated such a task? What if there was the need to quickly move large quantities of something from, say, Hammerfell to Cyrodiil or Morrowind, and the seas were brimming with pirates?_

_We've always known the Dwemer compensated for their lack of magic, but…did we ever consider if their methods were superior to ours? We always assumed magic to be the better way, the less fallible method when you needed something done. And how about long distances? Teleportation has become sketchy at best, after the Oblivion Crisis, and I know of no mage who can carry men from one end of the Empire to the other. Airships, on the other hand..._

_...where was I?_

_...So, yes, airships. They were fragile and expensive back then, but…as the saying goes, "The bird that flies against the wind grows the strongest wings" _

_-_ Imperial Chief Engineer Malog-al Baruuf, 4E 190

* * *

**Intensive Tutoring**

* * *

Three days had passed by since the scene that had amused a great many sentries, that being two Wardens tied to a tree. Back then, the air had still been cold but dry, and had not yet released the first sprinkles of snow.

Frost, however, had now made its presence clear. The air was frigid, and her breath stood out in puffs of steam with every exhale, made only worse by her dislike of the situation. The frost was one aspect of Skyrim she hadn't missed in the least, and the Fereldan version was if possible made worse by the lingering humidity, making the cold seep through the extra layers and cloaks everyone had donned.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Talia asked, glancing at Morrigan who had at long last been forced into a heavier set of clothes than her usual attire. The Breton didn't understand why Morrigan hated jackets or robes, they damn well _suited_ her, much to the witch's probable indignation. Still, even her amusement at the witch's predicament provided little comfort as to her own, current one; "I haven't done this since the Deep Roads, and…not with an _audience_."

The last part was mainly directed at the fact that, instead of it being just the two of them, or maybe even just her, the witch and Brelyna, now most of their group was gathered around her, Cullen included. She knew most of her uncertainty came from his presence, as well as the fact that both her own and Aedan's mother had decided to be present.

But Cullen was still the main source of her uncertainty. Still, she couldn't exactly tell him to leave. She didn't have a valid reason…and it wouldn't be very polite. Honestly, as much as she despised the Circle and all it stood for on a personal level, she knew people like their resident Templar only had good intentions. It was just the mages of Thedas who had been dealt a shit hand, and Onmund had been added to the casualties by sheer…what, misfortune?

_Fuck_…

Even now, almost a year later, it hadn't left her. Her heavy cloak pressed the broken soul gem against her undershirt along with the vial of blood, and she could still feel as if it would warm up without her touch, as if there still lingered some trace of her friend within. But…she knew there wasn't anything left. The gem was broken, and there was nothing in it now, nothing but the memory of a friend, of a ghost who had spent his final words urging her forward.

Onmund was never much for violence, so would he approve of or be disappointed in her for not even contemplating how to avenge him now, after all this time? She didn't know, and felt like after three years, she _should_ have known. But she didn't, and that-

"You need practice, Talia, if you are to face the Archdemon in combat." Morrigan broke her from the stupor, and she snapped back to reality in time to see the witch as she finished drawing glyphs and wards in the frozen soil with her staff. Talia stood in the center, and the others around them; "This way, I can draw you out by force should things…not go so well."

"That's a nice way of saying horrible shit happening." She grumbled, stretching her fingers. Right, she could do this. She'd done it before, it was just a matter of concentrating. That in itself was the problem though, because she wasn't quite sure she wanted this kind of audience for her transformation; "Alright, I'm ready."

"You'd likely be dead now if that was not the case…" the witch smirked as she stepped outside the circle of power, as Brelyna dubbed it. It wasn't quite the same, but close enough that the name wasn't a joke; "Instead of a full transformation, I would like you to start with something more taxing; partial transformation."

"…that's a thing?"

"Indeed, though usually not practiced much beyond its use in honing your control, as few shapeshifters find a practical use for it. I, for example, could not fly if I merely transformed my arms." Morrigan seemed to be explaining it just as much for Talia's benefit as for the crowd, something oddly out of character for her. Was this another sign of her becoming more…outgoing? "We'll have you do the same, now. If you'd remove your gloves, bracers and roll up your sleeves, we will start with your hands."

"…alright?" she obliged, tossing each item Aedan's way as they came off. He caught them all, which just about earned him a smile. They still…_weren't_ exactly back to normal, she knew that, but… they were getting there. Mainly the biggest hindrance was the fact she didn't really know how to go about pretending nothing had happened. There was a scar, that much was evident, and she wasn't sure if time would even heal it; "But…I haven't done something like that before."

"Understandable, considering your situation." More than anything, Morrigan sounded more like she accepted some sort of challenge, and without her usual snark; "You are aware that a dragon, or a Wyrm's skin is made up of chitinous scale, rather than mammalian skin, yes?"

"Yeah, I think I noticed as much that first time…" especially when it had been ripping itself from the bloody shreds of her skin. There was a kind of agony that simply didn't leave you, that left scars beyond the physical ones…

"Good." The witch nodded; "Then let me explain why that is relevant. You see, the difference lies not in magic, but in the cells making up your body. Each has predetermined purpose, each fulfils its purpose, and each makes up a whole that is your human form. You are following me so far, I hope?"

"Cell-theory, yeah, my tutors covered as much." Talia responded with a nod, noticing her mother smiling in the corner of her eye. She'd paid attention alright…sometimes. Everything wasn't equally easily remembered, just because something was exciting; "Can I change my cells?"

"If my estimates are correct, that is indeed what happened the first time you turned. Of course, in Haven t'was… hardly voluntary, and your mind fought the transformation, which is what caused the no-doubt overwhelming pain you went through."

"Yeah, how about I _don't_ do that again?" Talia felt her heart beating just a little faster - she did _not_ want a repeat of Haven. It was by far the most agony she had ever been through, and nothing could coerce her into repeating it, not even preparation for fighting the Archdemon.

"Worry not, t'is why I am here, and why you stand in the circle."

"I trust you know what you are doing, Morrigan?" her mother inquired sharply. The hard tone was probably mostly from concern; "I will not have my daughter tortured from incompetence."

"Talia requires practice with her powers, and of this group, only I am an experienced shapeshifter, unless Merrill has something she would like to say?" Morrigan replied without missing a beat, indignation hot in her voice as she looked first at Talia's mother, then at the Dalish hiding behind Jowan. Talia still didn't understand why Jowan had brought her to this, but had decided to consider it his test of character-judgement. That, and Merrill being as adorable as she was sorta served to distract from the fact that she was soon going to potentially rip her own arms off.

"N-nope, _nope_, nothing." The girl shook her head far faster, and far more than what was probably required; "Shape-shifting isn't really my area. B-but I think I could tell you the theory of how-"

"Then I remain as the most able of this group." Morrigan cemented; "That aside, should things truly go wrong, we are _so_ blessed as to have a _templar_ with us, oh _thank the Maker_, and all that."

"Don't rise to it, Cullen." Alistair warned with little mirth, letting the '_I've learnt not to'_ go unspoken; "Talia, are you ready for this? We're here to help."

Which was kind of the problem. She felt so damn self-conscious with everyone paying attention to her that it wasn't even funny. Adding to that, that aside from Morrigan it was unlikely anyone _could_ help.

_Right_, she took a deep breath and held it, forcing her heartbeat down. She could _so_ do this, even if everyone was watching her like she'd just grown a tail. Which, she realized, might actually be something Morrigan would want her to do; "I'm ready."

"Good. Then we shall start with your right hand, as well as your forearm." The witch-turned-instructor said, stepping inside of the circle. She pressed a single finger against Talia's upturned palm; "When I remove my finger, focus on the very spot it touched. Focus on every single cell of skin and tissue, _see_ and _feel_ the blood running through each vein, envision the bones in your arm and hand. Know that it is _your_ appendage, and know that it has two true forms; it's current, and the form you wish for it to take."

"R-right…That's it?" Talia hesitated once Morrigan's finger pressed just a litter harder against her skin. The witch had started biting her nails, she could feel, as well as the pulsating sensation of having the flesh disturbed by the foreign object; "I just…imagine it."

"Do not imagine. _Know_." Morrigan pressed her finger down one last time, now on Talia's wrist, before removing it; "Now, do as I told you. Ignore your fears of pain, and focus on where I touched."

"But you touched _two_ spots!"

"Then focus on two spots, Talia." Morrigan's reply was without mercy; "You can turn your whole form, now you _must_ learn finesse, and I will see to that, even if it ends me."

"I'm _trying_."

"Do or do not, Talia. There is no try…"

"_Fffffff…right_" Talia did her best at blocking out the snarky comment Alistair sent Morrigan's way, as well as the reply she shot right back at their leader. Right now, all she could be allowed to focus on was the skin of her hands. It just so happened that because Morrigan had touched _two_ places, she couldn't.

Instead, all she could do in the end was trying to focus on the point between the spots, and pray it had the same effect. She just had to turn that area into something else, into the draconic counterpart, and hope it didn't suddenly grow to the size of the actual transformation. That would be…unfortunate, and heavy.

Under her gaze, the skin started to ripple. At first there was a sting of pain, and panic grasped at her heart that she was going to undergo the same agony as in Haven, but slowly, the sting instead gradually became an itching sensation, as specks of skin started changing before her eyes. Beige, soft skin hardened and started reddening as if from a rash, then separated into segmented scales, and it was as if her fingers withdrew within themselves as her nails thickened and grew longer, darker and sharper.

"_Fuck me…_" she gasped, now looking upon an exact replica of the forearm and claws she would have in her draconic form, only scaled to the size of a human's. Even the protective scales had grown from human skin, and now reflected the lights from Morrigan's circle of power; "I did it"

"Good. Now, repeat it with your left hand. This time, I shall not provide points." Morrigan didn't miss a beat, it seemed. She went straight from praise to additional work.

"I don't get a break?"

"_No_." the way her lips moved betrayed just how much the witch was enjoying this. Whether it was the chance to teach, or just to drag her through the training, Talia wasn't sure.

Surprisingly, the left hand changed almost as if she knew how to, simply by looking at it. It probably was not the best analogy, but the way it felt, like it was something as natural as expanding and compressing her own lungs, she couldn't come up with another.

Now, where before she could roll ten fingers, she could roll but six, strong and firm claws.

"This is…" she rolled her fing- _claws_, and found the sensation completely natural, as each functioned just as they would in her larger form; "…it feels, like, normal…"

"As it well should." Morrigan noted, stepping up next to her. Without another word she took Talia's draconic right arm, and held it up for inspection; "Most impressive, I did not expect that you would succeed to this degree on your first attempt."

"What, you thought I was going to fuck it up?" the Breton gave her friend a flat stare. Morrigan barely seemed to notice it.

"I drew the circle for a reason." The witch mused, leaving it at that; "Be that as it may…you have full control over your hands? No irregularities?"

"Well…" Talia hesitated, clenching both hands into fists. It was really weird, standing here in her human form, with draconic claws and forearms. Not that she minded, actually. Compact like this, the scales were actually kinda, well… beautiful, as were the strong muscles she could see wired like rope underneath the snake-like armor; "Yeah, full control. No problems, far as I can see…Hey, J'zargo! High-five, eh?"

"This one would rather not sustain injuries…" the cat muttered, taking a step back from the audience; "Besides, Talia might have claws, but she lacks a tail. One without the other is shameful display."

"You mean _a_ shameful display, no?" Leliana mused, for some reason sitting on one of the thicker branches of a tree. Skillfully, and almost like one of those monkeys from Hammerfell, she fell back, hooked her legs in the branch and performed a summersault before landing with all the grace of a cat. Some of her long hair fell into her eyes, and she threw her head back just enough to have them all fall back; "The other does not make sense."

"J'zargo knows what he said."

"It's…not bad." Aedan commented, stepping closer while remaining outside the circle. She held up the changed appendages for show; "It's a lot less intimidating than the big version."

Wordlessly, she held one out for him to take. It wasn't really something she consciously decided to do, but it seemed…_right_, somehow. A step on the path to mending their relationship would obviously be for them both to become more comfortable with the more…_uncommon_ _aspects_ of her powers. Maybe this practice was good for more than just honing her skills?

Aedan seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyes locked on the hand that, instead of wearing skin and five fingers, was clad in red scales and strong claws. Before uncertainty could grow in her chest though, he shuffled her belongings onto one arm, and took hers gently in the other. Quietly, and without a word spoken, he simply ran a thumb over the draconian features, looking perplexed more than anything.

Not that she blamed him, really.

"How does it feel?"

"It…" he paused his thumb in the midst of her palm, such as it was. Considering it was somewhat less of a palm now, and more of a flexible surface, she wasn't entirely sure what to call it; "…feels different. More…harder, I think? Kinda like armor, just softer…"

"Tickles a bit, when you do that…" she didn't bother trying to withhold the smile borne of his touch. Even through the new skin and scale, she could sense every little crease on the surface of his fingers, so heightened was her sensitivity; "…it's nice. Do you…think they don't suit me?"

The question made him pause, somehow undisturbed by the entirety of their audience, not that she paid them much attention. Morrigan hadn't moved from her side, probably to ensure Aedan didn't enter the circle.

"…you're you. Your powers are you, so I don't see how they can anything but suit you…" his eyes were locked on her hand as he spoke, a blush creeping over his ears. It made her chest lift, just a little, to see him like this again, and to hear him say that.

"Woo! Aedan!" Daveth cheered, drawing sheepish grins from the both of them; "Smooth as fuck!"

"Oh do go on, the both of you are well on your way to making me ill…" Morrigan grumbled, averting her eyes; "_You_, person who is not a mage, go back to where you stood. _You_, person who _is_ a mage, do try to at least pretend this is important, and not merely wasting my time."

"Means 'Down Boy', me thinks." Daveth quipped, mock-dragging Aedan away and back to the others; "Can't have you knocking 'er up in front of everyone, eh?"

"For once, Daveth, your being an insufferable crude is of use." Morrigan sighed as she watched the archer leer and grin. Talia knew, however, what hid behind that smile, perhaps better than anyone else in their group; "Now, we will allow the hands to stay as they are, and see if we can't build on your momentum."

"…okay?" she wasn't sure if she liked the sound of that, but at this point there really wasn't any doubt that Morrigan only wanted to help. All her crass snark and anti-social behavior aside, Morrigan was a good friend, and Talia trusted her, perhaps even with her life. So, she could trust her with this, she figured; "So, what, I'm growing horns? A tail?"

"The latter, actually." Morrigan nodded, tapping a knuckle on Talia's hip, where humans would have tailbones. Bretons, of course, being half-n-half's, did not. She hardly felt it at all, but knew what the witch meant; "This might be a little more challenging, as you will be unable to visually focus in the same manner as before."

"_Riiight_?" that didn't sound like it was going to be fun; "So…you want me to strip or…?"

She didn't have to look to know just how many of her comrades sounded like they were choking on their breaths. Or which ones were the most obnoxious. Well, at least neither Sten nor Wynne were here, so she was spared _that _reaction.

"No doubt hilarious though that would be, we do not have time to deal with the resulting blood loss." Morrigan smirked from behind a curled hand; "Merely adjust your clothing in such a manner that, say, an extra leg sprouting from your buttocks would not rip the fabric."

"…this has got to be the weirdest tutoring I've _ever_ received…" Talia grumbled, adjusting her smalls as inconspicuously as she could. She was _not_ going to be groping her own ass in front of everyone, that was _not_ going to be something she did. Still, she managed to make room for 'a leg coming out of her ass', however fucked up that sounded.

"Though no-doubt by far the most practical." Morrigan smirked as she wandered around her, letting a hand run idly down Talia's spine. If Talia hadn't known - or at least been dead-certain - that her friend was straight, she'd have classified the way in which the witch's hand touched her as borderline sexual, especially because it settled just above her ass. A definitely-not-sexual sensation spread from the tip of her fingers and into the end of Talia's spine, causing a full-body shiver; "I'm merely making your body more agreeable to the transformation, worry not for your chastity…" the witch mused, then whispered; "…or rather _lack_ thereof."

Talia would have smacked her, right then and there, if not for the fact that doing so, with her current hands, could very well have ripped Morrigan's face off. In spite of her irritation, that was not something she really wanted to do. All she could do, right now, was glare at the witch.

A glare that promptly became a wince when a particularly sharp jolt ran through her spine. It felt like being electrocuted more than anything, and it wasn't like she'd been _warned_ it would feel like this. _Son of a-_

"_Fuck_! Could you maybe warn me next time?"

"T'was my impression you were… _aware_ of my hand's whereabouts?" Morrigan's expression was far too innocent to be genuine. That actually led Talia to wonder if she _had_ been wrong on the assumption of her friend's sexual orientation. Had she wasted an opportunity there, at some point? "Rejoice, then, for I am done. Now it falls to you to enact the transformation."

"Wa- _Right_, the transformation." It took her a moment longer than it should have to get her mind out of the proverbial gutter, such as it was. Focus returned to her own ass - and wasn't that just the statement of the day? - she closed her eyes and sent as much magicka to the area as she could get away with. All she had to do, in the theory she had comprehended, was to _know_ that there was supposed to be a tail there, and it would grow out of her spine, maybe even forming a tailbone while at it?

It started as a tingling sensation, like nothing more than an itch. When said itch only increased in intensity, Talia lost her will to avoid touching it, and moved a hand to scratch, more out of instinct than anything. What she felt, then, caused her fingers to freeze upon contact. Scales, smooth and flexible, were spreading from around the base of a growing tail, the naked skin curling and rippling and hardening. The new appendage was sprouting with the speed of a sapling on Skooma, if there was to be any comparison. Even as she held her hand around the growing tip, it started pushing out between her fingers, already a foot long.

"Looks like morning-wood reversed, eh?" Cíada grinned, and she used her free hand - claw - to flip her off. It didn't really have the right effect with only three fingers, but she trusted it got the message across. The problem was though, that the elf was kinda right. Right now the tail was still sprouting, and not yet long enough to start dropping, so it raised the back of her cloak out as if she really had something else between her legs.

"…this is why I didn't want an audience."

"Keep your mind on the task at hand, if you please." Morrigan's fingers snapped by her face; "Control and regulate the flow of magicka, or the transformation might spread to the rest of your body."

"…would that be a bad thing?"

"Depends, whether you would like to remain in one consistent size." The witch mused, sounding almost as if it was a dare. One Talia had _no_ interest in taking; "For now, let us persevere to remain as you are, plus the tail. It's…coming along rather nicely, actually."

"Is that unusual, Morrigan?" Brelyna asked, stepping a little closer to the circle, so that she stood next to Aedan, who had once more walked up. Really, he worried just a little too much, they both did. Then again, she appreciated the sentiment.

"Not…in any bad way, should that serve as consolation." Morrigan mused, borderline groping Talia as she examined the growing tail, now the length of an arm, and still growing longer, and thicker at the base. Talia could see it now, if she craned her neck enough, and was actually quite pleased with what she saw. Gleaming red scales, and perfect symmetry in their proportions, as well as placement. At least she was spared those weird top-spikes her Wyrm-form used; "Does it respond to your commands?"

"…what?"

"…can you _move_ the damn thing?" Morrigan pressed, holding up what was now more than a meter's worth of red, muscled and quite pretty reptilian tail. The damn thing was still growing, and showed no sign of slowing down, even as it touched the cold ground.

Talia frowned, trying to remember how to operate a muscle she technically wasn't supposed to have. It was weird because when in her Wyrm-form, she knew how to move pretty much everything as if she had been born with it. Even the part with moving around on all fours seemed like the most natural thing in the world. She focused, clenching the muscles around her rear, and found the tip of the tail doing little…hops. That was disappointing, she'd kinda hoped she could control it like a third leg.

"Could be nerves not yet responding?" the witch suggested.

It was when the disappointment permeated her, however, that the tail finally seemed to stop its explosive growth, and at the same time actually respond to, not her commands, but her mood, rather. It was weird because it looked like the tail on a Khajiit, more than a dragon or a human. Right now she was technically something like eighty percent human, which was something most people didn't get to ponder.

She leaned down and took the tip in her hand. Remarkably, it was actually pretty sensitive to touch, and a light shiver ran down up her spine. A small voice at the back of her mind wondered what uses it could have, outside of the more conventional ones.

"Well, t'is a fine thing that I am not easily jealous." Morrigan muttered from behind a lightly clenched fist; "It took me nearly a week of trying before I could waggle a wolf-tail…" a frown took its place on her expression, and she lowered her voice; "…would this be your…bond, perhaps easing the transition? I can scarcely think of anything else that could achieve this."

Talia paused playing with herself, to instead gaze up at Morrigan.

"Frankly he hasn't said a peep since…since before I told the others." She spoke softly so that Cullen would have _no_ chance of hearing even a snippet. She didn't distrust him, but she also didn't trust him. From a rational standpoint, she knew she wasn't exactly being fair to him - he'd never been anything but polite towards her, even back in the Tower. Her hatred towards the Circle back then had simply soured their relationship to the point where she'd been too ashamed - and stubborn - to thank him for helping the others find her in Haven. It had been _months_, and she hadn't thanked him for it yet.

Did that make her a cunt? Probably not, but it was definitely not a trait worth holding onto. She'd have to get around to thanking him soon, and preferably before one of them died. These days, with the Blight creeping so far north that it reached Lake Calenhad, that wasn't as unlikely to happen as she would have liked.

It was also another reason why their route was longer than last time. Eamon had, understandably, _not_ wanted to travel through land already claimed by the Blight.

"It still could be residue from the bond itself, regardless of…_his_ influence, could it not?"

"…maybe, I dunno."

"…be that as it may, I would say this has been a successful session. You have managed to form a hybrid, something rarely useful to shapeshifters, yet…I wonder if it could be so for you?" Talia watched the witch ponder, a finger lightly tapping against her cheek; "Let us discuss this later, with fewer ears around. For now, I believe we should return your body to its normal condition, before we ride on. I do not think the Anders, being fanatics such as they are, would appreciate your current appearance."

"…right, right…" Talia sighed, letting go of her tail. It was such a marvelous thing, really, to have a tail like that, while she still stood on her own two feet. She nearly wanted to say 'fuck it' and keep it out. Still, she knew Morrigan had a point, and that they had only limited time before the convoy finished eating and resumed their travel.

Denerim was, after all, only three more days' worth of travel away. It was odd, really, remembering the last time they had travelled this way. It had been with Bann Teagan, in the middle of the autumn, in lots and lots of heavy rain, and since they'd all been mounted, had also only taken them, what…two days? So much had happened since then, and especially their flight _from_ Denerim, that she really couldn't remember.

"Would you like to attempt resuming your natural form on your own, or should I aid you?"

"I…" she paused, taking a breath. Shapeshifting like this was more tiring than she'd expected, perhaps mainly because of all the adrenaline rushing around her veins, and the fact that it was the first time she tried it. That, or maybe something in Morrigan's circle of power was messing with her mental balance. Even if it wasn't activated, the runes were specifically designed to reverse transformation, and magical residue wasn't unlikely when the signs were this shallow, courtesy of the frozen ground; "…I'm a bit tired. I'd appreciate your help."

"In that case we shall start by reversing your tail's growth." Morrigan placed one hand on her tail, and Talia felt ripples of energy shooting up her spine. She could actually, for a brief moment, sense her extended spinal cord in the new appendage, even as it started withdrawing back into her hips. So apparently she now had a tailbone? _This is the weirdest shit all week…_

It took less than a minute, then no trace remained of the red and muscly tail, and Talia was left having to suddenly compensate for the lack of a counterweight. It was weird, almost like she was bereft of something supposed to be an integral part of her body.

"Does anything feel amiss?"

"…no, it's just…" she wasn't sure how the hell to put it; "…feels like I should have kept it, almost…"

"Not an uncommon reaction, rest assured." The witch mused; "Your mind is trying to understand on a base level why you gained and lost an appendage with so rapid intervals. You feel bereft, yes? As if an integral part of you is now missing."

"…kinda."

"It will pass. T'was the same for me" Morrigan then moved up and around, so that she stood before Talia; "I will reset one hand, and then you will have to do the other. Considering the ease with which you seemed to change them, this should pose little difficulty."

"…right. This is still really, really weird, by the way." The Breton sighed, focusing on Morrigan's hands as they clasped gently around her left claws. Was it called claws or still technically a hand? When she was a Wyrm, it was simply a sort of flexible front-foot, almost like a paw. But here, she felt like it was a hand more than anything else.

"Understandable, considering how little shapeshifting is practiced in Tamriel, all of this must still seem new and strange, I assume?"

"That's still really weird too, how you know things about Tamriel, unless Brelyna mentioned something while I wasn't there." Talia frowned, because that was something she still didn't fully understand. Morrigan had once, back when they'd first met, said it was merely because her mother had told her a few things about her travels, but it sounded more like she'd been given a surprisingly specific tutoring on the nature of Tamrielan magic.

It was going to be a never-ending series of surprises with this girl, wasn't it?

"Flemeth was always quite fond of recounting her time on your continent…" the witch mused, being vague as bloody always. It was odd, though, how she had completely stopped referring to Flemeth as her mother, and simply as 'Flemeth'. It hadn't been a sudden thing, at least Talia was pretty sure it hadn't been a sudden thing, but it had started after she'd woken up following their fight in Kinloch. Her tongue curled with distaste at the memory; "…now then, let us see if you can finish this on your own."

Talia looked down just in time to see the last speck of red replaced with pale beige. Her left hand was completely human again, and she hadn't even noticed, because…what? Was it because she'd been distracted, or that the electric tingling sensation hadn't left her mind yet? Foreign magic, especially Fade-based magic, always left a rather buzzing mark on her, like after a good few rounds of heavy drinking.

Nothing like the actual Fade though. She _hated_ that thing. Or place, really. If it _was_ an actual plane of Oblivion, her discomfort with it would only be all the more reasonable.

"Right…" taking a deep breath, she focused down on her right hand, willing whatever energies were in it to retract back into her body. It was the best she could do, right now, but it at least seemed to work. Slowly, the color started draining from scales that sank into and merged with skin. The three claws thinned and split, taking the form of nails instead. The withering of strong muscles in the appendage was an uncomfortable sensation, but thankfully lasted only a few moments; "…that was easy."

"Quite so, it would appear." Morrigan's tone could not have been drier; "Then, I call this experiment a success."

"Then I suggest we make our way back to the convoy, lest the Arl becomes worried at our absence." Eleanor declared as she stood; "We will likely have to eat mounted."

"Yes…it would not do for the esteemed Arl to suffer any worries, would it?" the witch mused, though with little scathe in her tone; "Talia, if you would take the rear guard with me later, I have something I…would _appreciate_ your opinion on."

"Sure." Talia shrugged and rolled her shoulders, as well as her five-fingered hands. It really was weird, how both forms suddenly seemed…natural, to have. It was almost like it was…part of her, just as much as her hair-braid or nose or sharper-than-human canines. Though the last bit marked her more as a Breton than anything else, really…

"That was very impressive." It spoke of a lot of things, primarily Talia's weariness, that she had not heard nor seen the diminutive girl approach, until the elf was _right in her face_. She nearly leapt into the air, even as Merrill did a small, surprised hop backwards; "Oh, I'm sorry, was that- should I have said something before I said it was impressive? I'm not really used to not being heard when I go around, humans don't have the hearing we do and wait was that rude? I didn't mean to be rude I just-"

"Merrill." Talia managed to interrupt her, as soon as her own heartrate had gone down again; "Thank you. I am glad you enjoyed the show."

"Oh but that's not what I- Oh. You know my name? I didn't realize we'd been personally introduced…Have we? I don't recall?"

"Oh my _God_. Jowan, stop feeding that thing sugar, look what it's done to her!" Cíada snapped as she stalked past, leveling a flat stare at Merrill and the young Warden; "Merrill we all know your name because you've been yapping all day every day since we left Redcliffe. Don't you get _sore_?"

"Well, someone's in a snarky mood, eh?" Talia mused, giving the other elf a curious look. Cíada looked like she wanted to continue, but Cullen's hand on her shoulder made her stop in her tracks, a furious blush creeping over her cheeks;

"W-what I meant is…H-human interactions, and just talking with others outside of your clan in g-general, people listen even if you're not talking directly to _them_, you know?" Cíada looked like she wanted to set herself on fire. Sadly, Talia knew that wasn't even possible for the smaller mage.

Actually…maybe that wasn't sad at all.

"Oh…_Oh_. I never thought of that." Merrill's face lit up with something like dawning revelation, and it was clear on Cíada's face that she was already regretting her decision; "I didn't know that, you know, since I've always lived with the clan and we didn't really have much interaction with the outside world, particularly me since I'm the First, but our Keeper once told me to always-…"

"Well, I can see the two of you are getting along splendidly, so I'm just going to leave you to it." Talia knew she should feel just a little guilty at the horrified look on Cíada's face, even as Merrill's stream of words briefly faded into the background. They made their return with a vengeance though, as the Dalish girl immediately changed subjects and started on something entirely else, while the Breton made her escape.

Was she a bad person, to enjoy letting Cíada suffer like this? Probably not, considering how Cullen was doing the same. Right, Cullen…there was still the matter of having to thank him for tracking her down in Haven.

"Want your stuff back?" right now, however, Aedan took precedence. She gladly accepted her belongings back from him, rewarding him with a peck on the cheek for no reason really beyond wanting to, and because he was being sweet. Another one, then, this time on his lips.

"If being considerate is your attempt at courting me, you're already doing leagues better than all your predecessors." She mumbled into his teeth as they both grinned, his more wide and excited than hers. She kissed him again, just for good measure, and because there was almost three days worth of not doing it that she had to make up for; "No matter what happens, I just want you to stick with me."

Aedan ran his fingers through her hair, his breath hot on her mouth. She rested her forehead on his as he smiled again, that warm, hazel-eyed smile of his that never failed to weaken her knees.

"Always."

"Even when I'm difficult…or different?" there was that bit of uncertainty there, lingering from what had been a nightmarish, if short, period. She knew she shouldn't add it, shouldn't ask this soon after. He'd been beating himself up over it too, she knew, and it wasn't a fair question.

"You were different from the day I met you." He smiled at her, softly, and she wanted to do things to him, if necessary right here and now. Slipping deeper into the embrace, she clung to his shoulder and rested her head in the crook of his neck; "I love you. Deeply, I love you more than I can say. Actually I hate not being able to say how much I love you...is that weird?"

"Kinda…" she admitted, snuggling into his neck, and the warm coat he wore. It smelled of him, probably from hours of sweating in it, but she found she really didn't care about the reason. It was safe and warm, just like Aedan; "…I think you're doing plenty good with words though. I'd really rather we just got our hands on some of Mara's amulets already, but my mom might kill you for it…"

"…amulets?" he mused, the words causing the beard on his lower chin to move and tickle her cheek; "Wait, Mara's your Divine of…not justice, right?"

"Don't sweat it, we've got time." She teased him, kissing his chin. Standing here, like this, she could have been fooled to think there was no Blight going on.

But even then, there were signs even she could read. They'd encountered no wildlife since yesterday, birds included. There was simply not a sound to be heard, and even the horses were anxious, nostrils flared wide-open and eyes constantly alert.

"I hope we do. I _want_ us to have more time, all the time in the world…" he sighed, kissing her forehead. There were advantages to him being taller, she supposed. Forehead kisses was something she really liked him doing. Not as much as when he kissed her lips, of course, but…it still ranked amongst her favorites; "I know that as Grey Wardens…we won't have that."

"Yeah…" she sighed and looked down; "That whole thirty-years thing is kind of a bitch, isn't it?"

"It is…" he agreed, though she could tell from his tone that he wasn't quite done; "…but if we get thirty years, then I want to spend them all with you. I'll never leave your side, and I'll stand by you no matter what, no matter where. I don't…I don't care if…I _don't_ _care_, if I don't get to grow old, if I can just grow old_er_ with you."

"…who are you, and what did you do with the Aedan who couldn't give a compliment without overheating?" damn it, he wasn't supposed to be the one crying first, was he? She could feel his tears dropping into her hair, and the way his heartrate was increasing. She could feel her own following it, and pressed her face into his coat, because damn it again, she didn't want him to see her cry, not right now; "You're such a damn smooth-talker, you know that?"

"It's really not that hard when it's you, you know?" he chuckled, and she felt it through his chest, how alive he was, right here, with her. She hadn't really known how to appreciate something like that until after the Joining, and it had only been made more and more apparent afterwards, just how cheaply bought life was. People had been alive one moment, joking and smiling, then dead the next.

She never wanted to see that again.

"Damn. Smooth. Talker" she emphasized each word with a poke in his chest. It only made him laugh; "So, got any flattering words on the transformation, or should I just assume you're too awestruck to come up with anything sufficiently _smooth_?"

"I…kinda liked your tail, actually." Aedan muttered, almost as if he was ashamed of it. When she looked up, he averted his eyes, just a little; "I mean, it's not like it matters whether or not you have it…I…just think it looked pretty."

"…idiot." She couldn't quite stifle the chuckle, even as she renewed the embrace, pressing him further against her; "Here I was all nervous because I thought you'd, you know, not like it."

"…why wouldn't I?"

"Be-…You know why." She sighed, good mood somewhat gone. She had to be honest with him, just as he _had_ to be honest with her; "Because you hate what happened in Haven, and you hate Hakkon..."

"That…That doesn't mean I could ever hate anything you got from it. I hate what you've been through, and I wish I knew that back when we found that priest, because he died far too quickly…I hate and…despise everything they forced you through, and I hate that a dragon somewhere has this…bond, to you." When he paused, she didn't dare look up. Instead she merely listened to the beat of his heart through his clothes, feeling the rate increase; "You aren't what they did to you. You'll _never_ be what they did to you. You're Talia, and you might occasionally piss off the wrong people, or overdo the whole fire-thing…but you're mine and I don't intend on letting something like that change that."

"You really…are an idiot. A smooth one, I'll give, but still an idiot." She groused into his chest; "What kind of moron doesn't mind his lover having a tail, or scales or claws?"

"This one…" Aedan mused, cupping her chin and raising her to look him in the eye. Damn him, he was starting to know _exactly_ how to work her; "…apparently."

Three days had passed by since their tie-up. Three days of mending wounds and scars in a relationship both desperately wanted to work, but which neither had any real experience. Three days, and frost was settling in, _hard_, and from the darkening skies, snowflakes now slowly started their descent.

* * *

**Yes, I basically filled the second half of this chapter with fluff.**

**I regret nothing.**

**After Laysh, I needed to write something where no one died horribly.**


	66. Aftermath

**A/N:** So, this time I want to do something a little different...

Talia: "You mean you'll finally let me have a proper scene with Aedan? I swear _I_ got blue balls from what you pulled in Redcliffe..."

Not...exactly. See, as you may know I spent quite a long time in New Zealand-

Talia: "A year. You spent a year. Don't make it sound like you spent half of your life there."

...Right, anyway, I worked quite a few places, and one of them involved a really bitchy job as manual labour in a greenhouse for Southern Paprika. Not the funniest thing to-

Talia: "Oh, Oh I know what this is about! You were bawling your eyes out all last night, I saw you. Is this that?"

H...I...fucking...Right, so...yeah, to give some context, I met a great guy there. Like, really, really great guy. Literally words do not express what he means to me. I already tried and failed to come up with something that could work, but...

Talia: "'Those ten weeks I spent with you I would trade for nothing on this Ea-"

How the fuck do you know what I write?! Seriously, _stop_ stalking me, you're not even real!

Talia: "Real enough to read your youtube-account, apparently...Come on, I'm just taking the piss on you. I think it's great you finally came out of the closet."

I...what? N-no, no for the love of gods that's not what this is- Wait, what the Hel makes you think I'm gay?

Talia: "Uh, could be you haven't had a girlfriend in, like, ages? I honestly think Oghren had more action than you."

I really need a mute-option for you...Back to the point, that is, Tom Bombadil. He's a great friend of mine, but...kinda shy. Like, really, really shy at times. Even more than me. As it happens, he is however also a very talented guitarist, if that's the actual word.

Talia: "What's a guitarist?"

Someone who plays the guitar. Right, so this is really kind of a selfish thing, but Tom might just be the only person in the world capable of making me cry. I know, kind of a weird thing to say here, but remember that I usually only have 'Angry', 'Amused' and 'Apathetic' as emotional options. Actually being emotional however...Well, so last night he sent me a video of 'Mad World', a song you all probably know. Honestly it sent me bawling like I wouldn't believe possible, maybe because of how much emotion he put in it, maybe because I actually know what he's been through...

Talia: "Figured it'd be that. Is it, you know, because of..."

Yeah, that...Right, but the reason for all of this is that I'm going to leave a link at the end of the chapter to his song. He is practically unnoticed by the Youtube community at large, so...just listening to his music, maybe leaving a short note, would mean the world to him.

And to me.

Talia: "You know, I'm honestly surprised you're single...Dunno lot of other dudes _this_ soft-hearted."

...says the girl who fucked half the staff of Evermor.

Talia: "Ouch, right, touchy subject...Shutting up, just start the damn chapter, I wanna see what happened to Idoria."

* * *

**Aftermath**

* * *

"_**You will serve as my Champion, Mortal. You will purge this world of the creatures whose taint and abominable nature corrupts and befouls it."**_

"_I- I will."_

"_**You will wear my blade and my mark. You will not cease nor wander until the twisted corruption known as the Blight is no more, no matter how long it takes you. This is your sole purpose. This is the price for your life**__."_

"_I…I will serve you, Lady Meridia, Lady of Infinite Energies! Let me once more stand in defiance of darkness, and I will pledge my soul to you!"_

"_**You will spread my light amongst those bereft of it. You will bring dawn to the darkness, and fire to the tainted flesh**__."_

Idoria's eyes opened to the last thing she had ever expected - the inside of what was clearly a bedchamber. Someone's bedchamber, and not one belonging to her. It was night, or at least evening or very early morning, far as she could tell from the darkness.

Why was there always such darkness? She wasn't sure where she was, or, at first, who she was. It all only came back slowly, as more and more of that terrible, beautiful voice receded into the depths of her mind. When it had left, there was only the certainty that she had failed, that she had betrayed her oath to the Legion in favor of saving her own, unworthy life.

And wasn't that really exactly what she had done? So afraid of dying on her back, so frightened of meeting death in the same way as her mother had, she had grasped at every and any straws left available to her, and now…she didn't know what came now. How long had even passed since the battle, and had they won?

Of course, her mind reined in her frustrations, else she wouldn't be alive. For, she was alive, wasn't she? She had accepted Meridia as her liege, and become her Champion when death was the only other path. She knew she shouldn't be alive, that serving a Daedric Prince, even one supposedly not wholly evil like Meridia, would likely see her shamed, banished or put to death.

There was a pillow, originally fine but now lumpy and damp with what was probably sweat. Hopefully, or it could be the tears she even now felt rolling down her cheeks. Why had she done it? Why, why had she failed in that final moment, and saved her own skin where hundreds of her men had walked into Arkay's embrace? _Because I was cowardly._

The realization stung all the more when she consciously formed the words in her mind. She had failed the Legion and its principles, because she had feared death in that final moment, and pledged herself to a Daedric Prince.

Reaching up, to pull at her hair, she was reminded of another one of her failings, when only one hand touched her head. She looked down, feeling nothing but shame and regret as she saw the stump that remained of her left arm. Ending beneath the elbow, the wound had visibly been cleaned and healed, though the degree to which it was done suggested the healers were scraping the bottom of their magicka-stores.

The wound was cleaned and healed, but still very much a wound. Bandages had been applied to it afterwards, in case the injury opened up again, but most of it had already been colored a dark crimson. The same went for most of her body, or at least the part not concealed beneath thick, far too warm covers of wool. She had been stripped, clearly, at some point, and now owed her modesty to the overwhelming amount of bandages covering her chest.

How many injuries has she sustained? She only dimly remembered the battle, and few of the injuries she seemed to have suffered were ones she remembered. Had it all been lost in the haze of adrenaline, or was it from when she fell from the walls? _Why am I alive? _

Why? So many good men and women had lost their lives on a task _she_ set for them. If she had not involved the Cohort, it would still be intact. If she had not involved the Cohort, the Tribune would not be returning to half of what he left. If she had not involved the Cohort, she'd never have ended up pledged to a Daedric Prince.

…And Laysh would have been razed to the ground.

She couldn't stay here, like this. Even if the men would revile her for it, she had done what at the time seemed the right thing. She had gotten them involved in this, and half her men slaughtered, if not more. she didn't know what had happened after the Ogre, after she felt something _speak_ for her, _through_ her. There had just been light and heat, and then suddenly, nothing at all.

Throwing off the covers, Idoria saw that her legs as well were bound up with bandages. Scars beyond counting had clearly been healed from cuts and slashes in her legs, but had nevertheless remained scars. In a way it helped her feel better, if only a little, about her decisions. The wounds proved she had suffered as well, and at least taken some of the malice brought to bear on the Cohort, onto her own body. She was, at least, still wearing smalls, and had as such some sense of modesty left as she swung first one leg, then the other out of bed.

It hurt. She had expected it to hurt though, and managed to suppress the shudder as her bare feet touched upon the cold, raw wooden floor. It seemed like floors were the only things uniformly made of wood, in Laysh. It was cold, and a fireplace across the room was on its final embers, only barely managing to provide a miniscule of light.

She ignored it, instead seeking out some sort of footwear, or at least a shirt. Like this, she knew the outside would hit her with hypothermia within minutes, and cared not for surviving a battle only to die from a cold. Mages, of course, did not have that concern. _Where…did they put me? How many survived?_

A thick and heavy curtain, not a door, separated her room from what lay beyond. It was enough of an oddity that she stopped before it, her hand hovering just at the fabric. It made sense, she supposed, that the Anders would not use wood if something else was available, and…it probably held the warmth better than a door ever could. Even when she pushed against it, it hardly budged at all, and she had to force it like an actual door to get thro-

Something, or some_one_ apparently had the exact same notion, and the curtain gave way into Idoria's face. Courtesy of her weakened state, she was the one to stagger backwards and fall, whereas there from the curtain came only a resounding profanity, in an accent too thick for her to grasp.

"_Boże, co to_-" the curtain was moved aside, and Alexander's scarred face was suddenly in view. For a moment, neither moved, while Idoria on the ground simply stared at the huge scar now marring the man's face. Alexander, on his part, stared like had he just seen Akatosh himself descend.

It was made no better when he fell to his knees, planting his face into the floor. And Idoria was left staring, because she had no idea what the fuck was going on now. It was only when the man didn't speak, that she regained enough sense to realize she was beyond immodest, and he was a man and-

"Why are you on the ground?" the awkwardness didn't matter in the grand scheme, because she needed to understand just what was going on. Seeing Alexander's head from this angle was only amusing for so long; "Where am I? How long has it been since the battle?"

"Herald, it has been four days since the battle. Due to the nature of your injuries, we had you placed in the Herzog's private chambers." He had still to actually look at her, which both frustrated and confused the absolute hell out of her.

"Why are you on the ground, and why are- Why'd you call me 'Herald', Warden-Constable?" the Centurion stumbled to her feet again, while he remained on the floor. Really, this was starting to become a bad joke, somehow; "Herald of what? I didn't command the Cohort to Thedas, if that's your implication."

"H-Herald, you- You were sent by Andraste, our Lady at the Maker's side, were you not?" he stammered, now at least looking up at her; "We all s-saw, and heard you, speaking with the divinity only Andraste could wield. You wielded the sword of mercy, and proclaimed your intents to-"

"I…I did those things…" dear Stendarr, what was happening? She knew who Andraste was supposed to be, this human woman who, once upon a time, had caught the eye of the 'Maker', and had subsequently started a continental uprising against an oppressive empire. Honestly it had a few too many similarities with the Alessians, and now Alexander thought…he thought she was somehow a 'Herald' of that woman?

Was this…Akatosh, was this what the story was like outside, even with the men? That she was some sort of Herald for these people's god? _Dear Arkay, what have I done? What do I say? _

"_**You will relay whatever they wish to hear, so that your pledge remains your sole concern. If it be the desire of these mortals to place upon you the title of 'Herald' then let it be so."**_Idoria nearly went through the ceiling when the voice filled her head. Meridia, the Lady of Infinite Energies, was _speaking_ to her; _**"The people of this land has suffered under the yoke of darkness and corruption for centuries. Spread my light to them, in whatever form and way best serves your pledge."**_

"R-rise, Alexander." Dear Divines, she was really going to do this. _Well…I did wish for a way to spread Imperial influence…dear gods…_ Morally, she had little doubt this was wrong, to exploit the unwavering faith of these people, and especially so when on the orders of a Daedra, but…a progressively more vocal part of her _wanted_ to do this,_ wanted_ the chance to truly make a difference. Especially if it meant avoiding the revulsion of the men. But still…; "I said 'Rise', damn you, Man. Stop acting like your actual prophet revealed herself."

He complied, looking more like a shamed child than a man grown. This was…it was actually a little humiliating, and not something she much enjoyed. She'd only worked with this man for a week and a half before the battle, but she preferred the Alexander prior to the battle, over…this.

"I'm sorry, Herald, I should have thought to bring some clothes but-" he'd apparently noticed her state of undress as well, and was looking far more agonized about it than she'd have expected. It wasn't even because she was that attractive or curvaceous. She stopped him with a raised hand.

"Alexander. You do realize that I am not Andrastian."

"Neither was Andras- I mean, you would not be the first to champion the cause of our Lady without being of her faith." He frowned, concern plain on his face; "You do not believe this?"

"…I'm sorry, it's just…unexpected." That at least was true. She hadn't expected to be _revered_, as much as _reviled_, for her pledge; "I don't know anything about your faith, honestly, aside from whom you worship."

"Then I am sure the chantry will place itself unquestioningly at your disposal, Herald."

"Could you please…just not call me that? At least, not yet, it feels weird." She palmed her face, really not liking how this was going. Yes, she'd decided to use this for the Empire's gain, but…it still didn't feel quite right; "I feel like I shouldn't have this role, these powers…My men, what…how many were lost?"

"Your men fought with the same religious zeal I would expect only from the companions of Andraste's chosen." Alexander's expression changed, and he positively radiated pride; "When the time came, they followed your charge into the midst of the Darkspawn, and swept them aside like the hand of the Maker himself."

"Alexander. How many, were lost?" she was not so delirious that she could not tell when a man was avoiding a subject. The Constable seemed ashamed, for a moment, that she had not been derailed. Had he tried lying by omission because of his reverence for her, or in spite of it? _Gods, this is why I was never religious. It messes everything up._

"We've been burning those who died from the taint for the past four days, and burying those that simply died…" taking a deep breath, he continued; "From the last tally I heard, roughly a hundred men remain from your cohort. Of those, the healers are still fighting to save maybe half of the wounded and infected."

"I need to see them." She left no room for argument, though that didn't stop him from making one.

"You…But, Hera- Centurion, you've only just risen?"

"I led the men, Alexander. Every casualty is a casualty on my shoulders." Her eyes did not leave his, and his already dark skin grew a shade deeper with fluster. Right now, she _had_ to use every tool she had, to see the men. If she could actually fight the taint, there was a chance she could save the lives of those it had infected; "Now find me some clothes and boots."

Barely ten minutes later, Idoria stepped from beyond the warmth of the house, and into the streets of Laysh.

The first thing she noticed, was that snow had started falling. Already a very thin white sheen covered most of the roofs, and the street was wet with the leftovers, still mixed with blood and filth. The home of the Herzog was on the opposite side of the plaza to the Council Chambers, and the square had been cleared of wounded since last she was here. _I could have died here._

The thought left her shivering, something she hoped Alexander took as a sign of freezing. The woolen cloak he had provided as well as her own clothes did well enough to keep her warm, even in the damp and frigid Anderfels winter.

"They are ahead. The healers and priests have worked through the nights." He said, looking ahead. Idoria grasped her helmet tightly, placing it over her head. It had gotten its share of scratches and tears, but could still give her a sense of comfort from…all those eyes.

Every single soul on the plaza, possibly even the entire town, was looking at her. Such a crowd had gathered outside of the house, that she couldn't see a way to get across. It was a sea of humanity, with a great many of them shivering in the cold or from the pain of their wounds.

Her men were among them, standing intermixed in the crowd. For a moment, just a moment, she wondered what had happened to evaporate the differences, the prejudice both sides had felt towards the other. Then she realized that she knew, that everything had been washed the same color of red by a tidal wave of blood.

"It's her."

"It's her, look!"

"Look! Look!"

"Centurion!"

"Look, it's the Herald!"

"_Zwiastun!_"

"HERALD OF ANDRASTE!"

"_ZWIASTUN! ZWIASTUN_!"

"HERALD! HERALD! HERALD!"

The chants grew into roars of cheer and rejoice, and Idoria felt like the force of it might just have knocked her flat. It was beyond overwhelming, and she had no idea how to handle it. To see this many people, all chanting and cheering and roaring for her, for something she had done, even if not true by definition, was something she had never experienced, and never thought she would experience.

It was only when Alexander raised his hands, that the crowd slowly fell silent. When it happened, instead of speaking, he simply looked to her. Idoria realized with a start that she had fallen into some kind of trap, and that the Constable now expected her to speak.

_Everyone_, expected her to speak. _I don't have __**time**__ for this, gods damn it, I need to get to the men! Deep breaths, Centurion. Deep breaths, just like at the academy. How the hell do I address two faiths at once?_

"_**Do you require guidance, Champion?" **_it was Meridia's voice again, echoing within her mind. It was beautiful and horrifying, soothing and cold all at the same time. Like the waters of spring, fresh from the snowy peaks; _**"You serve my cause, and so I will abide by some aid, should you so wish."**_

How was she even going to answer that? The crowd was still staring at her, expectant and reverent. _I need to get to my men, I need your help in healing them of the taint. Will you aid me?_

"_**I will speak with you, for your request is sound, and compassionate. I did not choose wrongly, in your pledge." **_Idoria never even knew there'd been a choice, only her own desperation. Seeing her own men, right now, however, she saw not a trace of the revulsion she had feared would certainly be there.

Instead, they too, seemed in awe.

"Pe**opl**e of **La**ysh. **Peop**le **of** T**amrie**l. I **did not** cho**os**e this **rol**e, but **neit**her w**il**l **I shy** fr**om** **the duties** it **should entail**." She might as well have thrown a brick at every man, woman and child at the plaza, such was the way in which they fell to their knees. It was uncomfortable, _beyond_ uncomfortable for her, but Meridia was with her, in her mind and in her words; _**"G**__re__**at suf**__ferin__**g has long pla**__gued __**this l**__an__**d, **__and time__** has rip**__en__**ed f**__o__**r its end. **__The Lady__** has ch**__os__**en me, a**__nd__** I **__will serve__** her **__cause in__** purging **__this__** land **__of the__** taint. The **__people of__** the An**__derf__**els, and the **__people of T__**amriel, sh**__are__** a co**__mmo__**n de**__sti__**ny, one we w**__ill__** realize with the vanquishing of the Dark**__spa__**wn, once and for all!"**_

Idoria felt like her skin had become electrified. Everything buzzed and tingled and shivered, but not from the cold, and nowhere near a bad way either. Instead…she felt invigorated. Where there in the beginning had been despair and determination, now there was hope, rejoicing and belief. _What have I started?_

"_**To va**__nqui__**sh the t**__aint__**, first I mu**__s__**t **__relieve those__** affl**__ict__**ed wi**__th__** its cu**__rs__**e. **__So__**ldiers, b**__ot__**h **__of Laysh__** and Tamriel, s**__uf__**fer from **__woun__**ds they ga**__in__**ed in **__your d__**efen**__se__**. I **__will help__** them, **__if y__**ou **__would l__**et **__me__** pass."**_

The crowd parted as if she had thrown fire at them. Within seconds, they had formed a corridor from her to the door of the Council chambers, and awaited her move. When she started, and Alexander stayed at her side, she could _feel_ the energies radiating from every human being in the plaza. It felt like standing in warm rays of sunlight, even in the frigid climate of the Anderfels.

She was mildly surprised to find the remaining delegates also bowing, though not quite with as much reverence as the Anders. She assumed it was less so out of disrespect, and more out of confusion. She herself, most certainly, was still confused over what all of this meant, and how it was going to affect them. Still, she pressed on, opening the doors and leaving behind the reverent whispers and chants of '_Zwiastun_', a word she had no idea what meant.

Inside the Council Chambers, the energies were different. Gone was the sense of life, the radiant energies of relief and happiness, and instead was the smell of blood and the stench of the taint. Orderly rows upon orderly rows lined the large chamber, and wounded were even placed on the table in the middle of the room, where otherwise the town's councilors would have sat.

Healers worked, even now, in suppressing the taint's spreading. The bursts of restoration-magic were weak, and betrayed the exhaustion they all felt. Women in the robes of the Chantry carried rags and bowls of water between the rows, and two of the Grey Wardens were present at each their end of the room, for purposes she would rather not consider.

When the doors closed, heads turned. For the longest moment, the Anders in the room seemed uncertain of how to act, clearly torn between showing reverence and treating their patients. Idoria started forward, while Alexander went to one of his colleagues.

"Z-_Zwiastun_, it is a great honor to…to have you…to be in your presence." The priestess wheezed, fingers curling around the hem of her blood-stained robes. Bags under her eyes showed she had likely not slept through the night, if any nights since the battle at all; "I- I am Sister Berenika, we've been trying our best to keep these souls from meeting the Maker just yet, but…but we're running out of time. _They_ are running out of time."

"…may I?" Idoria waited for the woman to move aside, before kneeling down at the closest patient. It wasn't one of her own men, but in the end, what difference did that make? That he was even alive was likely only because the Cohort's healers had been treating everybody, just like the priestesses had; "Can you hear me?"

"…_ból…to…to boli…_y-yes…hurts!" closed eyes opened, and the pupil was nearly gone behind a lens of matte white. What skin wasn't covered with blankets and cold rags showed black veins pulsating underneath his skin. Was this what she had looked, when Sevilius had brought her to the healers? "K-_kill me…_"

There was no manual for this, no tome on how someone without expertise in healing could help something like this. Still, Idoria followed the voice in her head that guided her forward, likely something from her new liege, and placed her hand on his forehead. It was warm, almost scorching her hand, and slick with sweat. _Meridia, Lady of Infinite Energies, I need your aid._

Slowly, the man's skin grew far less hot, but she realized it wasn't because he was cooling down, but instead because her own hand were heating up. The sound of sizzling liquids drew her eyes to his nostrils, where blackish smoke started trailing out. Eyes widened in shock, the pupils started coming back into focus, and found her eyes above them.

"Hold on, I am almost through."

She didn't know how she knew that, only that she could somehow _feel_ the corruptive energies in his body leaving, dispersing harmlessly into the air as nothing but the product of incineration. She was, somehow, burning the taint out from the inside. Meanwhile her patient was clenching his fists and looking to the world like he wanted to scream but had no air nor voice with which to do so; "Tough it out, soldier, you survived the Darkspawn, no way a little burn is going to be the death of you."

Why did her sense of humor never actually work with actual people? What sounded smart or funny in her mind…rarely did so when spoken out loud. It was something all soldiers shared, she hoped.

"Come on, just the last bit now…" she doubted she even looked particularly compassionate, clad up in armor still. Her helmet distorted her voice ever so slightly, though…at least she didn't constantly wield Meridia's flanged tone. It was beautiful, true, but also foreign on the tongue, like something immaterial had landed on it. She could still feel every pair of eyes in the room on her, though, even without looking up. She probably looked quite the sight, clasping a man's forehead like she was trying to break it open. She could feel, however, that this was actually working. The last shreds of the taint became cinders, and then motes of dust and smoke as they wafted from his nostrils; "…there."

A cough, likely from the tension, broke the silence. The man in her care stared at her, eyes as wide as they could go, as his hands came up to feel at his own forehead, before holding them out before his eyes. The dark veins previously marring them now gone, his eyes welled with tears. She stood, quickly, before he had a chance to throw himself at her feet.

"_Oddech Boga…" _the whispers echoed throughout the room, with several of the Cohort's own healers ceasing their work to stare; "The Taint…she cured the taint."

"You can't _cure_ the taint."

"She _cured the taint_! _Bóg…"_

"It's true…it's really true…she's…"

"Centurion, we need whatever you just did!" one of the healers hollered. He stood above one of the Legionaries, a Principes if what remained of his armor was any indication. Like the man of the town watch, the soldier showed clear signs of the corruption taking hold, with black veins running the length of his arms and neck, and skin paler than a corpse.

There were forty-eight men and women in need of her care. Soldiers and townsfolk who had withstood the worst of Darkspawn malice. Manly lacked limps, or still bore deep scars from whence the infection had spread, and their breathing reduced to gasps of ragged desperation. They were men and women who had stood ready to pay the price, even the ultimate one, if it meant protecting their loved ones, and the oath they had sworn to the Empire.

Men and women who, had Idoria not betrayed her own oath and principles to serve a Daedric Prince, would never have had a chance at surviving.

Instead all but two did.

* * *

Quastor Sevilius was doing his best to keep a collected composure.

The past five days had been utter hell, with the streets still even now holding the corpses of the fallen. There were simply not enough people to safely dispose of the dead Darkspawn, as the Wardens were, for reasons he only now really understood, the only ones capable of safely dispose of the dead creatures.

The rest of them had done what they could. It was all they _could_ do, in such a situation, and he himself had pitched in, carrying the bodies of fallen comrades and townsfolk alike to the mass graves outside of Laysh. Burning people was not a common option in the Anderfels, it turned out, when the constant presence of Darkspawn and their taint had ravaged the flora of the land.

How _anyone_ still lived here, he had trouble processing.

He understood, though, the grief and horror these people were now experiencing. Even though they had survived the night, the battle had been a slaughter of proportions he was unused to. There still wasn't a tally over just how many they had lost in total, but the approximate numbers were far too high for his liking.

If there was to be a single mental image he could project onto this, it was the image of the priestess of Arkay breaking down in sobs, at the edge of the grave. They were supposedly the ones the most at ease around the dead, yet she had been reduced to a mess. Unprofessional, for a soldier, but no one had uttered a word.

The Cohort had been decimated. Absolutely decimated in such a way that there was no way they could begin any kind of military operations now. Only the Triarii remained somewhat intact, where the Principes had been nearly cut in half. As for the Hastati…he shuddered, trying to shut out the image of all those young faces, frozen in their final moments of horror and agony.

War was Hell, they said, but pirate-hunting had dulled him, softened him to the true impact of a pitched battle. This…this was carnage, utter slaughter. The first two days they had been wading in corpses and body parts, and he'd lost count of how many right hands and arms he'd picked up.

The sardonic, twisted part of his mind noted that at least that meant the men had held onto their shields.

"Quastor, the Centurion is about." He looked to the source of the voice, finding one of the Principes with rolled up gambeson-sleeves and blood staining his legs in a myriad of shades. So, one of the busier ones, then; "There's a massive gathering at the square, they're calling her 'Herald of Andraste'."

"That again…" damn it. Sighing at this point was becoming a habit, and especially so at the superstition of the Anders. He held no ill will towards their religion, even if it was skewed and wrong, as long as it was not attempted pushed on the men, but assigning their Centurion the role of 'Herald' for their god, or goddess…truthfully he wasn't yet quite sure where Andraste stood. It was wrong, and ill befitting of a properly devout Imperial citizen; "Continue working here, remember to let the Wardens handle the Darkspawn bodies."

"Yes, Quastor."

The walk back through town was, at least, somewhat less stressful than it had been the previous days. The wailing women and elderly were mostly outside the walls, and the children either there as well or inside their own homes. Still, he could sense something had chanced when he approached the top of the hill, even before he could actually _hear_ them.

They were singing. Or, at least he was almost certain it was a song, though the words were foreign to him. Did this mean the Anders had more than one tongue? The question itself was not as worthy of thought as the fact that he saw several Legionnaires, mainly those who had avoided the taint but still suffered amputations or similar, spread in-between the chorus, almost as if they were joining in on a song they didn't know. One, at least, stood close enough to the edge that he could grab the man, finding him lacking an eye.

Relatively, that was a cheap price to pay.

"Soldier, what's going on?"

"They're singing a hymn to their god, Quastor…They all think the Centurion's some sort of saint." The man's mumbling revealed him to be lacking several teeth, the angry gums betraying that it wasn't an old injury. Sevilius paused for a moment, torn between dismissing the notion entirely out of simple rationality, and actually considering it; "Quastor?"

"What?" he tried not to raise his voice too much, respecting at least the beauty of the song, even if he didn't understand the words. There was clear reverence in the hymn, and a sense of relief seemed to spread from the crowd, even affecting himself a little.

"Do you think she might be a saint? I mean…you…you saw what she did." The man's one eye briefly looked away, as if ashamed of even posing the question, then back again; "I hold the Centurion in the deepest respect, Quastor. She stopped one of those hulking monsters from reaching our lines. If she hadn't done what she did…I'd be missing more than an eye."

"…wait, what do you mean she stopped it?" this was news to him. Was this how the Centurion had lost her arm? "Stopped, what, exactly?"

"The giant, she…Quastor, dear gods you didn't see it?" a light had entered the man's eye; "The giant was making its way to us, and she just…she just grabbed a hasta and mounted the rooftops, then jumped and speared the monsters eyes! She saved our lives, by Shor she did."

That…was that how it had happened? It all seemed far too fantastical to be made-up, and he doubted the man had any reason to lie, but…Again, fantastical was the only word he could come up with. He'd seen those monsters, the Ogres, and…they'd terrified him. The thought of facing one alone was not one he entertained. Ever.

"Is that how she lost the arm?"

"I don't know, Quastor. I was just trying to stay alive at that point." There was no shame in his words, and not in his actions either. Sevilius gave the man a pat on the shoulder - he felt like rank and file could be somewhat relaxed after what they'd all been through, at least for a while - and started moving towards the most obvious place where he hoped to find the Centurion; where the wounded were.

He was proven right, at least, in that she was there.

He knew the woman would agonize over the people they had lost - all commanders did so at their first major casualties - but to see the healers in the room treating her with the same near-reverence as the people outside, he was stunned.

She didn't notice him when he entered the room, or maybe she did and simply didn't care. Instead, her one hand was planted firmly on the forehead of one of the legionaries. The man was coughing and wheezing, sounding to the world like he was on his final breath, and Sevilius hazarded a guess at the reason for the presence of two Grey Wardens, except…there were three now. The Warden-Constable was present as well, but seemed far too entranced with the Centurion's actions to even notice the Quastor.

Knowing the Tribune would undoubtedly want as many details as possible on how the Centurion fared after such a battle, Sevilius stayed where he was, following everything the woman was doing. At first, nothing seemed changed, nothing seemed to happen.

Then he noticed it, a thin, blackish smoke rising from the soldier's mouth and nostrils. At first, he feared the taint had simply infected the man's very soul as it left his dying body. Then, a cough, and another. And before the Quastor's eyes, the incurable was cured.

And an otherworldly sense of awe washed through his body.

* * *

**First, you're probably wondering why they're saying things and words you can't understand. Well, unless you're Polish that is, then you'd probably smack me for typo's. Well, the Anderfels is canonically much like Poland and Ukraine, so whenever an Anders is too shocked to stay in the Trade tongue, they revert back to native Anders, which is Polish. **

**Hardly original, I know.**

**Now then, the link to Tom's song. I know he's happy, but even now I can't stay dry-eyed while watching it. I know there's probably a policy against advertising in chapters, but...I think it would be worth it if you could divert just 3 minutes of your day to this.**

Mad World - Gary Gules - Cover By Tom Bomba

**Thank you.**


	67. Sore and Worn

**A/N: So, this chapter will be something of a...milestone, possibly. Not quite sure yet. Reason is...I'm not quite sure if it changes the story to an 'M'-rating, which I'd really rather it didn't. and I can't change the opening scene, because, believe it or not, it's actually important to the plot. And honestly, I really just did my best at making it emotional, not just physical...**

**That being said...I've already torn arms off, pulled out entrails and murdered children. If this causes people to demand a change in rating, I'm going to assume the lot of you are Americans ;)**

* * *

**Sore and Worn**

* * *

Talia awoke to one of her favorite sensations.

Underneath thick covers of fur and her own sleeping roll, smooth and warm against her naked skin. The tent above her allowed only the palest of light through, revealing that morning had yet to fully dawn upon their entourage. Red hair splashed everywhere across her face, some still a little damp from perspiration.

The skin of her back pressed against Aedan's naked chest, his arms hugged tightly around her lower chest, just below her breasts. While his breathing remained regular and peaceful, an indicator that he was still very much asleep, the hardening presence between her legs gave evidence to the activities of last night.

Morning-erections, something she had never quite experienced before due to the nature of her previous relationships, was fast on its way to becoming her favorite thing. Carefully, wanting not to disturb her sleeping lover before she had to, Talia guided a hand down, fingertips gently playing with his tip under the warmth of covers. Heat rushed through her body, almost as if had her blood started boiling, at the ghostly sensation of its ravaging her insides.

She still remembered yesterday though, and the proposition Morrigan had offered her, while the two of them had taken rear-guard. To say she was surprised would be…well, it'd be accurate, that's for sure, but…yeah, it was not what she had expected from the witch.

Grey Wardens, it seemed, were literally necessary for the end of a Blight, and not just because they were the best at stomping Darkspawn. Morrigan's - or rather, Flemmeth's - plan for originally joining them had been…somewhat less altruistic than the simple wish to help save the day, such as it was. Blights only ended with the death of the Archdemon's soul, and the only way for that to happen was for the soul to jump from the dead critter and into the closest carrier of the taint, ideally a Grey Warden.

This meant, of course, that said Grey Warden was going to die. Morrigan stating this, in a tone like she had mentioned the weather, had nearly toppled Talia from Niko's back.

It was what Morrigan had then proposed as a solution, however, that had actually landed the Breton on the cold dirt.

A content sigh from Aedan brought her mind back to where she was. Even if he wasn't awake, she took his unconscious consent for permission, and guided his length into her folds. Much different from last night, right now she simply adjusted around it, reveling in the sensations of being joined with the man she loved. Her skin tingled and hips shivered with delight as his arms slid just a little tighter around her stomach, and his breathing grew just that little bit more ragged, suggestion arousal, even when unconscious.

She didn't really need anything else, right now. Her body was constantly sore from the saddle, and having him here, like this, inside her, was the best kind of massage there was. Las night, of course, had been something quite more…active. _He_ had been quite more active, and bolder than before. It had been as if he wanted desperately to make up for their time apart, and she had been more than willing to indulge him, ending with the both of them falling asleep still inside her.

A slight push, barely more than what could as easily have been him moving around in his sleep. She grinned, reaching back somewhat awkwardly to run her fingers through his hair. It was getting longer - they all were in need of a trim - and she liked playing with it like this. Aedan mumbled something into her hair, barely comprehensible through the veil of sleep, and she felt his length push inside her again, this time a little deeper. It brought a gush of heat to her loins, and memories of last night, when he had released himself all the way against her back wall.

He pushed again, and this time she felt him linger, all the way inside. Turning her head to see if he was awake, she was instead stopped by a pair of lips meeting hers. She closed her mouth, not so much because of lack of want, but because she hadn't had a mouthwash in days. She knew her breath was bad, and probably smelled of stomach-acid and sex.

"Mmmm…Morning yet?" Aedan muttered against her lips, his beard both tickling and scratching her cheek. Even as he asked, she ground her hips backwards into him, devouring his length even more within her.

"Not just yet." She smiled, leaning against his chest as he explored her caverns, intertwining their legs underneath the furs. Each thrust was calm, gentle and yet all the more passionate for it. Her toes curled with delight with each touch upon her womb, sending electricity throughout her soul; "Gods, Aedan…"

"Never viewed myself in plural, but if that's your thing…?" he grinned, lips picking away at her neck, each as hot as fire. She closed her eyes, smacking him on the leg.

"Smartass."

"Great ass." He sassed her back, eliciting another grin, even as her walls clenched tighter around him.

"That a _com_-" the air left her lungs as a thrust reached in deeper than the others. For almost a second she was unable to breathe from the bliss; "…_compliment_ or a correction?"

"Yes." His grin was all she needed to know the truth, even as his hands reached up and caressed her mounds. The added pleasure was enough to send her over the edge, and he followed mere moments after, spilling inside her womb; "_Definitely_ 'Yes'."

"_Hah_…Damn…" it wasn't exactly easy, remaining coherent after one of their bouts. Aedan was getting better, _definitely better_, and both were becoming more accustomed to each other's more sensitive places. She liked to think it just strengthened their bonds even more, and went a long way to mend them back together. Last night especially had been so intense, she'd spontaneously grown scales along her spine.

Aedan, of course, had been utterly unperturbed - or maybe really just too lost in pleasure to mind - and simply continued kissing her back, scales and all.

It still brought up the conundrum though, if she could accidentally grow a tail and punch his magelights out in the middle of their more passionate sessions. They hadn't really had the privacy yet for it to be an actual risk. When he'd finally softened enough inside of her, she rolled over and rested her face against his chest. She'd heal herself later, and absorb his gifts properly, but right now she just wanted to relax.

"I love you."

"Back at ya…" she mumbled contently, nuzzling deeper into his chest. Constant travels might be a literal pain in the ass, but it did wonders for his musculature; "Honestly I think you missed out never going to the brothels. Pretty sure you'd be given freebies like this…"

"That's…" he propped himself up on an elbow, using his free hand to brush some errand strands from her face; "…an odd thing to say? I mean, I guess _you_ enjoy it, but…I couldn't do something like this with others."

"Not even if they were hot?"

"I wouldn't love them." She didn't doubt his honesty, not for a second; "And I could never do that to you."

"Isn't there some sort of nonverbal law where men can fuck around all they want?" she knew there was one in most of Tamriel's provinces, especially for the nobility. Father had never done so, but she knew he'd mentioned the concept to her brother at least once, and she doubted Aveel would be able to be as honorable as their old man, obstinate asshole though he might be.

"…there probably is." He admitted, his good mood somewhat replaced with thoughtfulness. His fingers came to a brief pause in her hair; "Though I personally don't know anyone who's done it after they married."

"I probably do…I knew most of the higher nobility of High Rock, by family name if nothing else…" she mused, kissing his chest. She liked it, liked the taste of his skin and the slight saltiness brought from his sweat; "Don't think Father ever did it…"

"You're thinking of something, aren't you?" he asked, trailing a thumb over her cheek and to her lips. It tingled, and she kissed it before letting him retract it and continue; "You're usually thinking of something when you start off like this…"

"Not…particularly, really…It's just a musing." She shifted a bit, straddling him under the covers. His groin responded a little, but was still too drained for another round. She didn't mind, she just liked the closeness, the contact of their bodies; "Actually…there kind of is something, something I found out just recently…"

"Something bad?" his eyes grew just that tad more intense, letting her know she had his full attention. His free hand went down to her stomach, and she pretty easily figured out what he thought; "Something…good?"

"Not like that…" she smiled warmly anyway, letting him know she'd have thought of _that_ as something good. Sadly, some things weren't in the charts when fighting Blights. Not yet, at least; "It's something that could…be a problem, but the solution is…teetering on the edge of what I'd call normal."

"So…now I'm a little confused…" he admitted, trailing the hand back up, letting it slide around the side of her breast, currently pressed against his chest like a pretty comfortable cushion, if a little burdened; "There's a problem, and a solution which may or may not be weird?"

"Pretty much, and I'm sort of the only one who knows of it…I mean, Alistair might know of it, but if he does he's better at keeping secrets than I gave him credit for." She crossed her arms over his chest and rested her chin on them, alleviating the weight off her chest; "So…you know how Grey Wardens are necessary to end a Blight."

"…I remember Duncan said as much in Ostagar." It was almost a little funny, how she'd known Duncan for longer, but Aedan still seemed the sadder of the two at his death. The fact that Duncan's demise had even factored in at the time was a surprise; "He said we should get out of the way if the Archdemon showed up."

"He did say a lot of things…but, he also left something out." She hesitated, because she knew this comfortable setting would change, once she cleared her chest; "Grey Wardens are needed, because Archdemons don't just die. They…have this thing where they die, and then their souls seek out the closest carrier of the taint."

Aedan grew still.

"…You mean, they reincarnate?" he stared at her like she'd grown a tail. And, she actually knew what that looked like; "They just come back?"

"Seems to be that way, yeah…" Talia frowned and dumped her face onto his chest, pulling the furs up a little further around them. Sweat and cold air didn't go well together, even in the warmth of a tent; "Morrigan found a section on it in her Grimoire not too long ago, and approached me with a…solution, after the transformation practice."

"Yesterday…" he paused, as if something had occurred to him only just now; "That was why the two of you rode together at the back, then?"

"Was, yeah." She nodded, tracing a finger down his side. The shivers it caused gave her a little smile; "But…there's a problem. With the solution, that is. It's…a ritual, really, which is why it was even in the damn book to begin with."

"Not…blood magic, right?"

"I don't really think that kind of thinking applies here…If anything she made it sound closer to some of the wicked shit a few cultists in the mountainous borderlands between Skyrim and High Rock perform, with spirits and life-energy and…well, I think I once heard they cut their own hearts out…" Forsworn. Now that was a group of people she'd rather never meet.

"I'm not really sure that's comforting."

"Well, it's because the whole thing is…awkward." She sighed, closing her eyes as she pawed at his chest. Heh, _nibbles_. Why did men even have those? The two little peaks provided just about enough distraction that she could swallow some of the embarrassment; "It requires two people, you see. Morrigan has to be one, since she's the one casting the ritual, and the other has to be…well, a man."

"Oh? But why a…" it was odd, how color could simultaneously drain from and rush to a man's face. She didn't know if her own was capable of the same, or if Aedan was secretly a mage; "_Ohhhhhh…"_

"And…here's the kicker. See, it has to be voluntary. We've got four Wardens here, male that is, and both Jowan and Alistair…"

"Don't like Morrigan much." Aedan deadpanned. She nodded, because yeah that was about the gist of it, though in the former's case it was more 'slightly terrified' than just a general dislike. Even then, Alistair's dislike had lessened to the point that he probably wouldn't have minded if not for him pining for Leliana. So those two were out of the picture; "Man, Daveth isn't going to like this…"

"Actually…" right, she was the only one that knew Daveth was actually married, and pretty much chaste until he found his wife… "Daveth is…kind of shackled. He married before joining the Wardens."

"That…Wait, Daveth's _married_?" Aedan's surprise seemed to keep him from making the final deduction of elimination; "Who the hell to? I mean, when, where, _how_?"

"Believe it or not, it's actually a girl from Highever." _That_ gave him a startle; "Elven girl, from the alienage there. He told me in Redcliffe, I didn't consider it important enough to pass it on, privacy and all…"

"…right."

"So…that leaves…" she did her best to give him a hint, because she couldn't actually _say_ it.

"Sten?" Aedan sighed, and Talia the same. Hers though, was for a different reason; "Damn it, should we have brought him anyway?"

"How…Just curious, but…how do you feel about our resident witch?" she tried instead, hoping he would see her meaning. She was basically waving him down with a giant banner, there was _no_ way he didn't get her meaning now; "I mean, honestly, and I won't spread it."

"I don't know, kinda like I do Brelyna or Leliana I…I…I…guess…" eyes widened and his breathing stopped. Brown orbs narrowed in on her like a fucking hare caught in the aim of a crossbow; "Ta- Talia, I…I don't know if…I mean…I mean she's…and…and you…"

"I won't force you." She quickly assured him, stopping his stutters with a finger to his lips; "I will never force you to do anything against your will. I know you said you could never be with another woman because of me, but…what if it was still with me?"

"You…you're not saying…" she could feel his heartbeat hammering against his chest, and her skin. His Adam's apple jumped and his pupils widened with shock…and arousal, evidently, if the hardening further down was any indication; "…I…you and…the three of us?"

"It's still just an idea. If we manage to conscript someone in Denerim, we don't have to do this at all." She doubted they could do that, since Alistair had left the bloody Joining-chalice in Redcliffe, but neglected to bring it up before they were three days out; "Though…do you mind Morrigan too much to do it, if we have to?"

"What…exactly does the ritual require?"

"Well, it…basically requires her to conceive." She muttered, and was then nearly thrown off as Aedan sat upright, palming his face with a groan.

""I- _conceive_?" he stared at her aghast; "You're saying Morrigan is going to- I mean, that one of us'd have to…"

"Impregnate her?" his horrified stare was enough for her to continue; "Yes, the ritual requires her to conceive, so that when we kill the Archdemon, its soul will enter the unborn child. Far as she knows, the child won't be harmed in any way whatsoever. There's…not really a downside to it, from a practical standpoint."

"B-but Morrigan as…as a…as a _mother_?" Aedan stammered; "I…I mean, _Morrigan_."

"Who knows, maybe she's secretly a lot more maternal than you'd think?" she knew it was hardly likely, but wanted, desperately wanted no one else to die, which at this point required Morrigan getting…well, pregnant. The concept sounded about as insane as it was; "Look, we…we don't have to decide anything right now. The ritual has to be done as close to the actual fight with the Archdemon as possible, so until we come closer to it…"

"R-Right, it's…I mean…_God_." His hand slipped and his head fell down onto the covers again. Talia scooted upwards a bit, planting a kiss on his lips. His response was sluggish, which really went to show how much of a shock all of this was to him.

"It's almost funny, you know?" she teased, pecking at his neck; "Most men would jump at the chance to save the world by having a threesome. Makes me wonder, honestly, you know?"

"It's not that…that I don't like her, it's just…Andraste's _socks_, Talia, we're talking about- you- you know, a _child_." He groaned, staring into the tent's ceiling. Talia sighed, coming to a rest on his collarbone; "I don't know if- if I could just…_do_ that, and not feel responsible at all. I mean, if- if I _do_ this, what'd it mean for us?"

Ah. So that was the source of it, then?

"I think I know what you mean, actually…" she gently caressed his face, waiting for his jaws to loosen up. She didn't speak until his hands had snaked around the small of her back, and he seemed to have calmed down; "You're afraid that you'd somehow be betraying your moral principles, and me, if you did this. And that it could drive us apart again because of Morrigan's child."

"…it's scary when you do that."

"I'd like to think I've gotten a read on you by now, you know?" she smiled a little at his weak chuckle; "And I probably can't say anything to stop you from feeling like that, at least not completely."

"…probably not, no…" he sighed; "It's just…it feels wrong, even just talking about this. Like I'm saying to your face I'm going to sleep with another woman."

"_Hey_," she stopped him with a finger to his lips; "I'll be there too, remember? It's not infidelity as much as it's just sharing what we have with a good friend."

"I…Do- do _you_ even want this?" he muttered weakly. Right, Aedan had a habit of forgetting about her…somewhat less-than-chaste past. Not that she reminded him of it a whole lot, really. She chalked it up to him simply accepting but not thinking about it unless directly asked.

"You mean if I'd be against doing you_ and _Morrigan?" she grinned when he blushed at her words. Or, maybe it was because she'd just grabbed him below. She didn't care all too much which it was, right now; "Well, I'd say I'd have to _see and try_ something, before I'd know whether I liked it or not."

"I- I'm getting the feeling y-you're not really-_hah_\- against it." It was too funny not to take advantage of how easily she could mess him up like this. She knew men were sensitive after sex, but Aedan was at the top of the charts when it came to how easily she could yank him around. Literally, because it was funny, and because she was literally _yanking_ him around. _I'm a bad, bad person…No regrets._

"_Welllllll_…" it was harder than she thought, trying not to laugh. She knew they probably didn't have time for another round, now that the light penetrating the tent was starting to grow stronger. They'd no-doubt hear people outside any minute now, as the others woke up. So, she released him, before they started something she wouldn't be able to stop. It still left him pressing against her abdomen, and it was really tempting as all hell to just give in to it; "Let's just say I'm open to trying out new things. Besides…" she added with a smirk she knew could send the blood rushing from one head to the other; "…wouldn't be the first time I've tossed around with another girl."

"Please, _stop_, for the love of Andraste, or I'm going to lose it." His tone was rough and coarse enough that she felt the shivers running down her spine. Gods, she loved him right now, like this. Not that she didn't also love him when they weren't hot and naked in a tent, of course. _I really have no sense of decency…_

"What're you gonna do if I don't stop it, hmm?" she decided to leave it up to him, after all. If he went and took her, right here, right now, she wouldn't really mind having to eat mounted. It wouldn't be time wasted, that was for sure.

"You're worse than the Archdemon, you know that?" Aedan's hands trailed downwards, and she knew they wouldn't be eating with the others; "Pure, corruptive _evil_."

"Oh, how _dare_ you? Like I've _ever_ corrupted-"

He broke off her tease by catching her lips with his own, and she greedily latched on. She knew they didn't have the time to waste, much as she wanted otherwise, which meant they had to skip the foreplay. One hand went to his hair, the other for his length down below.

At this point she supposed some would have been too sore to really enjoy the third round. She, however, very much was still ready for another go, and guided him inside with the deftness of a skilled lover. She loved this, loved the sensation of his body coming this close with hers, skin on skin. Every inch he moved in was another gasp, another sensation of bliss, for both of them. A soundless gasp, at the end, when he reached her core.

"_Gods…"_ Aedan's gasp brought a grin to her lips, even as she kissed him hard, laughing and smirking into him as they tasted one another.

"Took you for an Andrastian." Her grin was silenced when his mouth caught her neck and bit down. _Dibella's tits, he can do thát?!_

"I'm afraid you've corrupted me." His cheeky grin was beyond her, right now. While she was lost in bliss with every thrust, he seemed to regain his senses. Damn men, and their…whatever it was. She couldn't find it in herself to care, not right now when he was driving her up the wall, figuratively speaking; "_Talia."_

"I regret absolutely nothing." She was already getting close again, damn it all. Each little movement he made stirred up her insides in all the right ways, and his shoulders already bore the marks of it as her nails scraped his skin red. Her legs intertwined with his, allowing her to physically drag herself down on him, sending him in deeper than he'd be able to alone.

This…this had to be it. There could physically exist no better place on Nirn than where and how she was right now, united with Aedan in ways she couldn't even put into coherent thought.

She could feel her abdomen clenching together, jolts of pure ecstasy shooting up through her spine, flaring and exploding into her nerves with every movement. Lost in utter bliss, she let go of it all and felt as Aedan did the same. She could feel it, clearly, as he filled her, even as she collapsed on his chest. _I'm never…going to get tired of this._

* * *

Mornings, Talia decided on their last day of the journey, were not such a terrible thing. Especially when they started out the same way, providing her with a mood-boost for the rest of the day, or at least the first half.

It had still left her somewhat uncertain of what Aedan thought, however, of the proposal from Morrigan. He certainly hadn't brought it up with the Witch, nor with her. Most likely, he was still silently hoping they could recruit someone new in Denerim. Personally, she really wouldn't mind the solution Morrigan had proposed, but accepted that for now, Aedan just wasn't ready for something like that. _Fantastic how the way to save a life could potentially be a threesome. If I survive this, I'm going to start a journal._

"J'zargo does not understand why he can smell Talia on Aedan." The Khajiit muttered, askew his horse and clad in his fur-cloak. The irony of it was not lost on Talia, though her attention was more on what the cat was saying. He'd saved both her and Aedan some scraps from breakfast, mostly bread and ham, and had earned the question. Sort of; "With Khajiit only the male's scent rubs off. This is…a human thing, then?"

"S-sort of." Aedan muttered, and Talia could see him wince from the looks the others directed at them. She didn't mind though, because they'd probably all known anyway the moment they'd started sleeping together again.

"Never been with a human, cat?" Cíada grinned as she kicked her horse up next to the Khajiit's. Across from the Circle mage, Brelyna was busy pretending she wasn't listening at all, though Talia knew her friend well enough to recognize the signs that yes, the Dunmer was very much paying attention to any juicy details; "I'd figure the ladies'd be all over your furry ass."

"J'zargo will not comment on the amount of human, Khajiit and others that have, as you say, been over his ass." The cat chuckled; "Suffice to say, his travels from Elsweyr to Winterhold were rarely spent with lonely nights."

"Damn, didn't know you had that kind of skills." Talia, in spite of herself, laughed. She actually didn't know a whole lot about his past, now that she thought about it; "Is it the ears or the tail they go for?"

"You are aware cats have very coarse tongues, yes?" J'zargo mused. Talia's laugh stopped, as realization hit her home.

"_Noooooooo…_really? Thát's what gets you the girls?" in hindsight it wasn't actually an impossible concept, really. Aaaaand now she had an image in her mind she needed burned from the surface of her brain. Some subspecies of Khajiit were…well, actually very attractive, and she might have considered such an encounter if she'd met one of the more humanlike ones. But not J'zargo's subspecies. Bit too much cat for her tastes.

"What, you didn't know?" Brelyna's face turned back to regard her, red eyes open and honestly surprised; "So, you didn't hear about him and Yisra?"

"Yisra?" Talia frowned, having to concentrate on remembering the girl. Yisra wasn't…exactly the most outgoing of people. She was a recluse, to put it mildly, and made even Brelyna seem like an outgoing and wild personality; "Wasn't she always working on her flam… J'zargo, did your own work have _anything_ to do with that?"

"This one may or may not have allowed the Bosmer to seduce him, in return for sharing his work with her." The cat smirked, showing fangs; "I do not see a thing wrong with such an arrangement, everyone wins, no?"

"And I did not know this, because?" she turned to Brelyna, who seemed just a little befuddled; "Brelyna?"

"You…were somewhat intoxicated. We all just assumed you remembered." The Dunmer mumbled, smiling sheepishly back. Talia felt a brow twitch, even as Cíada laughed;

"Damn, I fucking envy you people. Your College sounds a lot more lively than the Tower."

"I suppose it was, on occasions…" Talia sighed. She missed the College, missed the people, missed the teachers, the inn…but she wasn't sure she could go back there, not after all this. It just…wouldn't seem right, going back to the studies after fighting a Blight, provided she survived it at all; "…It was, in a lot of ways, home. We studied there, lived there and…bickered, there, I suppose sometimes."

"You miss it, I'm guessing?" Cíada noted, drawing a nod from the cat. J'zargo, out of the three of them, oddly enough seemed the most homesick. It wasn't something he talked about, but she'd known him for three years now, _lived_ with him for three years now…she knew the signs, the little tells, even if only from his voice, as the cloaks covered his ears and tail; "Believe me, I get it. I miss the Circle, more than'd probably seem sane to you people, coming from somewhere without Circles, you know…But Kinloch's my home, my family's there. Sort of. I mean, my parents live in…I don't know, actually… But I've spent most of my life in the Tower. Wynne raised me more than anyone else ever did…So, I think I can relate."

"You…make it sound similar, I'll admit." J'zargo noted; "But does the Circle allow you to leave at your leisure? This one could leave Winterhold, had he so chosen."

"It's for everyone's best." The elf argued, her voice rising just a little; "Mages here in Thedas are vulnerable to demons, we need the Circle to make sure we don't fall to possession, or become abominations and murder innocents."

"They do not seem in a hurry to call you back though." J'zargo countered; "This one wonders, if you so deeply depend on the Circle, why you are here."

"Why do you think Cullen's here?" It was Brelyna who spoke, surprisingly. Talia's attention shifted between the two elves, unsure of whom to focus on. What was more, it hadn't been voiced as a question she expected answered; "Cíada was only allowed to accompany us because there was a Templar on hand to escort her. And deal with any consequences."

"…is that…" Aedan started.

"True?" Cíada interrupted him, her expression a mask of apathy - no, _acceptance_; "Yes. Cullen was sent along to ensure that if I or Wynne were to fall to possession, a Templar was available to put us down."

"That…" honestly, it left Talia at a loss for words. Cíada was perfectly fine with Cullen being along _knowing_ what he was meant to do?

"I'm sorry." Brelyna mumbled.

"Why?" the elf cocked her head to the side; "It's a relief, really. I don't have to worry about being possessed and wiping out a village. I can concentrate on the Darkspawn, isn't that what's important?"

"I…guess." The Dunmer sighed dejectedly; "I still just don't understand how the magic of Thedas came to rely on something as unstable as Fade-magic, when everyone in Tamriel would draw from the Aetherius instead."

"Maybe it's the same thing? Who knows?" Cíada mused. It was actually a little unnerving, how she could seem to at ease, having just admitted the base reason for Cullen being along; "I just know no one here can use it, or at least know how. Heck, maybe one day we'll all use whatever you're using, and demons won't even be a treat anymore…I probably won't live to see it, but it'd be nice to do."

"You…seem okay with this." Honestly this was a headache Talia really didn't want to deal with right now. Cíada's fatalism was…it wasn't right, even for someone regarding the Circle as a normal thing; "Even dying?"

"Of course, it's a Blight." She seemed to notice the look of horror the three of them sent her, and frowned; "I mean, I wanna live through this, of course. Don't think I'm suicidal or some shit, I wanna grow old, damn you stop staring at me. I'm just saying, I'm prepared to sacrifice a whole fucking lot if it's to stop the Blight."

"…reminds me of someone we know." Talia whispered to Aedan. He nodded, and she knew he as well still remembered the night of the Joining, were Daveth had said much the same thing; "As long as you're not throwing yourself at the first, the best Ogre…I can respect your mindset. I think."

"You don't have to, you know?" the diminutive mage sighed; "I'm fine with you thinking it's mad, or just stupid. Still, I…appreciate that you at least accept it, for what it's worth."

"We're not far out from the city now…" Aedan noted, looking at the skies of all places. When Talia did the same, at first she wasn't exactly sure what he'd seen. It wasn't until she realized he was looking at the birds, that she understood what he meant. _Seagulls. Of course._

It was limited how far inland seagulls ventured, and they were too far south for the seagulls to fly in from the strait to the north. So, this had to mean they'd be able to at least see the signs of developed land soon enough. That, or caravans of refugees seeking the safety of Denerim's towering walls.

In that aspect, she could definitely respect whomever had designed the defenses of the city. It was clear even to someone with no military knowledge - like herself - that the capital of Denerim was a fortress in its own right. Thick, towering walls, battlements and curtain-walls behind gates with wrought-iron portcullis. She'd noticed murder-holes too, when they'd passed the gates last time, which probably meant boiling oil, rocks and all sorts of other nasty contraptions.

Would that work against the darkspawn? _Maybe I should actually ask our esteemed leader. If he's going to one day be king, he'd better know something about the capital's defenses…And maybe I should see how he's doing with Leliana. _

Right, those two…honestly, even Brelyna had managed to get Gilmore knocked on his ass by now, Talia was pretty sure. The two of them were at least finally honest about the mutual attraction, though she hadn't actually inquired for specific details? Had the good knight explored Brelyna's Deep Roads yet?

"I'm heading up to Alistair." She said, and left it at that. Honestly, she wasn't sure what else to say right now, seeing as she couldn't rightly say she was going to be playing matchmaker again, and sating her own curiosity might be seen by some as petty, or unimportant. And by some she meant the non-Wardens around them…sort of. Gods, why was she even trying to justify this? "And…I think you're being more responsible than I would be, in your shoes…"

That last bit was directed at Cíada. The girl simply looked at her weirdly, like she was certain she'd heard something wrong. Talia didn't bother trying to find out what exactly was the problem - she'd been honest, and felt like just saying that was a bigger admission than she wanted to make. Maybe that was why the elf was giving her a weird look? She kicked Niko into a steady trot before Cíada had a chance at saying something in turn, and left the others behind as she went up the side of the entourage.

"Hey, Alistair?" she found him, unsurprisingly, in conversation with Irondahl. The mercenary captain regarding her curiously with his one eye. It was odd, really, how one-eyed men seemed to gather around them these days. _Well, there's him and Gilmore, really…_

"Talia." He seemed tired, but…not in the sense of lacking sleep. Or, maybe he _was_ lacking sleep, but not in the normal manner…_ugh_, she wasn't sure how to even read that. He just seemed…worn, really; "Something on your mind?"

"What's the plan when we get to Denerim?"

"That…depends. If we encounter Loghain before the actual Landsmeet, I…I'm not sure what we do, but Eamon will handle the situation then." Right, Alistair would probably have to be held back to stop him from making sweet love to Loghain's chest with the business end of a broadsword. _Aedan too, if Howe is there…_ "If we're lucky, and see no sign of him before the Landsmeet, I suspect we will do what we can to gather support for Eamon's side in this. Talk to nobles, that sort of thing."

"Just 'Eamon's' side?" she mused, cocking her head at him. Her leader huffed, sinking a little more into the deep cloak concealing his armor. It had to be bloody heavy, wearing that at all times. Her own was nowhere as heavy, even with the scale-coat Owyn had gifted her.

"Grey Wardens are neutral in all manners of politics, Talia, remember?" Alistair sighed; "Ideally we remain incognito until _after_ the Landsmeet."

"And, if we're discovered?"

"We disappear." He simply said; "Denerim is too big for Loghain to hunt us down effectively if we know where to hide. Daveth knows the Alienage, and Leliana…frequented Denerim before joining the Chantry."

"…you knew." Somehow, she couldn't voice it as a question, because of course he knew, somehow. She wasn't even sure _how_ he'd somehow know about Daveth and where he'd grown up, maybe because Duncan had mentioned it? Maybe Daveth himself had, at some point? "How long have you know?"

"You mean Daveth's upbringing, don't you?" Alistair's expression managed only a ghost of the smiles and quirks he once used to wear as an everyday normalcy. She knew the Blight had taken what innocence he'd still had when they met, and killed it. He'd known about Daveth, and not told them. He was actually keeping secrets from his comrades, and hadn't made jokes in weeks, if not months.

The Alistair she'd met in Ostagar seemed to have died, and she wasn't even sure when it had happened.

"Yes. You kept that from the rest of us." She accused, even though she knew it was hypocritical. She'd done the same thing, really; "You knew about the Archdemon-soul thing too?"

"…"

"Alistair."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to kick you off your horse if you've known about this since we met." Her words carried little emotion whatsoever, because she couldn't for the life of her decide whether to be furious or simply sad. She'd trusted him with her possession, why couldn't he do the same?

_"Easy,_ I didn't know. Well, not until after your last practice. Morrigan told me afterwards, said she'd already told you."

"…oh." Well, that actually made a bit of sense. Not in a way she liked, but still; "You haven't told the others."

"I was planning to when we get set up in Denerim." He sighed, though it almost sounded like he was irritated with her for even asking; "Look, I never wanted to lead the group. For all I cared, after Ostagar _Morrigan_ could have led us. No one else offered, so I've had to do my goddamn best to keep us alive, and sane. If that means withholding information, then I'll do that."

"…you've changed." Niko would have stopped, had he been bonded to her mind. Talia herself couldn't have moved her legs right now if she'd wanted to. She was sad, because she didn't know if she'd lost a friend or if he'd just adapted to the situation; "I…don't know if you've realized it, Alistair, but you're not the same guy I met in Ostagar."

"…same goes for you, I think…" his reply was devoid of irritation, of emotion whatsoever, but the hesitation in it still spoke volumes; "Blights tend to do that to people. For what it's worth, I'm sorry if you think I've stopped caring."

"I…I'm sorry too." Gods, where was this going? Just how much was Alistair keeping under pressure to act like this? He behaved like someone twice his age, twice as weary as someone his age should be too; "Alistair, I _know_ you hate this, hate the whole leadership thing, hate the pressure…But, you've gotten us this far…"

"…I can't tell if you're here to argue or something else." His chuckle was purely sardonic, and almost sounded pained; "Seriously, stop yanking me around, huh?"

"You…" when words immediately failed her, she snorted and blew hot steam from her nose. It caused the drifting snowflakes around them to dance in the heat, and the air to shimmer; "You…you can be an utter bastard, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

"But…I think we all know you mean well. Even if this war is fucking up your moral compass, you still mean well. I should know - I grew up with people who claimed to mean well, but fucked their peasantry over when possible."

"Your dad too?" his brow rose just a little, maybe out of amusement, or interest. She shook her head.

"Mom would have skinned him if he'd abused our position." Speaking of, her mother had ditched the horse since yesterday, which Morrigan now rode - and wasn't that a sight? - and had opted for joining Eleanor on the carriage; "My point was that you obviously still care, but…I think you're losing sight of the path, if that makes any sense?"

"Ends justifying the means, you mean?"

"…kinda." It was a bitch, but she knew he knew that was what she meant. She also knew she wasn't entirely innocent herself, not when it came to remaining the same after everything they'd been through. More things had tried taking her life in the past month alone than the twenty-one years of her life combined. It was always either adrenaline or boredom, with nearly nothing else in-between. If not for Aedan, she'd probably have lost it by now; "I just…we don't want to see you become something you'd hate…_fucking Aetherius_, I just came up here to check up on you, not this whole…this whole…"

"Interrogation? Existential crisis?" his light chuckle only made her scowl worse; "I don't blame you, you know? We're so close now, so close to reuniting Ferelden and beating back the Blight, and it feels like we could trip and lose it all, any moment…It's not exactly good for the blood-pressure, you know? But hey, just remember to…what's the saying, 'always look on the bright side of life'?"

"…you start whistling, and I'll seriously harm you." Talia grumbled, narrowing her eyes at her leader. The way Alistair was going between moods, she'd have called it insane if she didn't actually know him as well as she did by now.

"Whistling?" Alistair frowned, evidently not following. Good; "I meant you and Aedan. You're…I think you're good for each other, you know?"

"Oh…Yeah, right that." At this point she was really just reacting. She'd stopped trying to control the conversation, if it could even be called such right now. Still…there was the matter of a certain bard; "Don't you and Leliana do the same thing?"

"I…what?" she actually made him stutter. Huh. Maybe she was just too chronically worn out to really give a damn, but she thought that should have amused her more than it did. He was looking back, probably to make sure aforementioned bard was out of earshot; "I mean- Why?"

"…Alistair."

"Talia?"

She punched him in the arm, hard enough that she could feel the impact of her mitten on his armor through the cloaks. It had him wincing in the saddle, though it didn't make him fall off. He still definitely got pissed though, which was good, because one of them had to be at this point.

"You punching me solves, what, exactly?"

"Well I was sure as fuck hoping it'd solve your daftness."

"Daftness?" Alistair growled as he rubbed his arm.

"Alistair. Don't make me hit you again, because Divines know I feel like it."

"What are you talking about?" his expression became a frown; "You're talking about me and Leliana. Why, exactly, are you so Maker-be-damned obsessed with us?"

"Because you're losing your shit and you need to get laid!" it was only when the people around them stared at her with wide eyes, that Talia realized she'd just shouted what perhaps, possibly, maybe, really should not have been shouted.

_Gods…_

* * *

**Like always, I hugely appreciate your opinions - which, at this point, I think you know. It's kinda like my therapy, honestly. Something to help me forget just how shitty a place the world, and just Europe, has become. I mean, _fuuuuuck,_ military coup, Nice massacre, Munich shootings, axe-attacks...I could literally go on, and that's scaring the crap out of me...**

**Right, so...other things, I guess. Two things, actually. **

**First of all, in case it didn't "shine" through the first part, I was surprisingly more at ease with writing the intimacy from Talia's point of view. I have NO idea why, and honestly it's a source of both amusement and disbelief for me. ****I really just wrote it because I wanted to show some actual intimacy. The story's been a gore-fest so far, I figured just a little closeness would be in its place.**

**Now, second thing. **

**This is really more of a forewarning, or whatever else it might be called. A request is also perfectly fitting, actually. I'll put it bluntly: When this "book" is finished, I can't really start the next one until I have a cover-picture for it. I'm saying this now so it won't come as a WTF thing at the end...And it still kinda feels like a douche-move, I don't know...I think, if anything, I'll say that if anyone did make something I could use, or just anything at all, it'd be more appreciated than I can actually put into words, because it'd be the first piece of art the story ever received...**

**...yeah I suck at asking for things.**


	68. Snow cover Blood

**A/N: And so we reach another chapter in Laysh. I'll be honest; I'm liking this arc more and more, if nothing else then for the sheer freedom and potential it gives me. It's literally characters of my own creation, in a place that was never anything more than a named dot on a map in a country we never saw in the games. **

**It's a very…I dunno, cozy feeling, somehow? It's not in my eyes degraded by the fact that its chapters cannot be as long as the Ferelden-arc right now. It's just the way things are until a bit more time has passed, and it allows me to make more frequent visits to the little town. **

**There's just…so, so much potential here, and it's making me giddy like the kid who just got front-row at beating the cat out of the barrel at Fastelavn, and sees the barrel is hanging by a thread. Like 'Oh boy, I can't wait to get at this stuff!' kinda feeling.**

**And at this point, I'd like to think I've established some proper characters in at least Sevilius, Idoria and Alexander. Each is their own person, as much as I can make them anyway. Never claimed to be great at crafting personalities, but I'm almost actually kind of proud of what I've done with these. Even if it's mostly just banter, exposition and world-building.**

**Oh, and…I JUST GOT ACCEPTED INTO UNIVERSITY! *blows absurd amounts of confetti***

* * *

Snow covers Blood

* * *

The winter in these new lands was, surprisingly, actually quite beautiful. The Anderfels were harsh, and unforgiving, and their winter no less so. Still, the blanket of white now covering the scenery as far as the eye could see was…serene.

It also helped conceal the location of the mass-graves.

Quastor Sevilius was finding himself here more and more these past few days. The battlements, now free of bodies, was a good place for contemplation. When his duties allowed for it, this was where he would be, just…trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened. He was getting too old for rapid and sudden changes, and Centurion Mallin being declared a Herald by the Andrastians - and a Saint of all things by a growing number of the Cohort's soldiers - was one such change he could not at present completely deal with.

The air was frigid, and stung his lungs a little with each breath. His cheeks burned, and he could feel the cold on his old gums whenever a yawn forced itself out. Divines, he was too old for this. So was the Tribune, he supposed, wherever that man was right now. There had been no communications from him since before the battle, and the Centurion's report had been made without others around, Sevilius included…gods, indeed.

The battle was over with, had been for nearly a week now. And yet, he still found himself grasping for his sword at the slightest sound, the smallest surprise or unexpected event. He knew what it was too, the stress. Slaughters of such magnitude left scars behind, even when the superficial ones had healed. He also knew the healers of the Cohort could do little against what ailed the mind, much as they would likely keep trying.

Laysh was in ruins, even though the buildings yet stood. Nearly a quarter of its male populace had been wiped out, which left the town at a desperate need for manpower, especially now that winter had come. The Cohort as well was decimated, and somehow, that had caused the two to…merge, for a lack of better words. Sevilius wasn't quite sure how else to put it, sadly.

With the battle over with, and the nights growing too cold for even the hardened soldiers to sleep on ships, the people of Laysh had opened their doors, their homes and taverns and workshops, even the Chantry, to the weary soldiers of the 6th. It was unexpected - _more_, than unexpected - but at the same time he could actually almost understand why. Gratitude, basically, was the word of the day.

That and the fact that even the common soldier was now regarded with something approaching slight reverence, for their association with the Centurion alone. It was a strange situation, but not one he could not view as positive, in a way. The bloodbath had washed away prejudice and mistrust, and Laysh now welcomed the soldiers of the Legion more warmly than any Imperial city ever had, to his knowledge. The Chantry especially paid attention to the men now crippled from amputations or severe wounds. There was an actual exchange of culture here, and when he came back the Tribune was either going to have someone hanged or promoted for it.

Heavy footsteps came from the side, and the Quastor turned his head to regard the Warden-Constable, Alexander Hermann. The Warden's bald head was now covered in a coif, and his clothing seemed more addressed to the weather than the threat of Darkspawn. Sevilius himself still just wore his armor, as the underlining gambeson was more than sufficient when it came to keeping him warm. That and his thick gloves and leggings helped keep him insulated.

Sevilius wasn't entirely sure how to engage the man, even as he stopped next to him, and rested his arms on the battlements. It was clear the Anders had come to make conversation, or he'd have gone anywhere else on the walls. Instead he was here, yet had not said a word. He simply took out a pipe, stuffed it and lit it.

Hermann was also the first - to Sevilius' knowledge - to have declared the Centurion a Herald. This left him in somewhat uncertain standing with the Quastor, as such declarations really did not have a place in the Legion when unfounded. The problem had only grown since, with the ever-increasing numbers of legionaries proclaiming the Centurion a saint, and some even that she had been chosen by Stendarr - like Saint Pelin the Martyr - or maybe Mara herself, for her otherworldly gift of restoration and deterrent of the undead-like Darkspawn.

It raised the question…If perhaps Andraste was but the Anders' name for Mara, could their Maker be Akatosh? It would make sense in that both were said to be married to the other, but beyond that it still left the rest of the Aedra unmentioned. Heresy was only technically punished for veneration of unofficial and untrue Divines, such as Talos, but leaving out every Divine but Mara and Akatosh would still have been viewed with estrangement, if not outright outrage in Tamriel.

It had caused brawls in the beginning here, before the battle. The sons of Tamriel were devout, doubly so when faith was all they could bring from home. As a Quastor, Sevilius himself had had to break into more than a few scuffles, using his command-stick to beat the sense back into fighters both Andrastian and Imperial.

The cold air made the smoke from Hermann's pipe carry more potently, and its sweet smell felt like it dulled the nerves, yet not in the way Hammerfell hemp would. And it was nowhere as acrid as Elsweyr tobacco. It was something new.

"You need a smoke, Quastor?" Hermann had noticed his look, and was handing him a separate pipe. Sevilius hadn't seen him carrying two, and didn't immediately understand the reason for it; "Your name, it's Sevilius, yes?"

"Lucius Sevilius." He nodded as he accepted the pipe. It was already stuffed, actually. A reserve? "What are you smoking?"

"Elfroot." Hermann handed him a small, smoldering twig to ignite the pipe, and Sevilius used it, while trying to remember if he knew the plant; "You use it in potions and poultices, but if you dry the leaves and powder them, they can be smoked as a way to heal the nerves, and some say the mind. It's popular with the Wardens because it doesn't actually damage the lungs."

"…sounds almost too good to be true." The Quastor chuckled, mostly because he realized something like that would put the Khajiit out of business if ever introduced to Tamriel. Drawing in a breath, he held it for a few seconds. It was sweet, but not sickeningly so, and actually seemed to calm his nerves down, just a little, before he blew it from his nostrils; "It's…not bad."

"I carved the pipe myself, gave one to the other officers too…" the Warden spoke calmly, mostly from the smoke; "It's…just a way to show some appreciation. I heard them complaining among themselves that they needed something to ease the nerves…figured it might help."

"It's appreciated, Constable." Truly, it was. This might just actually help him deal with the stress; "I take it the Centurion needed it too?"

"The Herald, she…I did not know if it was proper of me to approach her with something as mean as an offer to smoke." The man sighed, and Sevilius was forced to once again remember just how much reverence these people suddenly held the Centurion in.

"You realize she is still human." It was actually a question, half-n-half.

"I do." The Warden's eyes did not wander at all, still focused on the expanse beyond the walls; "You do not venerate her in the same way."

"I am not Andrastian, Hermann." The Quastor noted, eying the other man. Hermann, if anything, did not seem offended. Then again, it could not come as a surprise that not a one soldier of the Legion would convert when they knew which faith was the truest; "I remain skeptical…At least at the claims that she might be the herald of your Andraste."

"Skepticism is always healthy…" the Warden puffed out a ring of finely directed smoke, then followed up with a smaller one through it; "Your men say she might be a saint. I am unfamiliar with the term."

"Saints…" Sevilius sighed, drawing in smoke; "You really should ask one of the priests. I'm a soldier, not a theologist."

"I've found soldiers to have the more realistic relationship with the Maker." Hermann mused; "Is the same not true for your people?"

"…Maybe. We don't worship saints though, not in the way you do Andraste, or the Maker. It's…" he paused, frowning as his eyes tracked some kind of bird of prey in the skies. It was little but a black outline, but unmistakably a predator. That had to mean even the tainted steppes of the Anderfels were capable of supporting rodents, and thus life. so, it couldn't be thoroughly blighted. At least, that was what he surmised, optimistic though it may be; "…it's closer to your Divine, I think. Without the authority that comes with the position, so saints are more…you could say we revere them for what they are; clear and undeniable signs of divine intervention."

"How so?" the Warden's tone was simple and honest curiosity. Maybe he was right, in that soldiers were the more reasonable ones when it came to gods. Sevilius would rather not enter a religious debate, but he would not mind sharing the stories of his homeland.

"Arguably the most popular of saints to a great many people would be Saint Pelin…" Hermann was quiet, attentive as the Quastor puffed a fresh breath of the smoke. It really was good for the nerves, and he had yet to cough even just once; "It was back in the first era, back before the Empire even existed. Pelin was a…I believe he was a simple monk, a priest, at the Bankorai garrison. At these times, Tamriel had monsters in its woodlands, and among them were the vampires known as the Grey Host."

"Vampires?"

"You do not know them?" Sevilius was at first dismissive of the notion. Vampirism had to be known here, for how could an entire continent possess such luck as to escape it? Then again, they had the Blights; "Vampires are like men, only stronger, faster, more cunning…they leech onto civilization, drinking the blood of their victims…They can rarely be told from normal men and women, unless so starved for blood that their skin turns pale as snow, and their eyes black as the night. They're even said to vanish from sight, utterly invisible…"

"Sounds like hunger-demons, or something you'd frighten children with…" the Warden withheld a scoff; "These beings, they really still exist?"

"They do, although no one really knows how widespread…" Sevilius muttered. Of course, there were the vampire-hunters of Dawnguard, said to somehow be able to tell a vampire from men with ease. And the Vigilants of Stendarr, somehow prevailed, so they had to know it as well; "The Grey Host thankfully no longer exists, but back then, it was not unlike the Darkspawn horde, a swarm of evil and death creeping across the land. When they arrived and lay siege to the garrison, it's said Pelin flung himself from the walls to buy time for the defenders, and offered himself up to the vampires."

"Suicide makes you a saint, then?"

"No, because Pelin cried out to Stendarr, our god of Justice, to aid him. Stendarr filled Pelin with unending rivers of blood, slaking the thirst of the hundreds of vampires so much that they never knew that the soldiers on the walls were pushing the battlements down onto them." Sevilius paused when he noticed the frown on Hermann's face.

"Continue, please…I was just trying to recall what your priests said of Stendarr." The Warden waved him on. Sevilius hesitated for a moment, unsure if the man was simply being polite.

"Empress Hestra then arrived with her legions, and swept away the last of the vampires. It was the end of the Host, and Pelin, whom had sacrificed himself and held the monsters at bay from the gates with the aid of Stendarr, was made a saint…Forgive me, I'm not usually asked to explain legends, I must sound like a preacher…"

"You sound like a soldier, forced to discuss theology." The Quastor nearly spat out his pipe when the new voice came from behind him. As one, he and Hermann snapped about to see the Centurion, be she saint or Herald, standing on the stairs leading to the battlements, so that just the upper half of her was visible. Sevilius snapped to a salute, while Hermann bowered his head; "At ease, both of you…Honestly, it's bad enough that the men and your Chantry treats me like I'm some sort of god…"

"Centurion." Sevilius stood at rest, watching her ascend the stairs completely. Helmet and full armor still covering her, she seemed like far more of an authoritarian figure than he'd imagined; "Has there been any news from the Tribune?"

The closed helmet made it difficult for him to read her expression; "The Tribune, as well as ambassadors Dhevsa and Yagish remain in Hossberg to keep up relations and communications."

"Does this mean you're then in charge here then, officially?"

"…it does, I suppose. There's some sort of royal decree the delegates will be brining back as proof of King Augustin's commands, but until then I'm not going to assume any kind of authority beyond what my current station allows. Alexander, you might want to know that Empress Celene is dead. Orlais is just to the south, as far as I know?"

"…so, their civil war is over, then?" it was odd, Sevilius knew, that the native was the least shocked of them; "I'm assuming that means Gaspard now consolidates power in Val Royeaux."

"Do you know what he will do, when news of our arrival spread?"

"I can't say for certain…But Gaspar de Chalons is a warrior before he can ever be Emperor. If he views your Empire as a threat to his power, I doubt anything short of the Divine reining him in will prevent an invasion."

"Why'd he view us as a threat? We're here for the Darkspawn, not his country!" the Centurion's heated reply was something Lucius had not expected. From what he had surmised, they were here for that, but also to spread Imperial influence. With the resources of Thedas, it was highly likely the Empire could once and for all squash the Dominion, and achieve complete dominance in Tamriel.

Had he been wrong, then, or was the Centurion either not informed or simply lying to the Warden? All three equally probable, he didn't know what to say, and simply kept quiet.

"Gaspard is a very devout man, Herald." Hermann started; "…your origins, and the religion of your homeland, will most likely be enough for him to proclaim undertaking the invasion in the name of Andraste, or the Maker. I can…only guess, at best, but he would almost certainly declare you, and us, and everyone revering you, as heretics."

"…you're saying he would invade, simply because we survived the battle?" there was something very terse in the woman's voice. Like she was dangerously close to committing violence; "Quastor, have we managed to establish communication with Tamriel yet?"

Lucius snapped to, mostly out of reflex. It was easier to view her as his superior officer than a religious figure. And much less confusing; "It's in progress. The mages only managed to resume the construction after you healed the men…I must admit I still am in the dark as to how you managed that. Centurion, you…understand the men think you a saint. They revere you after the battle, and…" wary eyes glanced at the stump of her arm; "…the Principes hold you in some sort of hero-status."

"Yes, thank you, Quastor." The tone did not imply actual gratitude though. More like weariness; "Can we, for the sake of efficiency, at least pretend no divine woman picked me out for this, and get back to work?"

"Of course, Centurion."

"Hera- _Centurion_, when I said Gaspard might invade, it was pure speculation." Hermann interjected; "For all we know, he'll turn his eyes to Ferelden or Nevarra instead. Or, if Ferelden falls to the Blight, focus his armies on the Darkspawn entirely. Wardens don't get involved in politics when we can avoid it, and I've always avoided it. I can't say what he'd do any better than the Revered Mother. Vesemir would be the better man to ask, but he's still in Hossberg."

"…figures." The woman sighed, rummaging into one of her belt-pouches. Most, if not all members of the Legion carried their salary in the baltea, their frontal straps - the system was more traditional and ceremonial these days than it was practical; "…Hermann, you have more of the Elfroot stuff everyone's smoking?"

The Centurion had fished out a pipe of her own. It was simplistic, with no carvings beyond what was required, and only the etchings of her initials made it unique.

"You smoke, Herald?" the Warden stared, as if such was illegal in the Centurion's new position; "I- I mean, yes, I have a bit left."

"Good…thanks…" a - these days - rare smile creased her lips, at least the parts of them not covered by the enclosed helmet. Hermann carefully, almost like he was holding a child, filled the brown powder-mix in it, offered the pipe back to her, as well as the cinder. She could, of course, not light it on her own; "I brought tobacco from home, but the whole thing got soaked when we came across the sea, so I've been needing…"

She drew in air, fueling the smoldering embers in the pipe, and blew out the smoke. A long sigh stretched in the aftermath, and she held the piece in place with just her teeth;

"…something to get me off the stress…Sweet Divines, I need a drink."

"A-are you sure that's…"

"Alexander, if you tell me I can't drink because I'm the Herald, I'm going to do something really not befitting of neither my military rank, or religious station." Her voice was calm, since had she raised it the pipe would have fallen out. It only really served to make her seem that much more severe, and authoritative.

"What are the plans regarding our more permanent lodgings, ma'am?" Sevilius decided to have the Warden owe him a favor, in mind at least, and divert the Centurion's attention. That, and it was actually a pressing issue. He would prefer not having to rely on the hospitality of the townsfolk, if he could help it; "We have a plot of land staked out, just north of the town, but winter's going to make the ground nearly impossible to dig in."

"Constable, how's Laysh's supplies looking for the winter? Do we have enough food, and firewood?"

"…perverse as it feels to say it, we're lucky with the casualties we took. Before the battle we were severely understocked, but now…less mouths to feed." Hermann's expression was pained as he spoke, something Sevilius could sympathize with; "How about reinforcements from your Empire? The Darkspawn are often less active once the frost has set in, but we're still recovering, I don't want to risk being caught undermanned."

The Centurion hesitated, and looked to him.

"We've already sent the _Komnenos _back with those too severely wounded for treatment here. With luck, they'll reach the shores of Tamriel within the week…" Lucius stated; "Right now, we're waiting for the mages to be ready for apparition."

"Apparition?"

"Spectral long-distance teleportation, of sorts…Remember, when we were planning the defense?" the Centurion interjected; "Communication Stones are expensive, so the norm is for only a Legion's commanding officers to carry them, and they are not dependable over the distance we need here. Thus, Apparition. Consider it the difference between a signal-fire, and a messenger-bird."

"Your magic remains unfathomable to me…though I do know of some mages using special gems for long-distance communication." Hermann muttered; "If Gaspard turns his eye to the north, the Anderfels won't have the manpower to stop him. We're not a rich nation."

"Things will change, Alexander." The Centurion stated.

"How? For better or worse?"

"Better, at least on the immediate horizon." Her eyes closed and she drew in smoke; "The Tribune said to expect the entirety of the Tenth to mobilize for Thedas, meaning we'd be receiving at least four thousand men, as well as engineers, mages and healers. Laysh will most likely be our base of operations, at least initially. It's going to mean some upheaval, but eventually it'll mean a safer life for the citizens of Laysh, and possibly the Anders as a whole."

"That is, if this Gaspard doesn't decide to start a war…" Lucius muttered; "We're in luck if the Thalmor don't start sticking their noses in this."

"Thalmor?" the Warden looked between them, though Lucius wondered if he noticed the slight glare the Centurion set upon him. Had he blundered? Discretion had never been his forte, else he would not be in the Tenth.

"Elves." She said, devoid of mirth; "Little more than an annoyance to the Empire, and one we will eventually see dealt with."

"I thought elves were part of your Empire?" Hermann frowned; "A civil uprising?"

"Splinter-faction, more like…They view themselves as superior to humans, and the other elves." The Centurion explained slowly; "We were at war, thirty years ago."

"Who won?"

"Both. Neither…" Sevilius watched his superior as she sighed and blew smoke; "Elves got to test their sadistic spells on humans, and the Legion got to cut its teeth on an unconventional enemy. We always adapt, Constable. It's what makes the Legion the strongest fighting force on Nirn. It's seen the Empire through centuries of struggle and hardship, and it'll see us through the Darkspawn as well."

Silence reigned after that. Minutes went by, and all there was to hear were the sounds of civilization, the voices of children in the streets, of people yelling, laughter, sorrow…Sevilius found it much the same as any Imperial town. Religion did not carry over into the sound of a laughing child.

"Centurion?"

"Quastor." She acknowledged him without glancing up, instead keeping her eyes at the snow-covered expanses beyond the walls of Laysh.

"What did the Tribune say to…about the whole…about your…About Andraste and the men calling you a saint?" himself he was conflicted. On one hand, he knew the Andrastian faith couldn't be right, because where it had had no sign of attention from their Maker, the Empire had had regular interventions from the Aedra. Martin's statue in the Imperial City was only one of the more recent testaments to that.

On the other hand…a saint? He'd seen her heal what dedicated priests, healers and mages could not, but…It was not a subject he enjoyed, for it filled his mind with doubts. And when doubts came, so did theories of what else it could be, if not the intervention of a Divine.

"…Unimportant, Quastor."

"Understood, Centurion." What he understood, though, was that it was either above his salary, or simply not for the Warden to hear. Understandable, really, but cloak-and-dagger methods did not ever sit right by him. Soldiers were supposed to be detached from all that, at least those working outside of the Imperial City. His eyes stayed on her for a moment longer, then turned back to the strangely beautiful wasteland before them.

"How are we on replenishing casualties?" her voice was less…confident? this time. When he glanced over, she had not moved an inch, but seemed instead to be holding her breath, if the lack of smoke was any indication; "Alexander is right, we need manpower. We can repair the armor of those we lost, at least to some degree, but we need men to put in them."

"You're suggesting recruiting the townsfolk?" if the Warden's tone was anything to go by, the idea did not please him. He likely felt conflicted about disagreeing with something their 'Herald' said. The Centurion fixed him with a stare that was only made that much heavier by her helmet giving her a permanently angry appearance.

"We need the men." She stated flatly; "And the town watch is in dire need of some _actual_ training."

"Cen- Herald, they're _civilians._ "

"Most soldiers in the Legion are civilians when they enter. The watch here at least has the benefit of some experience."

"…who will they obey, if I might ask?" the Warden grumbled with clear dissatisfaction; "Will they be but more soldiers in your Empire? Will Laysh?"

"You proclaim me the Herald of Andraste, but you won't let me drill some actual soldiering into the defenders of this town?" the Centurion's tone was unimpressed.

"That's- I, of course not, it's just…They have no involvement with your Empire. None of them, they just wish to live peacefully." Sevilius looked between the two of them, teeth gnawing hard on the mouthpiece of his pipe. He'd prefer the three of them did not start an argument right now - too much was still at stake.

"And that they could, except that the Cohort lost three fourths of its men defending Laysh." The Centurion stated. Her voice held some sympathy; "I do not intend on pressing your people into military campaigns, Alexander, not that I _could_. I've been given command of the garrison, not of the actual Cohort."

"What…is the difference?" Hermann was clearly not following. This, of course, made the Centurion turn to Sevilius. It took him a moment to realize she was actually looking to him for help. Understandable, actually: she was still not that experienced with being at the top of the chain of command. Neither was he, of course, but he'd served for longer than her. Experience always outweighed rank, in his eyes. It was just another reason he was in the Tenth, and not a more distinguished Legion.

"They'll be under the command of the Imperial Legion, but won't actually leave Laysh." He explained; "The Legion prefers to only employ and deploy professional soldiers on military campaigns, so the town watch would remain the town watch, only trained, equipped and under the command of the Legion."

"That's…a relief, at least. Thank you." The Warden exhaled; "When the delegation returns with this decree you mentioned…What will you do?"

"How long is the journey from here to Hossberg?"

"Roughly a week. Three days in straight canter on light horses." What he didn't say, but they all knew by now, was that no one rode light horses in the Anderfels. Horses here wore more armor than Sevilius had ever seen on a living creature, and it had him befuddled that the animals could still be relied on for speed when they appeared more like a four-legged Dwemer machination; "Why?"

"The Delegation left Hossberg yesterday on the same horses they went with, so that means six days…Where's the nearest forest?"

"Sklavkov, between the mountain-ranges to the south of here. Most of our timber comes from it, but it's not exactly a safe route, which is why we use stone and clay instead most of the time."

"How far, exactly?"

"…four miles?" Hermann muttered, fingering his moustache; "You can just barely see it from the southern wall, on a good day without dust storms."

"Any roads leading to it?"

"There used to be one, before the Blights...Who would have maintained it? We have the road leading to Weisshaubt, and the road leading to Hossberg." The Warden sighed and checked his pipe; "I don't know if you've noticed, Serah, but Laysh is a poor settlement. Our main sources of income are fishery and the quarries to the south."

"I need to talk with the Herzog. Anything comes up, you can find me there." The Centurion stated as she pushed herself to a straight stand; "…When the Legion gets here, Alexander, Laysh will change for the better. I can promise you that much. It's a force to be reckoned with, _we're_ a force to be reckoned with. Laysh will be safe, safer than it's been in a long time..."

The men watched her leave in respectful silence, Sevilius wondering what his superior was planning. Some of it was quite obvious, with her questions as to the resources and capabilities of Laysh and its surroundings. She was planning to better the town as much as she could, though whether that was in preparation for darkspawn or eventual conflict with this 'Orlais', he couldn't say.

"What do you think will happen, with our people I mean?" the Warden's question made him turn around, where the other man still stood, leaned against the battlements; "I do not doubt Andraste in her choice of Herald, but…"

"The Centurion is a soldier and a commander before she is a Herald or Saint of any kind, Constable…I believe…" it was not hard, understanding why the man was concerned. Had Sevilius been in his shoes, he might have worried that changes he could not adapt to were coming their way - with divine mandate, no less; "She does what she does because it's part of her, I think. She's always been true to her oath. The way I see it…she means to better the Empire by bettering Laysh."

"I suppose so…"

"Tell me…if news of her being the Herald spread…what's going to happen?"

"I don't know…" the Warden sighed, and for a moment he seemed so much younger than he was; "But things are in motion that have not been for centuries, now. Laysh seems to have been caught in the middle of it all, and I can only pray we come out for the better…But you're asking about the Herald in particular…"

"She's not going to become Andrastian simply because she might be her Herald."

"I guess not…" a weak chuckle reached the man's lips; "…then again, 'they serve and venerate the Maker who serve and venerate his creations, be they animal or man, young or old. She who is the sword against the darkness is also the shield'."

"From your chant?" Lucius looked at the Warden with curiosity. It seemed oddly specific. Hermann merely chuckled, stuffing a bit more Elfroot in his pipe.

"No…I made that one up myself."

* * *

**...I really love these characters. Even if I still can't help but see Blackwall when I write Alexander. I think it's the gruff-ness that does it.**

And it's probably shining through that I'm a bit of a fanboy of the Imperial Legion. It mostly comes from their potential, and the fact that so far I haven't seen a single story do them justice...

**Hopefully, I can change that much.**

**As always...You know, leave thoughts at the door, mat, window, that sort of thing. It should probably be said that anyone who's a dapper hand at drawing would have my utmost gratitude if they'd contact me on the matter of cover-art, or any art whatsoever - since I can't win a drawing-contest with a four-year old...yes, I actually tried that. T_T*  
(It's not to say that I'm asking for it, just that getting my first piece of fanart ever for this story would be kind of an awesome thing I'd be very open to...And it'd be used for permament reference to a character's appearance. If that's not having influence on a story, I don't know what is :3)**


	69. Late-Night Arrivals

_Armies of Thedas - A study_

_Kingdom of Ferelden - 1 of 3_

_Ferelden is one of the more rural, forested nations of Thedas. Their system of government relies on their Nobility to agree with, or endorse the ruling king and or queen. The Nobility of Ferelden is divided into several ranks, with each being the acting liege lord of varying plots of land, and the people living thereon. _

_As such, it is unsurprising that the core of the Fereldan army is made up of well-equipped, well-trained and well-educated members of the Nobility. Contrary to their western neighbor, however, Fereldan nobility is rarely mounted, even when facing opposing nobility on horseback. Horses, in Ferelden, are more of a beast of burden, than a beast of war. Instead, Fereldan nobles can be found leading from the midst of their men, almost always encased in thick, well-crafted steel-plate. Emphasis on the thickness of their armor, as even any direct strike with a warhammer will often merely bounce from the wearer, or simply slide off. _

_Enchantments are common, though still rare compared to Imperial knights, as magic in and off itself is limited in Thedas. _

_On the battlefield, the Fereldan nobleman commonly carries swords, be they one- or two-handed, and wields them with exceptional skill. This comes from the feudal tradition Ferelden has ingrained in its very core, that all members of nobility must train from a very young age to master the craft of war. _

_Aside from the use of swords, the nobility of Ferelden is equally skilled with the use of long-shafted, bearded axes, warhammers and the longbow. The latter is, almost amusingly so, a popular sport for not just those well-off, but just as much for the common citizen, and even peasants and farmers. _

_When not using both hands to wield their weapon, shields are used. Most often these are heater shields or kite-shields, of a quality the Empire cannot yet distribute to its own. As such, this should be observed. It should also be noted that a few select members of minor nobility make use of small, round shields known as 'Bucklers'._

_Nobles make up the smallest, arguably heaviest part of the Fereldan army._

* * *

**Late-night Arrivals**

* * *

Ferelden at early evening, with a blanket of snow covering most of its surfaces, as well as Denerim's rooftops, was almost picturesque. It was still damp and cold as fuck, but at least it was prettier than the autumn had been.

"I do not see a reception." Talia, riding her shift near the carriage, could hear the Arl speaking from within its comfort. He was right, she realized, as they entered the gates. Aside from the usual guard-detail, no one were even keeping eyes on them.

Not openly, at least. There _were_ a lot of soldiers, though. Denerim was one of two remaining bastions in Ferelden, not counting Highever, and it was to be expected that it would be crammed with soldiers. So, this was what remained of the Fereldan army? _Can't be, there's too many. They must have been recruiting._

While not a great deal of the soldiers looked their way, the civilians sure did. Seeing as the concept of mercenaries couldn't be new to Denerim, Talia surmised it had to be the carriage they were all looking at. Eamon's method of transportation was hardly something the commoners could afford.

"We haven't announced our arrival." Mother noted, glancing down at the side of the carriage from her seating next to Eleanor. Talia was still a bit miffed at her mother, because far as they'd been able to make out, she was the one responsible for the crappy advise Aedan had been given, which had nearly led to some really ugly shit. Needless to say, Talia had spent quite a few conversations with her, fuming, glairing and generally being upset.

It sucked all the more because apparently it had never been her mother's intention to do anything but help. It just added to the old saying that parents knew nothing. Especially not about how relationships worked.

"Maker willing, we'll arrive at my Estate unchallenged, and can plan our next moves from there."

The Maker was apparently a pretty fickle bitch, because they arrived through the oversized portcullis to Eamon's estate - so _that was_ what the keep-like mansion across the marketplace was - pretty much unchallenged.

She'd wondered what the place was, because they hadn't stayed here last time. It _was_ impressive though, she had to give it that. The portcullis was almost as broad as the secondary gates into Denerim itself, and allowed entrance into a large courtyard, as well as a well in its center. Beyond that, the estate towered above them in much the same way as Redcliffe Keep itself.

Eamon didn't do things by halves, it seemed…And speaking of the Arl, he emerged from the carriage, looking not a bit as worn out as those of the entourage who'd just spent the last week in a saddle. Stretching his legs, the old man crossed the courtyard, waving for them to follow.

Obviously, he did not mean the mercenaries. _Actually…what'll they do now? Go drink?_

"Quarters for your men are at the second story, Ser." A servant - an elf, of all people - approached Irondahl. The one-eyed mercenary captain eyed the towering building, nodding; "Stables are also available for your horses, and the kitchens are prepared for your needs."

"Hear that _chłopców_?" he grinned, looking back to the other _actual_ Green Men; "Food and Board, the _Hrabia_'s treating us to a nice and cozy stay. So remember, take your boots off before you get mud on the fancy carpets, _Zrozumieć_."

His men chuckled in response. Talia had come to view the Green Men - Anders, all of them - as perhaps the closest thing to Nords she had yet encountered in Thedas. They were stoic, most of the time, but also seemed like they laughed and enjoyed themselves with more passion than their Fereldan peers, when the situation called for it. They were also some of the first people here, to speak a language she couldn't understand.

She wondered if their homeland was very similar to Skyrim, to breed this kind of men, or if it was simply the sellsword-life that did it.

"It's pretty big." Aedan noted, ready for her as she dismounted from the saddle. She loved this part of riding more than anything else. The way he'd always be there to catch her, even if it strictly speaking wasn't necessary. It was just another way he showed how much he cared, and another way in which he was so far beyond any of her former suitors that it wasn't even funny anymore.

She'd only been halfway joking, honestly, when she'd suggested getting some of Mara's amulets. She knew, technically, that they were usually only worn by people _looking_ for a partner, and not by those who'd already found one. It didn't change the fact that she liked what they represented, and if nothing else wanted to have an amulet she could remove, in front of everyone who'd give a shit.

"I think it's just the right size, actually." She gave him a grin that told him she was_ not_ referring to the estate. That he could keep a straight face in spite of his cheeks coloring was, honestly, pretty impressive. Then again, three days straight of morning-sex could numb anyone to innuendos, she liked to think. Trusting the stable-hand to hold Niko, she let herself slide from the saddle, and into his arms; "But you know it depends on the owner."

"Mmmm." His smile was innocent enough to trick her, had he not grabbed at her hips the way he did. It was the gesture more than the actual sensation it brought though, as the layers of fur and cloaks that kept her warm, also made any kind of sensual touches unfelt; "Here's to looking forward to _not_ having to get out of bed in the middle of the night to stand watch."

She opened his visor and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"_Definitely_ looking forward to it." They both ended up the center of attention for their fellow Wardens, as well as Leliana who seemed to be looking at Alistair just a _bit_ longer than usual. Right, that was still a thing; "Come, we should probably not get left behind in the courtyard."

"Yeah, it's kinda chilly…" it wasn't, really, what with all the clothes they wore, but they both knew it gave her the excuse to snuggle up close to him as they walked. She knew she was being childish - or maybe selfish - and just plain immature, sort of, but she wasn't going to relinquish her hugs and warm-Aedan moments, just because they were in public; "Better?"

"Better."

If anything she was going to be doing it even more, just to see if the tension would finally cause Alistair - or Leliana - to snap, and carry the other into some private chamber and screw their brains - and stress - straight out the window.

Otherwise she was afraid at some point there was going to be an explosion. Cíada might like that - she seemed to like destruction an awful lot, that girl - but she doubted it would be constructive or beneficial for their mission.

Once past the main entrance, the temperature went up like the snap of her fingers. Literally, she could make fire that way. Flashfire was useful like that, even if it was more taxing than regular flames. Still, it didn't keep her from noticing how much of the furniture inside the main hall was still covered with sheets, and how the servants were running around like antagonized ants. _Ant-agonized ants. Ant with antlers….Shit, is that why those things are called antlers? _

She heard Daveth whistle with appreciation at the sight. The main hall_ was_ impressive, and so was the rest of the estate, from what she could immediately see. It wasn't as big as Redcliffe Keep, obviously, but still a great deal bigger than most mansions she'd seen. It actually shared some traits with the family summer estate at the inland fjord separating Bangkorai from Stormhaven.

"I imagine you are all hungry, and tired from our journey." Eamon's words caused her to tear her eyes from the tapestries, and instead to where the Arl was addressing them; "We will call the Landsmeet in exactly five days, once the last of the nobles have arrived. It will give us time to prepare and gather allies. For now, the kitchens are at your disposal, and the servants will direct you to any vacant rooms you might wish to use for our stay here. I suspect Loghain will eventually come to confront us here, rather than in the open at the Landsmeet, so as best as you can, the Wardens will endeavor to make themselves scarce…"

"We're gonna hide from that old slime?" Daveth asked, though his voice was more controlled than Talia would have expected. All of them had a bone to pick with the bastard, as well as Howe, wherever the sleazy, traitorous cunt happened to be hiding away.

"For the time being, yes." Eamon nodded.

"…it makes sense." Talia didn't like it, but she had to agree with the Arl; "If he sees us, or even gets a reason to suspect we're here, he could have the estate ransacked, or call off the Landsmeet. We'd just have to not wear uniform, it's not like 'Warden's written on our foreheads."

"So…no stabbing the fucker until after the Landsmeet then?" Daveth's question was met with nothing but silence - and a snicker from Cíada - which really didn't surprise Talia in the slightest. The archer might be more introspective than he'd at first appeared to be, but he still failed harder at social graces than she did at enchantments; "Right, right, I'll just be quiet then."

"Now then" Eamon clapped his hands together; "Feel free to explore the estate and recover from the journey. Alistair, if you would come see me in my study later, there's something we should talk about."

"What, can't share the super-secret plans with everyone?" their leader mused, drawing more than a few glances from both their comrades, and the servants. The latter were probably in for a pretty rude awakening, once the calamity known as hungry and or drunk Grey Wardens was unleashed upon the household.

A break from duties might actually do them all some good.

* * *

"Hep!"

One of the weirder sights a servant was likely to come across in the estate of Arl Eamon, might just be the current scene playing out in one of the larger recreational rooms - Talia had no idea what these places were called in Ferelden, but it was basically the place people went to relax and not eat - between the entirety of the entourage's Grey Wardens, and their comrades, throwing themselves onto tables to grab at spoons.

"_Fuck_, that's the corner right'n the tits!" Cíada was the first to complain, as she was seated at the corner of the table. Daveth laughed, holding up his spoon, which earned him a punch in the arm. Cullen watched the two of them, letting nothing out but a weary - and slightly intoxicated - sigh.

"Alright new round." Talia proclaimed loudly, throwing her own spoon back at the table. Leliana sighed where she sat - utterly sober - and corrected the utensil's location so that it was in line with the other ten spoons; "Whos's turn is it to mix the cards?"

She may have lost a few rounds, which was what had led to her current state of being perhaps a little on the intoxicated side; "Lel, you mix…you just mized…_mixed_, right…damn…"

"How often's she lost now?"

"A lot." Aedan grinned at Daveth's question, which just earned the both of them a flat stare. She couldn't keep a straight face though, and it spread into a shit-eating grin; "…a _lot_."

Leliana dealt the cards, and Talia snapped them up close, mere inches from her nose as she studied her hand. Three Kings, and a Queen. So she'd get rid of the Queen, and aim at a King. It was a better hand than she usually got, which went well in hand with her reflexes being less and less sharp right now.

"Hey Leli, since the cheese-muncher's not 'ere, and Morrigan's not going to join us, how…" vapors rising into her nose interrupted Talia's speech, and apparently the grimace she cut was awfully amusing. She bored it all with dignity though, because it'd been fucking ages since she'd played drinking games. Best thing was, even if she didn't really knew this one - it was an Anders game, of all things. Something their Bard had picked up at one point - the rules were stupidly easy.

An almost limitless amount of people could play _targlica, _\- which translated roughly to 'spoons' - as long as there were enough cards that everyone could have four. The game was then to get four of the same cards - there were two types of red cards, and two types of black - and snatch up one of the spoons before anyone else did.

It sounded innocent enough when explained, but when combined with the loser having to swig an entire mug of ale, it quickly became surprisingly passionate, and people - like Cíada - would throw themselves over the table to get at one of said spoons, as there was one less spoon than people.

"…how's things with you'n our most _illustious_…rious...Leader?" Damn alcohol for being so delicious when it also made her tongue do knots. Her mind was _totally_ clear, it was just the execution of any kind of actions she couldn't undertake properly, speech included; "I mean, I _thing_ I speak for all of us when I say the two of _you're_ unbearable to watch, 'cause there's just…_so_, so much sexual tension there, you know?"

Cards were passed on in silence, for a moment, while Leliana's skin tone gradually changed from pale to rosy. Had Talia not been drunk off her ass, she might have noticed the silence for its awkwardness. But she didn't, and was left smiling - and leering - at her fellow redhead.

"I…I didn't think…It's really that obvious?"

"Kind of."

"Yeah…"

"A bit yeah…"

"Sort of."

"Mmmm."

"It's almost painful, actually."

"_Prerty_ sure even the Anders could tell…" Talia's grin just would not fade, she was having too much fun. It was astoundingly few things that would get Leliana flustered up and bothered like this, but mentioning her failed attempt at even _starting_ a relationship with Alistair was…well, it was so easy it was almost cruel; "But do you _want_ him? You can tell us, not like anyone's going to miss out on the comedic potential of watching him being dense as a wheel of cheese anyway."

She omitted that she'd already let Alistair know, on more than one occasion, that Leliana almost certainly wanted him to master her taint. 'Shank' her 'Jory', which was apparently some sort of joke leveled at the poor bastard of a knight after he'd ended up in a badly matched duel with one of the Green Men. The knight was still walking with something of a limp, after he'd taken a polearm to the crotch. _Good thing his wife already _is_ pregnant…_

"…you're not going to tell him?" the Bard muttered, and the way in which she almost pleaded of the room at large was adorable - though Talia had to wonder if it was genuine or something she'd been taught as a Bard. Crafty people, and all that.

"Bit too late for you to ask that, considering the question in'n off itself is admitting it 'all." Daveth grinned, slapping his hand on the spoon nearest to him. The table became a warzone in the immediate aftermath of his claim, and Talia ended up yanking a -_her_\- spoon out of Merrill's cute little hands. The elf looked like a kicked - and intoxicated - puppy; "But 'ey, as Tali said, too much fun watching you'n our most glorious leader stumble around like kids."

Leliana pouted, and cards were thrown in for her to reshuffle.

"So?" Talia prodded.

"What?"

"Do you want him?" she grinned when Leliana seemed awfully interested in the table, and saw similar smirks across the table. This…this was actually pretty nice. She was taking the piss at a friend, while her other friends were gathered around, all having a good time with laughter and alcohol. Leliana glanced up, her ears competing with the red of her hair.

"…_desperately_."

"Say _no_ more girl" Talia's grin could be mainly attributed to how much alcohol she'd been forced to down, and she slumped over onto Aedan's shoulder; "Me'n Aedan're _experts_ in love. We'll get the two of you sad fucks hot'n bothered before you can say '_L'œil de Magnus'_"

"This is why J'zargo enjoys it when Talia gets drunk." The cat chuckled in his seat; "You'd be hard-pressed to find a more, how you say, fitting picture of Breton Nobles, _heh_…"

"I dare say, are you insulting my honor, cat?" Talia stared down the Khajiit, who seemed to give absolutely zero shits; "I'll have you know…I…ehm…I'll have you know even the lowliest lord could drink _you _under the table!"

"Is there something I'm not getting here?" Aedan muttered.

"J'zargo is a _Cathay_, they…they don't handle alcohol well." Brelyna - from where she was half-asleep on Gilmore's arm, mumbled; "It's the ethamol…_ethanol_, goes straaaaaight to their heads…head. One head."

"I think I love this group." Cíada had, at some point, given up on the game and was now resting her forehead on the table, in a shallow puddle of her own ale; "I _neeeeever_ wanna leave you people."

* * *

Rhea Aulus was expecting a guest.

"It's quite the splendid estate, wouldn't you agree?" Eleanor Cousland mused, walking next to where Rhea was admiring a quite skillfully done painting of, if she recognized the monarch from Redcliffe, King Maric. Being the king before the former, that would make the blond child at his side the recently slain King Cailan.

If the accuracy of the painter was to be trusted, it was not hard to see where the young Alistair had his traits from. The nose in particular, was telling.

Compared to the grand estate in Evermor, Rhea could hardly call her current environment opulent. True, the estate was indeed quite the magnificent display of wealth, especially in a nation with such an obvious gap between the rich and poor, alone amongst the commoners. The nobility, as expected, was on a whole different scale of wealth.

As it should be.

"It is…quite the estate, I agree." Of course, it was hardly comparable to their own grand estate in Evermor, but High Rock as a whole was also significantly richer in resources and artists than Ferelden. Relatively speaking, this estate was certainly an invaluable piece of opulent architecture; "A shame it is only in use when the Arl pays visit to the capital. Does it stand empty when he resides in Redcliffe?"

"Oh no, the servants still work and live here." The Cousland Matriarch hummed; "It's also used whenever members of the Guerrin family come to Denerim. Bann Teagan in particular has used this place quite a lot, before he was made Bann. He still comes here more often than Eamon himself, as far as I'm aware."

Arl Eamon was certainly one of the more wealthy members of the Fereldan Nobility, judging by his taste in interior decoration, both in Redcliffe and here. The masonry inside was all very skillfully done, and tastefully used, carved and decorated in such a way that it gave a very comfortable feeling to look at. It was something the Queen of Bangkorai had noticed to be a trait common to Fereldan architecture, when it could be afforded by the architects. Ferelden was mostly agriculture and woodlands, and it reflected in the preferred building materials of the common people. Timber walls and thatched roofs vastly outnumbered those rare buildings of stone and brick.

Denerim was, in and of itself, a brilliant piece of insight into Ferelden as a whole.

"What of your family?" Rhea knew it was a sensitive subject, naturally, but now was the closest Eleanor herself had come to bringing it up. And she wanted to know more of the family that would likely soon be joined with House Aulus. Grey Wardens or not, such a union would bring much influence, and impact the Noble Houses of High Rock quite significantly.

"We…" Eleanor seemed struck, either with nostalgia or simple, understandable sorrow; "Bryce never believed we needed such a thing. Denerim has a few Coaching inns worthy of nobility. Besides, we so rarely ever came to the capital, when Amaranthine was closer…It's part of…it _was_ part of the lands under Highever…"

"Forgive me, I should not have asked." Rhea turned and offered her friend a comforting hand. She was not one for overtly obvious displays of affection, not even in private, but lately had found just that to be what was needed. Both with Talia - who right now was deservedly furious with her - and Eleanor; "I suppose it is clear where my daughter got her unhealthy curiosity from."

"I would more say Talia's curiosity is quite healthy." Eleanor smiled. It was an honest smile, something nobles in this comparatively poorer country ironically were better at than those Rhea knew of in High Rock. Fereldans in general seemed more grounded, even their nobles. It was a trait she could admire, if not envy; "It has, after all, saved lives more than once."

"…I suppose it has, hasn't it?" it was a rhetorical question, but she still posed it as such. Rhea enjoyed the banter and talks she had with Eleanor, as well as what few occasions she had had to converse with Bann Teagan. Eamon himself was more alike to Omluard, and thus a more neutral character in her mind; "Speaking of curiosity, mind if I pose another question?"

"Shoot." Rhea briefly blinked at the odd reply; "It's something the young ones say, just means for you to go ahead." Eleanor smirked with an almost childish energy behind it; "I enjoy feeling like I'm not as old as I really am…"

"Don't we all?" the Dunmer smiled; "I was wondering…the Fereldan army, how is it composed? Citizen-soldiers led by meritocracy, or is it feudal?"

"That's a…loaded question." Eleanor paused, chewing on her bottom lip; "I suppose it is feudal, but nowhere near as rigidly so as in Orlais, or Nevarra. True, the Nobility fights in, and is required to supply the army with soldiers, but most of the army is made up of commoners. Once we levied peasants as well, but these days they only really follow the armies as servants or archers." There was something like a proud grin on the younger woman's lips; "Fereldan Longbows are quite infamous abroad, I'll have you know. River Dane was won because Loghain knew how to use them, and use them well."

"I heard what happened at Ostagar." Eleanor's expression darkened at that; "Do you know how the army was commanded? We don't have the luxury of an experienced commander on our side in this, unless Eamon knows how to lead an army."

"I'm afraid I don't, sorry." Rhea did not really feel disappointed, it had been a small hope at best that Eleanor knew how the Fereldan army functioned; "As for Eamon…he hasn't led an armed force since the Rebellion. I don't know if he could be counted on to really be…effective, no disrespect meant to his character."

"…Has there been any cases of women leading the army?"

"Queen Rowan, naturally." Eleanor answered matter-of-fact; "She was Eamon's older sister, and fought as one of the commanders during the Rebellion. Her mother was Moira, the Rebel Queen…Why? You're surely not proposing _I_ lead? Or Anora? That girl has no military experience to speak of, and sits in her father's pocket."

"No, actually…I was thinking of neither of you, no offense intended." Rhea mused in thought as she paced down the hall, headed for the chart-room. For some reason, the estate had one of these as well. With walls adorned with maps of Thedas, it also contained a rather sizable globe, though Thedas was the only landmass on it. The rest was unmapped.

"Who, then?" Eleanor tailed after, reminding Rhea quite a lot of a young girl in the way she walked. Considering the age-gap between them, the Cousland might as well have been just a little girl. It did not make her any less of a politically savvy woman, and one Rhea could respect, and like; "Not Talia."

Rhea could not quite hold back a light chuckle at that image. Talia, leading an army. Her daughter reviled that kind of attention, and would probably blow something up if it meant she'd lose that responsibility as quickly as possible; "No, not Talia either. I doubt she would be agreeable to such, or that anyone would follow her."

"I'm not quite sure who else could…" Eleanor started, only for a series of quick knocks on the door to interrupt her. Rhea kept quiet, watching the door with interest; "Yes?"

A servant poked her head inside, one of the elven maids. Her eyes widened like saucers when she saw Rhea, though not with disbelief, but rather relief.

"Oh, thank the Maker. Serah, there's a…guest here. For you. I…we weren't quite sure if we should let her in."

"A guest…A guest for you?" Eleanor turned between Rhea and the servant, clearly confused; "A guest for her?"

"Y-yes, Serah. She said she'd…received a letter, from…from her." The elf turned anxious eyes to Rhea; "S-should we let her in? I- the Arl would not approve, and he-"

"Leave the Arl to me." Rhea dismissed. The servant nodded and hastily scurried off. The Dunmer turned to a bewildered Eleanor; "If Eamon's going to throw a tantrum, I'll have him at least have a damn good reason for it."

"W-who is this guest? How'd you even invite a guest already? We've only been in Denerim for an hour!" the Teyrna's attention seemed torn between Rhea, and the activity in the main hall. The Dunmer smiled, red eyes gleaming;

"Eleanor, I do hope you did not think I was merely relaxing and taking in the sights in Redcliffe." Rhea raised hand flat, palm upwards, and an oval disk appeared an inch above it; "Forgive me that our talks might have had ulterior motives; although I genuinely enjoyed them, I _needed_ information on the capital, as well as those close to our enemies."

"I'm not sure whether…What exactly _is_ that in your hand?"

"A scrying mirror." Rhea stated with a smile; "I used it quite a lot when looking for Talia after I had first arrived in Ferelden, and again when I had my feet in Redcliffe. I'm sorry if you feel like I've…used you."

"No, no, it's…just a surprise." The Teyrna shook her head, perking up as the sound of armored boots on tiles resounded from the main hall. When the door opened once more, her expression fell flat; "…and speaking of surprises…"

"Ser Cauthrien, I presume?" Rhea welcomed the woman in the doorway, who seemed too stunned to immediately speak. A dark cloak covered her, but failed to disguise the armor she wore underneath. Eleanor's eyed widened, staring between the newcomer and Rhea; "Eleanor, I believe you should at least know _of_ Ser Mariam Cauthrien. Ser Cauthrien, I do hope it was not too inconveniencing to come here, I assure you your participation is appreciated."

"…"

"You _are_ allowed to speak, if that's what stops you." Rhea mused, closing her hand around the vanishing mirror, then rested it upon the sadly incorrect globe; "I assure you, of course, that I am no demon or abomination."

"…you look awfully like one though." The armored woman frowned. One hand was already on a sword at her hip; "Why should I trust you to not be one?"

"Why have you not yet run?" the Dunmer replied calmly; "Now, you may of course keep your sword, customs aside, if it will make you more at ease."

"Rhea, she is Loghain's _right hand_." Eleanor hissed, eyes narrowed and hard; "She was at Ostagar too, she abandoned Cailan to die, she's part of the reason my son is a wanted man! Your daughter too!"

"I'm aware." Rhea would be the first to admit that personal feelings were telling her to smear the woman in front of her, because Eleanor was not wrong. A queen, however, could not act on emotions when logic disagreed; "Would you care to tell me, Ser Cauthrien, why you came? You did not have to accept my invitation, you could have even alerted your general."

"How do you know she hasn't?"

"Because _Bubonem _has not yet told me so." At the snap of her fingers, Rhea's Familiar appeared on the shoulder of Ser Cauthrien, who gave a startled wince at the sudden appearance of an ethereal owl. Rhea smiled at the knight's reaction; "I believe you have seen her before?"

"This is- the thing that delivered the message, how-…" Ser Cauthrien turned narrow eyes towards her; "Just who, or what, are you?"

"I…" Rhea raised a hand, and Bubonem flew from the knight to her; "…am Rhea Aulus, _Queen of Bankorai_ and de-facto imperial ambassador to Ferelden. As for _what_, I am, the answer to that is a Dunmer. You may or may not already have heard of another of my kin traveling with the Grey Wardens."

"…what."

"Rhea, I'm asking you again; _why_ is she here?" Eleanor insisted, a hand already resting on the small of her back, where the Dunmer knew she kept her daggers.

"Well, you did yourself say we could not count on Loghain to combat the Blight, and that Eamon, although no-doubt willing, would also be unable to effectively command an army." Rhea explained as she extended tendrils of magic to grasp at the globe and lift it from its supports; "Ser Cauthrien, which do you believe is the bigger threat? Orlais or the Blight?"

"The Blight, naturally." There was no hesitation in her response.

"Which does Loghain believe is the bigger threat?"

"…He…Why do you ask these questions, w- just why should I believe a word you say?" Rhea did not let show the smile she felt at her guest's uncertainty. She already knew how this would end, and she suspected, so did the knight. Cauthrien's eyes locked onto the hovering globe, even as Rhea effortlessly expanded its size, and began grafting in what was missing; "…what are you doing?"

"Do you know what lies across the ocean, west of Orlais?" the Dunmer calmly asked as she finished the outline of Tamriel; "The Empire lies there, the Empire of Tamriel…Eleanor, be a dear and get Ser Cauthrien a chair before she dumps herself on the floor."

The Teyrna begrudgingly complied, pushing one of the chairs to where the knight was starting to sway on her feet. When it was pushed against her back, Cauthrien simply fell into it.

"Cauthrien, I will extend to you the courtesy of being honest. I am only the first of many to come, and those that follow will not be mere politicians or regents, but soldiers." Keeping her eyes on the two women with her - Eleanor still did not know the full extent of what was planned, but keeping in contact with her husband meant Rhea at least knew of the bare essentials - she traced a silvery line across the globe, from the shores of Tamriel to Thedas, though she herself did not know where exactly the Empire would first make landfall.

Omluard had yet to contact her with those details, and she was not strong enough in his field to attempt apparition to him. It was a game of waiting, though at least made easier by him knowing where she was.

"The Empire knows of the Blight, and is determined to see it does not spread. Those who go against the efforts to combat the Blight will not be given the chance to repent once our forces arrive." She did not actually have any authority to say this, but knew she had to overwhelm Cauthrien to such a degree that nothing but acceptance could be the outcome; "I am giving you a choice, here and now."

"What…exactly does that choice entail?" Cauthrien groaned, visibly overwhelmed. It was uncertain how much of this she even believed; "And how can I even know you're telling the truth, that this isn't all some apostate's scheme to fracture Ferelden even more?"

"True, you really can't know if I'm telling the truth. But you can also ask yourself which is preferable, to follow Loghain, a man you know will ignore the Blight in favor of his political opponents, or taking the leap into what may be the salvation of your homeland." Rhea stopped for a moment, lowering the globe - now once more shrunk - back into its place; "I realize part of these political opponents have been the Arl of Redcliffe, before you bring that up, but do you really think it mattered? There have been blessedly few battles, and even fewer actual casualties in this so-called civil war. Loghain has simply chosen not to act upon the threat posed by the Blight, and now half of Ferelden resides in Denerim as destitute refugees."

Eleanor almost seemed bashful at the mentioning of just how little difference the civil war _she_ had been part of starting, had even made.

"If you're here…" Eleanor started before Cauthrien could say a word; "Where is Loghain and Howe?"

"They…the Teyrn has been spending much of his time with Howe at his estate…They were there as we speak, I think…"

"Doing what?" Rhea prodded.

"I…am not aware. The Teyrn does not allow me to follow him there." Cauthrien looked at the table, and not at Rhea; "He…I'm afraid he's changing, somehow. Him and the Queen both are…changed. Different."

"Howe murdered my husband and our entire household." Eleanor bit out; "Which Aedan told Cailan at Ostagar. Loghain knows what happened, so why is he still with that _beast_?"

"Who…_are_ you, exactly?" Ser Cauthrien's confusion was now aimed at Eleanor. Of course, it was clear now that in spite of Rhea's expectations, the knight had not recognized the Teyrna. That was unexpected; "Ser Eleanor…?"

"_Cousland"_ Eleanor might as well have stomped the other woman in the face with the iron-sole of her boot, for all the effect it had. Ser Cauthrien reeled sideways away from the Teyrna, whose eyes glared fire still.

"Eleanor Cousland…Maker's breath, you're _alive_."

"Very much so." Rhea held her silence, watching instead her friend, and wondering how she would handle herself. If the worst happened, and things were said or done that should not have been…memories were fickle things; "The man you serve murdered my family."

"I do _not_ serve Howe!" Cauthrien exclaimed. Hands concealed behind her back, Rhea threw wards at the walls and door to prevent further shouting from reaching unwanted ears; "That man is everything wrong with nobility, even if- even if the general abides by him, I only serve Loghain."

"But you knew of what he has done."

"I only knew the Couslands had supposedly died." The knight bit out; "Howe said it was a fire, and the extensive damage to the castle did support his claim…"

"He put my home to the torch?" Eleanor's voice shrank. Rhea too, was surprised; "He…he burned the Cousland Castle?"

"Apparently so…" Cauthrien placed her face in her hands; "Andraste see mercy on us all, Howe…he murdered your household? And the Teyrn? Your husband?"

"Rendon Howe will be made to answer for his crimes, Eleanor." Rhea reentered the conversation, although it reminded her more of an interrogation. She had not participated in those for a great many years now; "For now, our main concern must be to gain control of the Landsmeet. If Howe is disposed of before that…I fear it could be ammunition for Loghain's claims."

"Every minute he lives is a transgression on Bryce's memory, on Oriana and Oren's." Eleanor seethed, closing her eyes; "But…you're not wrong. Much as Howe deserves to be drawn and quartered for hospiticide, he would be more valuable to Loghain as a corpse."

"Not to mention baselessly killing a Teyrn would throw the assembled nobility into disarray…"

Rhea and Eleanor both looked at Ser Cauthrien, as she was the one who'd said it. A crease marred Rhea's lips as she found the irony somewhat humorous. The knight herself seemed surprised the words had left _her_ mouth, tightening up her posture.

"Just because…I believe you, does not mean I'm inclined to betraying Loghain. He's saved Ferelden more than once, and I…I still trust him."

"We are not asking you to betray your master." Rhea assured her.

"We're not?" Eleanor mused, irritation coloring her tone; "Why did you even invite her here then, if not for that? You said we needed a commander, you invited Ser Cauthrien, but now you're not asking her to leave Loghain's side? _Forgive me_ if I'm confused."

"I would be surprised if you were not, my friend." Rhea's smile grew just a little; "Confusion is sometimes a given when you have to plan for every possible outcome. Suffice to say, I do actually know what I am doing, I ask that you trust in my intentions."

The Dunmer turned back to Ser Cauthrien, still seated.

"As for you…Your leaving Loghain's side will happen solely based on your own conscience, and hardly anything we say or do will affect it at this point."

"Meaning?" the knight frowned, her face still bearing the imprints of her hands. Rhea hummed.

"Simple, with time you'll find more and more of his actions opposed to your own principles, and you'll have to decide which to serve, Loghain or Ferelden." Silence reigned, something she attributed to the fact that she wasn't exactly cutting it out in parchment; "Or, maybe you won't. Maybe Loghain changes, or reveals himself to be at the mercy of Howe, who can say?"

"…w-what? Why would- what could Howe possibly have to- Why would the General ever be _beholden_ to him?"

"As I said, who can say?" Rhea put a warm smile on her face, walking towards the knight; "Now then, I believe we have held you for long enough. Your absence will probably be noticed before long, so…I wish you a pleasant night, Ser Cauthrien. I suggest you sleep on our conversation."

"B-but…" Cauthrien started getting up, only for Rhea to place her palm on the woman's forehead. Magicka, an amount so comparatively small that it hardly even registered in her reserves, flushed through her veins and threw the knight into deep slumber; "…wha…"

"What…did you just do to her?" Eleanor inched closer, eying the unconscious woman; "She's not…"

"She is merely asleep." Rhea assured her. With a snap of her wrist, Bubonem came into being. This time, she was larger than before, almost the size of a bear. Wordlessly, Rhea offered the being her commands, and the owl swallowed up Ser Cauthrien.

Eleanor, understandably, gasped at the sight; "She- it just-"

"She's perfectly unharmed, I assure you." Rhea waved it off, nodding as she took the door.

Bubonem hopped on the spot and shrank, becoming merely the size of a sparrow, then took off out the opened door. Its colors changed, becoming a mottled brown, and she gave a single hoot before disappearing through a window.

"I think what I have said so often bears repetition; your magic consistently confuses and boggles me, Rhea…" Eleanor sighed, slumping into the chair another woman had only just moments prior been eaten out of; "What'll happen when she wakes up? Won't she go straight to Loghain with this?"

"If she does, what would he do? Should he search the estate, I am perfectly capable of concealing those who would need it." Nearly two centuries of experience offered skills and knowledge few could really ever hope to match; "And even then, I would know if she did, for Bubonem will keep an eye on her. She'll think this all too fantastic, and that it was nothing but a dream. But she will remember it, in clear detail."

"So…you did not even invite her to provoke any actual action?" Eleanor seemed to be choosing her words carefully; "Why then? Why go to all this trouble if at best nothing will change from how she would otherwise behave?"

"Because I wished to gauge her, Eleanor." There was no condescending in her tone, for it was actually impressive that the Teyrna could keep up; "She is a contingency, really. When the time comes, and she realizes this wasn't all a dream, she'll know what she needs to know. Because _I_ like to know what and where my opponents are, what they do, think and plan. Of course, I could not extend an invitation to Loghain, and Howe would not have left the room alive had he come, which he would not have, so Cauthrien was as close as I could get to Loghain's plans."

"…this all still seems rather far-fetched to me, Rhea."

"Good, it's meant to seem far-fetched." The Dunmer smiled and clapped her hands together; "Now then, I believe we should discuss our children, if you would not mind."

"Our children?" Eleanor's brows furrowed; "A valid subject, certainly, but _some_ change. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing too important, I just enjoy momentum when I have it…" Powerful magic was little hindrance for the yawn Rhea could not contain; "…and I seem to have some now, at least unless I drop unconscious from the wear and tear."

Eleanor hesitated in her steps, watching the Dunmer as she walked a meter ahead.

"…you truly are an enigma at times, Rhea."

"Oh I know, my dear." She smirked, with far too much youth in the smile for her age; "It keeps life interesting, and those around me on their toes."

* * *

**Ah, Rhea...she's definitely still young and vigorious, and woe any who might claim otherwise.**

There will be two additional entries on the Fereldan army, since it helps both you and me keep track of what is going on. I enjoy knowing exactly what I'm working with ;)


	70. Closure

_Armies of Thedas - A study_

_Kingdom of Ferelden - 2 of 3_

_The armies of Ferelden, as do all armies, require a backbone force of experienced soldiers. In the case of Ferelden, these soldiers are the Fereldan Men-at-Arms, commoners and minor nobility alike who choose to fight on foot, and purely as melee fighters._

_Drawn from the higher middle classes and lower nobility, these men are professional soldiers who can and have afforded their own equipment, leading to a wide variety in terms of armor and weapons. As such, these soldiers have once again been divided into two different ranks of soldiers; the Men-at-Arms, and the Sergeants._

_These Men-at-Arms are those of the commoners and nobility who could afford the best armor, often plate, as well as quality swords and shields. They're often clad in underlining chainmail as well, and a padded gambeson offering additional protection from blows. Adding to this, the Nevarran Sallet helmet has been popular in Ferelden since the times of Queen Rowan, and protects these professional warriors from all but the most direct of strikes to the head. Oftentimes this armor protects the wearer to such degrees that he may abandon the use of a shield and instead wield either a billhook or a sword staff, the two polearms native to Ferelden. One makes it possible to pull a Chevalier from his horse as well as crushing his armor, the other offers the reach of a spear and all the versatility of a sword. _

_Sergeants are the lower tiers of commoners in the Fereldan army, and are made up of people from peasantry to merchants and craftsmen alike. Often nowhere near as wealthy as those of the Men-at-Arms, Sergeants at best carry breastplates of steel, as well as the same for legs and arms. The coat of plate is a common - and popular - choice of protection, as it offers not only the protection of common brigandines, but just as much mobility for half the cost. The Kettle helmet is a popular choice for protecting the head, as it is cheap and effectively protects the neck and face from downwards blows._

_Sergeants are by far the most numerous in the Fereldan army, and often make up the front lines in any formation. Their lighter armor means shields are a bare necessity, and often the choice falls on either bucklers for their low cost, or the larger kiteshields of wood. Often the Sergeants will only carry one of three types of weaponry - a spear, a sword or an axe._

_It is notable how similar in some ways the Men-at-Arms are to the organisation of an Imperial Cohort._

* * *

**Closure**

* * *

"And, the whole idea with this exercise being in Eamon's creepy cellars…is…?"

Talia did not think she was being unfair, or even just a bit too whiny, when she argued against training in what was essentially a dungeon mixed with a wine-cellar and a larder underneath the estate. She also didn't want to know why Eamon thought combining those three features into one was a good idea, and not in any way an indication of severe issues.

Besides, it was early morning. Who the fuck ever heard of training in the early mornings like this?

"We can hardly practice outside now, as you should well know." Morrigan did not seem amused. Then again, she was the one having to play at teacher while being utterly jealous of Talia's powers. Powers that, honestly, she'd rather not have gotten in the first place. Still, she had them now, and even if Hakkon hadn't said a peep in more than a week, she could still make use of them; "We also will not be performing destructive magic, so it should be no matter our environment."

"Right, not destructive magic, just shapeshifting…" Talia mumbled under her breath, rolling fingers she knew would soon be claws. It was the weirdest thing, really…; "So, what's with those things?"

"Oh, them…" Morrigan's lips creased in a little smile when Talia pointed at a pair of heavy iron bars attached to rope, each bar hardly bigger than a foot; "I'll tell you after you've transformed an arm. Which, if you wouldn't mind, you may now do."

"…what about the circle?"

"Let's see if you can't do it _without_ the circle, shall we?" there was just a little snark in the witch's voice; "After all, the Darkspawn will not wait for you to draw a circle, will they?"

"…point." Talia sighed, and rolled up her sleeves. She focused on just her left arm, and willed the flow of magicka in her bloodstream to alter the very structure of her own flesh. It was no less weird doing it a second time, even with much less of an audience, but also less foreign, somehow. Soft skin became hard, red and covered with snake-like, gleaming scales as red as blood. Muscles already hardened by travel and work now became like iron.

She held up the final product for inspection, something Morrigan took great interest in, especially the degree of flexibility her hand still enjoyed; "Alright, those iron things?"

"Lift them." Morrigan's words were perfectly normal, yet they didn't really register at first. Lift them? Why would she _lift_ them? What purpose could there be to lifting iron, other than the witch's strange sense of amusement.

"…why?" she still did it, of course, but it was not with full understanding of the exact reasoning behind it. Morrigan's '_harrumph'_ stopped her flat when the tip of her claw touched the improvised weight; "What?"

"Start with your human arm." The witch smirked; "This practice is to test the difference in strength between normal and shifted, even when in your current size."

"It's to test how strong I am?" Talia mused, picking up the weight with her comparatively frail, human arm. She could lift it, easily, since it was at most three or so kilos. It still weighed, of course. Lifting done, she changed the weight to the other arm…and found she barely felt a strain; "…damn. It really doesn't weigh a thing."

"Oh it does, but t'is the simple difference in musculature that renders it unworthy of mention." Morrigan sauntered up and around her, which made it rather…difficult, to focus on the weight. Talia's mind would not in this moment allow her to forget about the agreement. This in turn meant she had to evaluate every single little thing Morrigan was doing, to see if it had some secondary, hidden meaning; "I theorized that your partial shapeshifting could be beneficial in ways we did not at first expect."

"You mean you did not at first expect, right?" the Breton craned her neck to look at where Morrigan was doing her own little pace behind her; "This is all basically you playing around with my body, isn't it?"

_"Please,_ you sound a touch too much like Alistair, and I'd rather have but one fool in the group."

"Cullen's here too, you know."

"Who is, to my detriment, not a fool."

"Really?" Talia put down the weight; "Could've fooled me."

"Not surprising." The witch huffed; "Now, grow out your tail."

More than anything, Talia really just wanted to stick her tongue out at the other woman. Still, she knew this was all more or less for a practical purpose. Something like maybe ninety percent was for her to get a better grasp at controlling her own body's changes. It would, hopefully, mean she had less trouble with the big version.

The remaining ten percent was trying to figure out less combative ways she could use this.

"Good…Good…It's growing quite nicely, especially considering I am not assisting." Morrigan sounded more like a proud parent than an equal, and Talia could feel the ghost of her touch on the expanding skin and scale of her new body part. Ahh, it was surprisingly nice to have it back again, unnatural though it might be; "Your speed has improved, more so than I had expected…"

"I always was kind of unique, heh…" it wasn't really much, but praise from Morrigan was still a nice thing. Maybe because it was usually so hard earned; "I mean- never mind. So, what now?"

"…how much of your body can you transform, if you had to at this moment?" the witch looked her up and down; "…barring your head, of course. We'll leave that for a later date, once your control is more natural."

"What's wrong with my head?" Talia asked, even as she was shrugging off her boots. _Gods_, the floor was _cold._ In hindsight that was a given, being stone, but it still shocked her when icy rock pressed against the skin of her soles. Deep breathing was required to get her heartrate back under control.

"T'is where your brain is, of course." Morrigan deadpanned as if speaking to a child. Talia's irritation expressed itself in the tip of her tail slapping the witch over the thigh. Lightly, of course, but still enough that it briefly made her pause; "Interesting, it would seem your control improves by the hour. Regardless, transforming your head is something that really should not be attempted by initiates. You may think it similar to your full transformation, but it carried the difference in being a gradual transformation, not an instant one."

Talia's tail came up, snaking around her transformed arm. It was so, so strange, yet so, so right, in a weird way that really should not and did not make any kind of sense. It was alive, gently pulsating with each pump of blood through its arteries, and with each tiny flexing of its muscles. She idly played with the sensitive tip, listening to her friend.

"Should something, _anything_ go wrong during the transformation, it very likely could kill you…" there was just the smallest hint of concern in her voice, though the eyes quickly turned smug once she noticed Talia's tail; "…you should not play with that, you'll go blind."

"I, _what_?" Talia's fingers slipped from the tail, even as her mind and expression caught on to what Morrigan was saying; "See…I seriously can't tell if you're warning me of an actual side-effect of this, or just being a brat."

"Who knows, truly yours is the first case I have ever even heard of with this degree of ease…" the witch shrugged, and the tail snaked its way around Talia's waist. Even if it got a bit strained, it still allowed her to really feel some measure of control over the appendage; "Now, let's see about your legs…"

* * *

The Denerim Estate was larger than she'd first thought.

Mainly this was because it was longer than it was wide, and thus only presented a small portion of itself to the marketplace. The rest was nestled tightly between the rest of the city's buildings, nearly so that it was pressing stone-exterior against wooden walls. The gap between was so narrow that the alleyways between were now covered by a ceiling of arching snow, further adding to the carpet of white that had laid itself across the city. A Breton was allowing herself to enjoy the view, such as it was, of the marketplace with its surroundings covered in snow, pure and white.

It was late in the noon, and finally Talia had been released from what Morrigan so magnanimously called "training". In reality it was nothing but repeated transformations, over and over and over again, to the point that she felt as if the skin might just fall from her flesh. She had lost count of just how many times her body had undergone the transformation now, but could still feel the throbbing, pulsating sensations of flesh and muscle molding itself at her will, of bones restructuring themselves in seconds, fingers fusing and nails thickening.

It left her sore, and not in the way good sex did. Rather it was the kind of sore where her body would protest any and all movements and motions, no matter how small or slow or careful they were. Right now, more than anything she really just wanted a steaming hot soak, but knew it was about as likely as the Archdemon becoming a pacifist.

All this work with transformations, and it had done little but lead her mind to a certain string of thoughts. She was bound to Hakkon. Somehow, that bond had not made itself known since Redcliffe, even with all the practice and partial transformations she had undergone. It was almost as if the bond had snapped, without her knowing. And yet, she could still sense it, like the ghost of something you couldn't quite touch but still knew to be there.

Hakkon wanted _her_ to kill the Archdemon, out of sentimentality, of all things…but doing so would kill her, she knew that. Did _he_ know that? Had Hakkon given her this task because he knew it would kill her, and rid him of her presence? But then, _he_ was the one who initiated most of their talks, if they could be called such.

Why the fuck were dragons so hard to understand?

"You seem to be in thoughts, Daughter." She did not even have the energy to muster a glare when her mother appeared from out of nowhere, calm and gentle steps taking her towards the only window in the corridor. _Talia's_ window.

Talia didn't acknowledge her presence, at least not immediately. Rather, she remained unmoving, as emotionless as she could muster, and stared out into the city more out of spite than interest. Suddenly, the marketplace had lost its allure, and become a mere square with tent poles, covered stands and mud. Even the repeated clangs of hammers on metal, somewhere, was now but background noise.

"You are still angry with me."

It wasn't even posed as a question, because both knew it wasn't needed. Both knew that yes, Talia was still rather pissed with her mother for nearly - unwittingly - breaking her and Aedan apart. And if nothing else it was mother's advice that had brought about three of the worst days in Talia's life since her first days in Ferelden.

"I understand your reasoning, and I don't fault you for being angry with me."

Each word was delivered with the same overbearing, motherly tone, something Talia really did not wish to hear. It was grinding on the fabric of her character to even be this mad at her mother, several days after the misunderstanding had been cleared up. And yet, she couldn't stop herself from wanting to just grab and shake the woman, hard and roughly.

"It is…quite a beautiful city, if disorderly." Her mother said; "I can imagine it being more attractive on a dry summer day, where the ground isn't turned to mud."

It was a blatant attempt at changing subjects, even if only one of them were speaking. Talia scoffed, keeping her eyes on the marketplace. Children were running about, some with dogs, rolling in the patches of untouched snow that yet remained. Most rose again with mud clinging to their clothes, soon to be followed by the shouting of their mothers.

"If you do not wish to talk, then I will simply expect you to listen." Her mother's tone changed, just enough that Talia knew something actually relevant was approaching. She still did not deign her mother with a look, she was too tired still; "Loghain spends a surprising amount of time with the new Arl of Denerim, Howe. This is done outside of view of even his most trusted subordinates, and seems to somehow involve the Queen as well…I'm going to be gone for a while, how long I'm not sure."

That, was surprisingly hard to hear, and Talia had to restrain herself from actually turning to face her mother. Being gone, it was a term she had heard so often before from her. It could be anything from days to months, and rarely if ever would they be told of why, only that it 'was important'.

And that mother always seemed…older, when she was about to leave.

"While I am gone, I…I expect you to stay safe." The hesitation, the uncertainty in those words, was what finally caused Talia to look at her mother; "I fully realize that would go against what you have become, but…gods above, Talia for months I had no idea where you were, or how you were doing, if you were even alive and unharmed. Leaving now, I feel as if…"

Talia's mother, for the first time in three years, for the first time since her last bout of 'being gone'… looked older. A cold, clammy chill grasped at her blood, a cold as real as if she stood in the streets.

"There are…things, we should discuss. Whenever you feel like I deserve your attention again." Suddenly she did not feel anger at the motherly tone. She did not feel furious at the mistakes her mother had made. She felt bereft, because the setting felt far too much like something was about to go wrong and she had wasted their time being angry; "Things that involve both you and Aedan. I…I will be in the large sitting room for the next hours, then I'll have to leave…"

Talia was not aware of her own actions until she saw her hand on her mother's arm, grasping tightly and unwilling to let go. Red eyes glanced down at the joining with uncertainty, in stark contrast to the fright Talia knew her own eyes would show.

"Don't." it was barely a word, more like a whisper.

It was all she could get over her lips, yet it seemed to have all the effect she could have wanted on her mother.

"Please, don't…_don't_…I'm not…I'm not angry, I promise I'm not angry."

"…Then why are you shaking?"

"…are you…is this another one of those 'away' things like you did back home where we didn't see you for a long time?" it was hard, near to impossible, to keep the childish trembling from her words. The outside world was forgotten and Talia could only focus on her mother's arm, where her own hand still grasped it; "I'm sorry, I'm sorry mother please…please don't-"

Strong, firm hands grasped at her shoulders, arm freed from her grip before she even realized it was gone, and Talia found herself pulled into her mother's fierce embrace. It was a shock, too big of a shock for her to really comprehend immediately. Instead her mind could only register being held closely, and how warm it was. How safe it was. How soothing her mother's words.

"No…No this won't be like those times." Talia could not really say a word, her face being pressed hard against her mother's chest as it was. It was always a subject of irritation how she had not yet towered above her, which she should have, by now. And yet it didn't even factor in, because she didn't feel like speaking. Not really; "I'll be gone a day, maybe two, and then I'll be back. I'll be back at once if something happens."

"…I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Talia, I am not without flaws, and when those flaws surface in my actions regarding you, you have every right to anger." Talia hugged herself in tighter against her mother's warmth; "You're not a little girl anymore, neither of us should expect each other to behave like you were. You're a woman, at the start of your life, and already you have made me prouder than I ever hoped."

"…didn't have too high expectations for me then, did you?" Talia groused as she turned so her cheek was pressed inwards instead. Her mother just chuckled, a warm sound she had not heard in so long.

"I did, in truth, but different, and nowhere near as achieving as what you yourself have set your sights on…" they both paused, there, and the sound of the outside world started trickling in once more; "I expected you would either one day return to High Rock, either to us or to forge your own path outside of nobility. I always expected of you to become a powerful mage, just like me. I always expected of you to want to find love on your own terms, and not something we arranged, regardless of our good intentions. So…I suppose you could say I was only slightly wrong?"

"…kinda. I think I'd have wanted to come home…at some point. Not soon, but…when I'd finished my studies." Talia was glad her mother did not have the perspective to see the barest hint of red creeping over her face; "…and I'd want Brelyna and Alai to meet."

"They do seem similar, I will grant you that." Her mother actually chuckled; "But that is all hypothetical these days, isn't it though? Now, things are different, and there's a young man sharing your bed for reasons beyond simple lust."

"Yeah I love him, so…so I'm not going to just…It's different. A-and you like his mom, don't you?"

"I must admit, to my great shame, that I do indeed enjoy Eleanor's company quite a lot, yes." Sarcasm had always been something both of them enjoyed and here, mother was laying it on thick; "She's a brilliant woman, and has raised a fine son. It is sad that Fereldan society no longer sees him as an eligible heir to the Teyrnir. Still, whether or not he will inherit does not change the fact that his family has claim to the lands of Highever."

"…is this going into the 'huge tracts of land' thing again?" Talia couldn't quite help the grin. Damn, strange times these days where she could go from being furious with her mother to hugging her in the span of minutes; "Because I really am not in the mood for satire. Especially because I'm not sure if I'd be the singing prince or the fat bride right now…"

"Neither, I'd imagine you more like the confused knight if anyone."

"With Aedan as my squire, I take it then?" she chuckled, trying to imagine him lugging around all that baggage while knocking oversized shells together; "It's a shame we can't read each other's literature, I think he'd like the flying circus."

"I suppose he would." Her mother hummed in agreement; "Eleanor and I have been…talking. If you have the time now I would like to discuss the subject with you as well."

Talia swallowed; that sounded like it was something serious, and not in the way a war was. Just those few words of her mother's were enough to make it sound a lot more…important than even the Blight. Because there really wasn't a whole lot she and Eleanor could have been discussing, other than their children. She really didn't feel up to that.

"I've got time."

Damn it.

"I'm glad, really this is something we should discuss while nothing attempts to kill us…" mother chuckled at her own joke; "How depressing is it, that thát is a rare occurrence and we hardly think it out of place?"

Pretty depressing, actually. Then again, Talia had gotten used to it, sort of, already before she'd gotten her tongue scorched out. At this point there was really just local maximum and local minimum in the rush of adrenaline, and everything in-between was just going to and from. _This is my life now. I have truly lost my shit if I'm not even bothered by that._

"Eleanor and I have been conversing on a few different, equally important subjects." The forced neutrality in her voice was easy to hear, and likely intended so as well; "His behavior towards you taken into consideration, as well as his surprising willingness to adhere to any advice I had to give, has led me to the decision that should the two of you so desire, I will give your eventual union my endorsement. _Mine_, mind you, not Omluard's. I cannot speak for your father in this."

"You…you approve of him?" Talia's mouth had gone dry, whether it was from disbelief or emotional exhaustion, she didn't know; "You approve of us, both of you? I haven't even…I mean he hasn't even asked for my- I mean, we're in the middle of a gods-be-damned Blight, couldn't this have waited until- I mean,

how am I supposed to just _not_ sprint back to our room and fu- I mean he doesn't even know about the approval thing!"

"Of course he does." Her mother dismissed the last sentence; "Why else do you think he has been lapping up my every word? I told the boy about the requirements he would have to meet before receiving my approval already back in Redcliffe. All that remains is for you, I or his mother to inform him of the approval having been granted."

"…shouldn't…shouldn't this be something you should have told the both of us…" Talia anxiously licked her lips; "…like, at the same time, in the same room?"

"Like I said, I have to leave soon." Her mother's smile grew less so, and Talia felt her chest tighten up just a bit from where her heart was hammering itself flat against her ribs; "And I wanted to give you the chance to tell him yourself, on your own terms. I'll let Eleanor know if you want her or myself to give him the news, of course, but this…I believe this is something you yourself should handle. You…"

Talia paused at the break in her mother's words, and saw tears rolling from eyes that smiled. She had never really seen her mother crying, neither with joy or grief, and found the sight unsettling. As kids are wont, when a parent shows that kind of weakness.

"…You're a woman grown, now. You're already fighting a war for the sake of others, and history is shaped by your every action." Her words trembled, as they were spoken, further causing Talia's chest to knot and tighten around itself. Standing off from her parent, she did her best to maintain composure, and not give her mother further cause for tears; "Should you and Aedan join our houses, you will be the first to do so in all of history. You will no doubt be held up for scrutiny by any who would prefer our people apart, and as an example to those who would see Tamriel closer with Thedas…So, as they say, no pressure, right?"

"…you're really not very good at this." Talia huffed, averting her eyes; "…but, I know. I've already been thinking of the consequences since before you even came here. I…I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing."

"I would expect nothing more, and nothing less, of my oldest daughter." There was a smile on her mother's lips now, again, and it was once more one that was accompanied by tears; "You have grown more in half a year here, than you ever did or would have at home. You've made mistakes, true, but I'm still very much proud of the woman you've become."

"You're really making me uncomfortable here."

"I know." This time she was pretty sure there was a chuckle in the tone as well; "It is my duty as a mother to embarrass my children, no matter how old they become, or how strong or wise. I hope I can do the same even when you have children of your own."

"Seriously, stop." Talia took a step back, feeling her innards cringe; "You're making me toes curl. And I just learned how to turn my toes into fucking claws, so toe-curling isn't something I want right now."

"I distinctly remember your toes being perfectly curl-able, as well as very much adorable, and I'm sure Aedan feels the same. Speaking of which, I think it's time you found the boy. Neither of you have had breakfast yet, have you?"

"…training kinda got in the way." That and Aedan hadn't really been able to move his legs properly this morning, so she'd let him stay in bed; "So…you're leaving, right now then?"

"Unless you need me to remain for something important…yes, I am afraid so." The smile faded from grey lips, and red eyes grew more somber and serious; "I need to act on something that's been brought to my attention, preferably before it's no longer relevant."

"You'll…be safe, right?" Talia cursed her heritage and bond, sometimes, like now when biting her cheek meant canines scraping flesh. It actually hurt; "I don't know if you noticed back in Redcliffe, but being grey isn't exactly normal in Thedas."

"You're sweet for worrying, but I will be quite fine."

* * *

At the estate of Arl Rendon Howe, there was nothing immediately out of the ordinary.

The estate itself was located a bit off from the commoners' homes, and protected by tall, decorative walls that had clearly been made before the man took his current position. The estate's courtyard was, as opposed to Eamon's, located at the back, and consisted of a quite quant little garden, with trees a vegetable garden and paths of interspersed treading stones, with everything else covered by the snow.

No one noticed something as common as a tawny little owl, seated on the spine of a steep-sloping house across the street. Its claws grabbed onto the weathered, frost-dried wooden ridge, and its wings stretched and relaxed with perfect fluidity.

The only thing to give it away, had a spectator been close enough, were its large eyes, both an equally bloody red.

* * *

**A/N:  
****So...something has...come up. And I have no idea how to go about this, so excuse the awkwardness and probably long rant.**

**As we all know by now, I'm starting University at the start of September. While this in itself is a huge success and something we did indeed celebrate with champagne and all the likes, it...presents a problem.**

**University, as opposed to Elementary School and High School here is, well not free. Which means I'm going to have to look for more work to avoid the student debt everyone fears like the F'in plague...It's going to mean very little updating.**

**As in, very little.**

**My family and friends - bless them, I suppose... - then suggested something to me that I am really not all that very fond of. Because it's something I'm pretty much against on a core-principle kind of stance...I don't even know if I'm still making any sense here. Point is...Point is, they suggested I try and open up a site. **

**I was...well, not really very keen on that, because first of all I literally have nothing to offer but my work here. People who do this generally have something extra, like merchandise or giving lessons or something like that...I don't. So...I'm not all that keen on it, also because, and this is the second reason, profiting from Fanfiction is not exactly legal...Though, I suppose I can at least offer influence on the story itself, to a degree.**

**I'm not really...making the best case here. Point is, I don't even know how to broach this subject and it's awkward as Hel to just write it here - I can't imagine I'd do much better in person - but I just want to make it clear that I'm NOT selling my story, or trying to make money from it. It'd go too much against my own, somewhat few principles. **

**But...I'm still going to create a user. It'll basically just be a site for that one or two odd dollars of donations that could shorten down my workhours a bit and let me spend more time writing. Believe me, if you feel weird reading this, I feel a lot weirder _writing_ this because it just feels...wrong, somehow, even though I know people do this all the time. **

**h- t- t- p- s- :- /- /- p- a- t- r- e- o- n- .- c- o- m- /- u- s- e- r- ?- u- =- 3- 8- 0- 6- 2- 8- 3- **

**...hopefully I'm not going to lose half my fanbase on this...I'd honestly rather keep readers more than anything.**


	71. The Hollow Queen

_Armies of Thedas - A study_

_Kingdom of Ferelden - 3 of 3_

_Following the Men-at-Arms, the armies of Ferelden are traditionally made up of one last major group; the peasantry._

_Ferelden, being a feudal kingdom, differs from the Empire in that its armies are supplied not by a central organ, but rather the nobility of the country. Each nobleman, even a lowly knight, owes his position to the throne. In return for this power, the noble is bound to put a certain amount of men at the command of the king's army. _

_Men, not necessarily soldiers._

_In this regard, the peasantry of Ferelden is at least blessed in two regards._

_Their love for and skill with the longbow has made them all but required to enlist as archers, and in this aspect of warfare few nations can truly rival Ferelden. The longbow, as opposed to the Imperial variant, is a powerful tool of war that, with a length of 6 feet, can send an arrow straight through the shield, and armor of an enemy soldier at longer ranges than any crossbow or handheld weapon in Tamriel can boast, that being roughly 290 yards. _

_Archery, as a result of such lethality, is a popular sport in Ferelden, and children as young as five are allowed to wield bows for sport, before graduating to the proper longbow at the age of twelve. Because of this, Fereldan archers are renowned across Thedas, if not for the accuracy as their Anders counterparts, the 'Green Men', then for their range and stopping-power. _

_The Battle of River Dane, one of the most important battles in the history of modern Ferelden, was won because of the Fereldan Commander's understanding of how to best deploy his archers against the Orlesian Chevaliers._

_Another way, in which Fereldan peasants and levies fight in the army, is by wielding pikes. These spears that can reach a good 15 feet, and are meant solely for thrusting into enemy formations, as their reach alone should serve to keep the wielder protected from enemy swords and spears. Used by the peasantry, pikes require little skill to use, and can stop charging cavalry with an efficiency that should not go unnoticed._

* * *

**The Hollow Queen**

* * *

"Crowd's still outside?"

Three guards on patrol were the only signs of life currently in the long corridor. Rhea, perched in Bubonem on a horizontal beam in the ceiling, kept her eyes on them as they walked. She had remained like this for the better part of an hour now, and had yet to be noticed.

"Yeah…wonder if they'll just bugger off or we'll have to sick the hounds on 'em…" the frontmost of the three huffed.

"Arl's not gonna pay 'em?" the first guard asked again, shifting his grasp on his halberd; "Remind me again if he's even paying _us_?"

"Oh he's paying alright." The third chuckled. Red eyes narrowed on a slight alteration to the man's armor, more finely made than his comrade's. So, he was the leader; "Dunno where the gold's coming from though, Amaranthine's out of ships since the captains sailed off. Bastards probably figure the Teyrn can't beat the Blight and'd rather cut their losses in Ferelden."

"Greedy cunts."

"Cowards more like…"

"Sane men, is what I'd call 'em." The leader sighed as the trio turned a corner and vanished from sight; "You're more likely than not to get shanked for your good in Ferelden right now than in Antiva or the Free Marches. Merchants tend to either bugger off or hire half a company of sellswords."

"Figure Amaranthine's doing the same?"

"Honestly I wouldn't…" Rhea remained unmoving until the men had removed themselves enough that their voices were no longer coherent. The echo of stone and brick did much to distort sound, but she still liked to rely on hearing as much as sight. Relaxing on her perch, Rhea started throwing out a web of magicka, a type of sensing-magic she had been taught in her youth. _Greedy men exist on both sides of the seas…I don't know why I am surprised…Now then, let us see if something of inter-_

The web she threw out in an ever-expanding dome around herself, invisible to the naked eye, found something already before her thoughts had formed to an end. It left the Dunmer with a frown, because honestly she had not expected it to be _this_ easy.

Roughly half a hundred meters from her position, something was giving off a strong, unnatural pulse. It was magical, that much was evident even without much inspection, but beyond that she knew she'd need to actually find it. _And with how rare the use of magic actually is in this country…I wonder what could warrant this intensity._

Spreading her wings - or rather, Bubonem's wings - she took off from the beam and started making her way down the corridor, keeping to the rafters and nooks in the loft. Even if no one would suspect an owl to be something other than an owl, she doubted it would go unnoticed that an owl was inside, and even awake right now. Even early evening was, after all, not the time of day one expected to see nocturnal birds of prey on the prowl.

The inside of Howe's estate was, she was forced to admit, actually quite tastefully decorated. The tapestries were of warm colors, and the pictures and paintings were mostly portraits or scenes of pleasant woodland, or roadside lunch. Arl Howe - or his predecessor - were if nothing else at least not devoid of good taste.

Turning a corner, Rhea flew above the beams of a great hall, though clearly not one intended for nobility. Rather it seemed to be the mess, where most of the guards - and there were quite a lot of them - were gathered to eat. Elven servants hurried to and fro, carrying in dishes of food and returning to what had to be the kitchens with the empty plates. _No one seems to be overtly cautious of their food here…poison could, hypothetically, take care of most, if not all of the present guards…_

It was, if nothing else, something to remember.

Beyond the mess, a new corridor stretched in both directions. Rhea came to a stop and Bubonem's claws settled into the wood of another beam. They remained like this, observing the hallway with watchful, red eyes. The Dunmer had no need to blink, not while within her Familiar. Her limbs did not tire, not while within her Familiar, and her mind did not wander, though that in itself was a product of her many years of experience, more so than her Familiar.

The source of the magical pulse was directly across from where she now sat perched, in the form of a nondescript door. In itself, there was nothing unusual about it, at least not to the naked eye. Made from dark wood, its only difference from the rest of the doors was that it was closed, and that not a single guard passed through it. She remained perched for three hours, yet no one made use of the door, giving her the impression that something within was not meant to be disturbed. Had there been no magical pulse, she might have been inclined to simply write the door off as an unused hallway.

Something else was going on, though.

It was now sometime in the night, though she had no way of knowing exactly when. She only knew that the guards were growing sluggish, and were clearly tired. It was in itself enough to suggest that, unless there was a change in guard, these men would be unlikely to even notice her, much less stop her should they try. And yet, so far, not a one had as much as approached the door. _There's something wrong here…_

As another patrol vanished around the corner, Rhea emerged from Bubonem's beak, letting her Familiar's mouth expand as she slipped from it. The Dunmer plummeted towards the floor before twisting in the air and, with the grace of a cat, landed on her feet with barely a sound. She was old, true, but not so old as to forget the tricks of her trade.

She could still straighten her back, taking pride in at least that.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, even as she was straightening her spine. Surprised - though not panicked - the Dunmer snapped about to find the source of the sound. It was coming from the end of the corridor leading deeper into the estate. A deep breath flooded her lungs, and Rhea faded out of sight.

Invisibility, _total invisibility_, was not a practical thing, as one could only truly do it when the body's magicka was not reacting with the outside world in any way whatsoever, breathing included.

It was a major drawback she had yet to find a counter to, so for now she simply slowed the rate of her heart and held her breath. As opposed to the type of invisibility most mages could pull off with some study into the fields of illusions, this was a spell that did not even leave prints in the dust, or even the haziest of outlines in the air.

A man came around the corner, dressed significantly different from the guards, or the servants. Long, grey robes covered him to such a degree that only a slit for his eyes was allowed, and his feet were hidden underneath the fabric. The man looked to her more like the inbred fanatics that made a living north of the Red Mountain, if she had to make any comparisons. Then again, considering her own, current attire, she was not exactly on the high ground when it came to such, with the face above her nose being bare from concealing cloth.

The man stopped, for some reason, not three feet from her, as if he was sniffing the air. Rhea felt a cold hand of worry settle in her heart, because far as she knew, invisibility did nothing to conceal scents, but…humans couldn't smell something like that, could they? Mages though…perhaps she had underestimated the mages of Thedas simply because of their rarity?

Bubonem dropped from his perch and flew down the corridor. The man in the robes turned and watched the owl leave, seemingly satisfied that the bird was to blame for whatever he'd felt. Rhea remained unmoving, feeling the air growing stale in her lungs. It was a familiar sensation, though not one she had felt in nearly ten years. It was not really a distraction as much as it was simply something she was aware of, and it did not distract her from watching the man as he approached the door.

What _did_ distract her, however, and nearly made her lose her breath, was when a hazy, blue barrier suddenly appeared before the door as he drew near it. Words were muttered, hands waved, and the barrier split in two. Rhea remained where she was, even though now the lack of air was beginning to strain her ability to remain cloaked. _What did he say? _

When the door then simply opened before him, without even being touched, she started moving. Each step was as silent as a cat's, and Rhea found reassurance in that she remained undiscovered, even as she slipped through the door as it started closing behind him.

That was when she lost her breath, though it was out of surprise, not a need for air.

The room was clearly a guestroom, that much was immediately obvious. It had all the trappings of one, complete with tables, bed, coffers and wardrobes, as well as panels behind which one could change in private.

It also had a woman, sickly and looking like she was on death's door from starvation, strapped to the bed. Instruments of brass were arranged around her, and her pale, naked skin - of which there was much - was marked by incisions beyond counting. A face that might have once held strength and determination was now devoid of it, and eyes that could have perhaps stared down the Emperor himself were sunken and matte.

Rhea's gasp of air, sadly, did not go unnoticed by the robed man. Turning on the spot with such speed that his robes flew about, he stared at her with open, hostile eyes. Of her own face, only Rhea's mouth and chin were covered by cloth, and so there was no doubt her opponent right now realized her to not be human.

"INTRU-"

Rhea's feet left the floor on which she stood, and the Dunmer launched herself forward at the robed man, chains coming unraveled from the sleeves of her robes. Enchanted iron glowed white-hot as it flew about, much akin to the tendrils of a large squid. Cold-forged links ripped up the stone where her opponent stood. Stone and brick sprayed as red-hot chain-link upon chain-link flayed the ground open like gravel, the chains moving faster than the eye could follow.

"-_DER_! INTRUDER!" Rhea snapped about to where the voice was now coming from, and found the robed man to have reappeared in the doorway. A flash of ethereal blue saw the barrier in the door raised again, and the man behind wasting little time before disappearing around the corner.

"…oh fuck me…" it was amateurish, something she could have accepted maybe when she was still in the arenas. But now she was older, stronger and better, and simply not expecting an enemy to blink away was something she could not abide by. It was inexcusable, and now the whole Estate would know soon enough that she was here. Throwing out her hand, she sent her chains at the barrier.

**_Bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud-bud!_**

She could only watch them slide off the hazy material, rather than even leaving a scratch behind. At most they merely bumped into the translucent surface. This was new, and unexpected. What exactly was this barrier made-

"…_www…who…who's there?"_

Rhea sharply turned from the door to the woman on the bed, who was trying to raise her head from the mattress to observe the room. Or rather, to observe the one who had flayed the floor open like it was sand. Rhea retracted her chains and cautiously approached the bedridden woman. She knew she had at best a minute before guards would come pouring.

When she stopped at the bed, there was little fear, or even surprise in the woman's expression. She seemed like she was beyond being capable of such, and only her eyes lingered on Rhea's own. The Dunmer pulled the scarf from the lower half of her face and watched for a reaction to her inhumanity.

None came.

"Who are you?"

"…_a..another game? Nnn…no, I heard…Are you…here to kill me? How…long has it been? They won't…tell me…"_ the voice, if it could even be called, such, was a bare rasp, just above a whisper. Rhea could feel her soul cringing at the sight and sound. She despised torture, and its kin. Not only was information from it rarely ever useful, but…she hated what it left behind, she hated the state it left people in; _"I don't…I don't see…vial."_

"A vial." She stated, looking about; "What would I need a- _Who_ are you?"

"_Mmm…"_ a despondent grin, just the barest crease of broken lips, could be seen on the woman's face; _"That…depends, who you work for?"_

"The Emperor." It was as specific as she was willing to go, and broad enough that it could be anyone emperor. After all, she knew the neighboring country had an empress.

"_Not…Howe then…I'm…Anora…Q-queen Anora…I think."_ Rhea's mind hardly comprehended the dry cough that followed those words. Her thoughts were afire, trying to understand what was happening. It was rare indeed that she was thrown this much out of composure. Anora. _Queen Anora_, even? Akatosh and Azura, what was going on here?

She was not granted the time to ponder it further, as the sound of shouts and boots trampling tiles echoed through the barrier, from the corridor outside. There was no time left - she could kill them all, there was no doubt there, but it would compromise her completely, and incentivize their opponents that much more to capture or kill her. Turning just enough to see the closed door, she hosed the entrance with flash-freezing waters and encased it in ice.

It would buy her some seconds, she hoped.

Rummaging into the folds of her robes, Rhea dug out one of the smaller vials of restoration-potions she'd brought from Redcliffe. She'd only brought them in case someone else were injured though, confident as she was that nothing in Denerim could truly pose a threat to her.

"Drink." She did not allow the woman, Anora, to question or argue her command. The moment the sickly woman parted her lips, either to speak or accept, Rhea shoved the vial through them and held it there until the liquids inside her drained out; "I've had _three_ kids through this, don't you _dare_ assume I can't make you drink."

The expression of dulled distaste and relief on the woman's face was always something first-timers showed. Potions like these were an acquired taste. The moment the last droplets had spilled out from the vial, Rhea threw it aside and yanked the straps from Anora's body; "Close your eyes."

The woman did so, in the same moment as the door was blown from its hinges, ice shattering and shooting everywhere. Whether Anora was closing her eyes to await death, or actually trusted her, Rhea couldn't say. She mentally withdrew Bubonem and threw herself over the bedridden Queen.

And both were gone with a flash. Left in the wake of the Blink, a faint outline of a body was imprinted on the bed, and a scent of ozone lingered in the air.

* * *

"Herzog?"

Idoria waited respectfully as the man realized her presence and stood. Ulbricht Nochmann was among those who had immediately done what they could to bow down to her. She didn't much like that, though more because of the reason for it than them actually doing so.

"Herald! However can I be of service?" he welcomed her in - technically she _lived_ in one of the man's guest-rooms - and stood from his chair and desk to greet her with all the reverence one of her station apparently demanded. Personally she hadn't demanded anything, but hadn't denied it either…technically speaking; "Please, come, sit down. Tea? Ale?"

"I…some warm tea would be nice, thank you." The Centurion nodded, taking a seat as the Herzog ordered servants around. From underneath her cloak, still bearing the remnants of the current, light snowfall outside, she withdrew the large map of Laysh she had been going over with Sevilius and some of the Cohort's _Fabri, _the men responsible for construction beyond what regular legionaries could be expected to handle; "You have heard about the decree."

"I have, yes." He acquiesced.

"You realize I do not intend to take over the town." She pointed out, because Alexander had had that concern, and had voiced it; "This is your home, and your people, not mine. Andraste choosing me does not change that."

"I…I must confess I feared you would, Herald." The Herzog muttered, slumping into his chair. Idoria realized just now that he had switched the chairs around at some point, and she now sat in his padded one, while he was seated somewhat less comfortably so; "I know I should not have doubted you, our Lady chose you for a reason, I cannot fault that."

"If you would allow for it though, I intend on improving Laysh while I am here." She laid the map down on his desk, unfolding the damp parchment until it showed the layout of Laysh. This was much more detailed than the map they'd used to plan the defense, because it had been drawn up by the immunes_._

"I wasn't aware we had such detailed maps…" indeed, it detailed the surface of every building within the town's walls, as well as every street and path. The immunes were good at what they did; "What improvements are you thinking? We can hardly do much, now that winter has come."

"Laysh doesn't have much agriculture, does it?"

"Sadly, the combination of seawater and tainted ground doesn't make for very fertile soil…" Nochmann sighed; "What are you thinking?"

"First of all a desalination system. The town's close enough to the sea we can basically have the canal going straight through. Proper sanitation as well. Once spring comes, I'm planning on at the very least installing sewers from the major living areas." Each suggestion accompanied a drawn line on the map; "That's clean, drinkable water, _and_ proper sanitation."

"Drinkable water from the sea?" Disbelief. Of course, she had not expected anything but; "How would _that_ come to pass?"

"Imperial Engineering, Herzog. I will have one of the engineers go into details with you later, if you want." Idoria drew a new line, this one outside of the walls; "The flow of drinkable water should also allow you to farm the lands around Laysh, once we've cleaned it from the Blight. I already have people drawing up plans for improved fields, and we're set to commence the digging in three days. I want the water-issue solved first, however."

"Of course, of…of course, Herald, I'm just…" Ulbricht hesitated for a moment, frowning with uncertainty; "I did not expect all of this. It will actually work?"

"Everything I suggest here is already implemented in the Empire, my homeland, Herzog." She gestured at the main street from the harbor; "We're going to need to start digging the canal for the desalination today, though. It'll involve making the street from here to the harbor somewhat unpassable for the duration of the work, though."

"But…it will provide the town with clean water?"

"It will, yes." Idoria liked the almost childlike wonder the Herzog, although nearly twice her age, displayed; "Andraste only gave me a goal, she never said I could not improve the lives of the Anders on my way to it."

"Then…then where do you want my insignia?"

* * *

_What._

_The._

_Fuck._

Not exactly words she could claim to be intelligent, but right now Talia believed herself somewhat excused on account of her mother having apparently decided to perform some sort of…Well.

She didn't even know what the _Hell_ to call it, because her mother was covered in dust, holding onto a close-to naked woman who, by the looks of it, could be generously said to not have been eating right, and was standing in the middle of what remained of the large kitchen table.

"Where's Eleanor?!"

"She…she's…Dear _fuck_, Mom, _what's going on_?!" Because when Talia had entered the kitchens to seek out the source of the disturbance, she hadn't really been expecting this. She did however step forward to help her mom - and whoever the _fuck_ she'd dragged along for a Blink - out of the table; "One of you, get the Teyrna! She's in the main study!"

One of the elves was off at once, and Talia simply removed that part from her mind. Right now, said mind was mainly taken up by the _starved, cut-up woman_ in mother's arms. Honestly the way she held her was like holding a child. The powerful smell of ozone was the last hint she really needed to establish that, yes, her mother had indeed decided to Blink into the gods-be-damn kitchen, for reasons unknown.

"Who- who _is_ this even? Someone get her some water!" Talia demanded both ways, gingerly hoisting the woman from her mother's arms so that she could actually remove herself from the table. Both legs were stuck solidly in the splintered wood, though her mind went other places when she realized just how light this woman was; "Seriously, she's like a fucking feather. What, you grabbed her from a dungeon?"

"It's…I think it's Queen Anora." Her mother grunted as she pulled a leg from the wood, and Talia nearly dropped the woman on the floor; "And to answer your second question, I suppose I might have."

* * *

Talia watched with a mixture of worry and curiosity, as well as still quite a lot of disbelief, when her mother emerged from the guest-room they had placed Anora - the fucking _Queen of Ferelden _\- in. The only two Dunmer in their group, and somehow the only two healers, had been at the bedside of the queen for the past three hours, and forbidden anyone else from entering.

"So?" Alistair asked. He, and the rest of the group had gathered at the door when the news spread of just who was in there. He and Eleanor in particular seemed uncertain of how to react to the change in plans, because there was no way this wasn't going to demand a change in plans.

"She will live, that much at least I can guarantee…" her mother sighed with exhaustion; "But…she is dangerously underfed, and the incisions in her skin haven't been cleaned or sterilized by whomever made them. She was running a high fever when I brought her here, which thankfully Brelyna and I have managed to force down. Maryon has volunteered to stay with her throughout the night…"

"I don't get it." Alistair complained, or perhaps just stated. Right now Talia wasn't really in the right mindset to tell the two apart; "I mean, I seriously do not get it. _Why_ is Anora, the daughter of _Loghain_, starved to near-death, and why was she locked up in Howe's Estate?"

"Howe's insane, and a traitor." Aedan stated with venom in his tone. Talia frowned at the tone, because it was honestly not one that suited him. Malice, in general, did not suit him. Eleanor, maybe, but Aedan…she wanted him to at least not be broken by hate; "I'm not even surprised he'd do this if it meant gaining more power. I'm just surprised Loghain went along with it."

"Who is to say he does?" Leliana pondered aloud, her tone more contemplative than worried; "It would not be the first time I have known nobles to overthrow, or blackmail their betters."

"Well we'd_ know_ if Loghain had been overthrown, obviously." Talia leant against the wall, watching her mother as she spoke; "Loghain and Howe are working together, somehow. Blackmail would be the more likely option. That, or the man has gone mad."

"…how do you know they're working together?" Jowan asked, his voice just a bit more than a mutter. Talia didn't find that surprising in the least, since not only was Howe the reason he'd ended up "betraying" Arl Eamon - who was currently elsewhere on unknown business - but Anora's condition was awfully reminiscent of how they'd found _him_, in said Arl's dungeons.

"A source I would rather prefer to remain anonymous for now." Her mother replied, being repaid with frowns; "It is not important to know who it is. Actually knowing who it is could be harmful to our task because you would suddenly expect their aid. This way we can continue to act independently of one another."

"_Mom_…"

"She is not wrong, actually." Eleanor interjected. She seemed to have aged simply upon seeing the state of her Queen, and upon recognizing the fact that things were not as they seemed; "While Brelyna ensures her majesty does not deteriorate, I believe we should-"

A flash of ethereal blue interrupted the Teyrna, and caused everyone around it to throw themselves backwards and away from it. Only Rhea remained where she was, a tired groan escaping her at the intrusion. Talia as well managed to withhold her surprise beyond the initial scream, once she realized what was happening.

"…Omluard, _Dear_…your sense of timing is not always the most impeccable." Her mother sighed. Talia could only find herself somewhere between glaring and staring at her father as he appeared from the smoke, ethereal as the first time he had apparated in the camp.

To his credit, the King of Bangkorai at least had the decency to appear shameful, if only a little. A stark difference Talia could see from the last time he had shown up - literally - out of the blue, was that he seemed better rested. Last time he'd been wearing bags underneath the eyes, now he seemed far less exhausted.

"Forgive me, my Dear, I only just left a meeting with the Emperor, and…oh…" apparition was apparently a bit of a bitch even to the almighty Omluard Aulus, because it was clear that his vision had not followed immediately upon appearing. He only now saw the rest of the room's occupants; "I…am I interrupting something important?"

"I've just retrieved the Queen of Ferelden from captivity, starved to the point of near-death, and held by at least _one_ hostile mage…" When she said it like that, Talia couldn't help but realizing that her mom still had more than a shred of sardonic humor in her body; "So really, it is nothing too crucial."

"…I see. I…then, in that case I suppose I should introduce-"

"They already know who you are, Father." Talia interrupted him, though she did so more out of exasperation than because she wanted to bitch at him. Matters like political marriage seemed to insignificant compared to her current life that it wasn't even worth bringing up - especially now that Mother had given her and Aedan _her_ endorsement; "But yeah, sure, when did that ever stop you?"

"I see time spent in Ferelden has not mellowed you much, Talia."

"I spend ninety percent of my time in mortal danger, dad. Doesn't leave much room for mellowing." It wasn't even a lie. It was pretty difficult to _mellow_ when a Darkspawn or a mercenary or something altogether third could swoop down any moment and try to kill her. The remaining ten percent of her time she _wasn't_ in danger, was primarily spent in bed with Aedan. Speaking of… "Oh, and you can throw your ideas of arranging a marriage for me out the tallest tower in the Palace."

"Talia, I haven't spoken with your father about that yet." Her mother interjected; "Besides, do you really think something like that should be discussed here? With everyone present?"

"Why not?"

"…truly, you cannot be my daughter." Her Father sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose; "Can we postpone this subject until later? I did actually come here with a message, not just to be subjected to snark. Still, before we do that…I recall some faces here, if only briefly…You I do not believe I saw the last time." Her father had turned to face Eleanor; "Lady Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, I presume?"

Talia, meanwhile, stewed in what could best be called shame. Because yes, her romantic issues were _not_ as important as what was going on. She'd just wanted to have a go at him, because this was the second time she'd seen her father in six months and she just…felt more and more stupid the more she considered it._ Gods…_

"I…Yes, that is me." Eleanor seemed hesitant to engage with what was essentially akin to a ghost. Still, she didn't appear frightened in the least - which wasn't really a surprise, considering how at ease she had been with Two-Sock. Right now, the wolf had decided to bunker down at Anora's bed, for reasons Talia herself couldn't really comprehend. Sometimes, her Familiar just had a mind of his own; "You are Talia's father? King Omluard? I am honored."

Talia, recovering from shame, was almost disappointed at the lack of surprised outbursts. Really, was royalty so commonplace these days?

"The honor, and pleasure, is mine, Lady Cousland. Your family has done much for my daughter, if my wife is to be believed. My condolences for the treachery that befell you." Talia wasn't sure if the condolence was genuine or simple courtesy, but she still appreciated the gesture nonetheless when Eleanor's expression softened; "As for the reason I am here…The Tenth Legion has made landfall in Thedas, in a nation known as the Anderfels."

"What." Talia wasn't the only mask of disbelief in the corridor. Most of its occupants wore similar expressions of surprise and or confusion. Oddly enough, Eleanor was not among them; "The Legion? _Since when?!_"

"The Anderfels…that's north of here, I believe?" her mother acted as had she not heard the question, and looked to Eleanor for clarification.

"The Anderfels is north of Orlais, almost as far from Ferelden as you can get within the boundaries of the mapped Thedas." The Teyrna supplied, receiving a nod from the Dunmer; "You expected this."

"I did, yes." She admitted freely; "I did not know the Tenth would be the Legion chosen for this, but I am also not surprised that it was. They've made contact with the people of Thedas, then?"

"Right now only a Cohort is in Thedas. They're led by the Tribune Veruin Kratorius, if you're familiar with the name?" when her mother merely shook her head at that, Omluard continued; "They also have already fought a battle with the tainted creatures, these 'Darkspawn', as they're called. The Cohort took some serious casualties, but held the town of Laysh, a fishing hamlet, if I recall correctly."

"What of the rest of the Legion?"

"Mustering as we speak. We received communication from the Cohort's _Primus Pilum_ a few hours ago, a Centurion by name of Idoria Mallin. While the Tribune for the moment seems to be staying in the capital city of Hossberg, the Centurion has been given command of Laysh, with royal decree no less."

"By the Emperor?" Talia frowned. Could he do that?

"By the king of the Anders, actually." Her father seemed appreciative or her question; "He was apparently so grateful for the intervention of the Cohort that he granted them land and made them protectors of the town…"

"Will this Legion come to Ferelden's aid against the Blight?" Eleanor asked, curling her hand before her mouth; "As it stands we could use all the help you can offer."

"Lady Teyrna, the Legion's main force has not yet even made it to Thedas, and even when they do, I do not think it will possible for them to march on Ferelden." Talia did not like the expression on her father's face. It spoke of worry, and not the kind he would show for his children. This was something else, and she knew it would be bad already before he spoke again; "The Orlesian Emperor would not be likely to allow them passage."

"_Emperor_?" heads turned as a new voice mixed with theirs. Eamon, still clad in his cloak and furs, and with melting snow covering his shoulders, seemed in doubt whether to be more in disbelief at the transparent man in his estate, or the way her father had described the ruler of…wait, wasn't Orlais ruled by an Empr_ess_?

"Arl Eamon?" Talia's mother was the first to speak; "You have returned in good time. I would introduce you to my husband, King Omluard Aulus of Bangkorai."

"An honor. What did you say, 'Emperor'?" It was almost funny how Eamon seemed to give close to not a single shit that he was addressing a king. Granted, a king with roughly the same amount of power as a Teyrn, but still; "Celene rules Orlais, _Empress_ Celene."

"I would like to know as well." Eleanor joined in; "What has changed in Orlais? How do you know of it?"

"A messenger arrived in the capital of the Anderfels as the Tribune was in audience with their king. Apparently Empress Celene has been killed, and her rival, a man by the name of Gaspard de Chalons, has assumed the throne…I assumed those news had reached you? Ferelden _is_ closer to Orlais than the Anderfels, no?"

Talia would have laughed at the insanity of the situation, if it hadn't been for how Eamon seemed to go as white as the snow on his shoulders.

"Gaspard…_General_ Gaspard de Chalons…" the Arl wheezed with fright; "Maker's breath…_Shit!_"

Eamon was swearing. That had to be an indicative.

"Is this bad?" Talia, as the least informed of the Tamrielans, asked. Honestly, how the fuck was she supposed to know who this Gaspard was? She knew their estate in Evermor had a gardener by that name - and old man, _not_ someone she'd fucked - and she doubted he was the one referred to; "Seriously, is this a bad thing?"

"He was a commander during the Rebellion, and a terrifyingly good one at that." Eamon grumbled, both hands coming to cup his face; "If he's the new Emperor…I would not be in the least surprised if he would seek to use a weakened Ferelden as an easy conquest. And thanks to Loghain, whatever forces Celene sent to aid us against the Blight are still intact, whereas the Fereldan army…I…Forgive me, I just need a moment."

"This Gaspard might have different targets than your homeland, Arl Eamon." Omluard stated, and the Arl looked like he genuinely longed for good news; "As you may or may not be aware, the people of Tamriel are not Andrastian. Concerns have already been voiced that Gaspard might view the Legion's landing as an invasion, or simply a threat to the status quo. He could as well target the Anderfels first."

"The…Anderfels. The Anderfels…He would never dare attack the Anders, it would turn all the Wardens of Orlais against him, as well as a great many of their Templars." Eamon shook his head; "No…no nothing short of open heresy would excuse such a thing. And in such a case we would see an Exalted March, not a mere army…Maker's Breath, my heart is not suited for these kinds of revelations."

"I'm afraid I must burden it with at least one further, Eamon." Talia turned to watch her mother, knowing what was coming. At some point she'd just…stopped. She'd stopped being affected by the sheer insanity that was her life, and this evening, and just watched. The Arl, sadly, seemed like he was still capable of being mentally bashed around.

She pitied him.

"…do I dare ask for good news?"

"I…cannot really call it good or bad news. I spent the evening at Howe's Estate, where-"

"You what." Eamon's face was something of a marvel. His eyes were as wide as they could be, while the rest was utterly impassive.

"-where I came upon Queen Anora. Starved, locked up and clearly the unwilling participant of some sort of experiment." Rhea did not even pause at the way the Arl looked like he'd been kicked between the legs. His expression contorted and twisted to something really not befitting of a Noble; "I encountered a hostile mage, about to perform his work on her, then retrieved the Queen, who is now being treated in the room behind me."

Talia could actually _hear_ the last string of Eamon's sanity when it, not unlike a plucked hair, simply snapped.

* * *

**I originally planned on having the Landsmeet done by this point, but realized that would either mean huge chapters, or rushed pacing. Neither was really something I was interested in, to be honest. This allowed me to instead utterly screw with canon, something I enjoy doing, if it wasn't obvious by now ;)**

**Thanks to Brensen Sirius Duthane, for supporting me on . I'll be introducing a certain character soon ;)  
The same, of course, is true for anyone else. I can't sell Fanfiction - and by the gods I do not want that to even be legal! - but I can at least give something back: Influence.  
...I know it's not really much, but it's the best I can do.**

**That being said, I think next chapter we'll go back to Laysh for a full bout. Idoria has plans for the place, plans that very much make me feel all giddy-like. Roman Engineering - by now it's really not a secret that I'm going heavily on what the Romans could do, since so little info exists on what the Imperial Legion can do - is just plain impressive, and I recently was at an exhibition on the subject, and was pretty amazed at how advanced their medicinal and surgical tools were.**

**Hope you look forward to it :D **


	72. Soup and Saints

**Soup and Saints**

* * *

"Lift!"

Men and women, glistening with sweat in the cold sun of the high noon, stepped backwards in unison as their part was done. The stone of the main street was loosened with iron pliers and rods, and now the green glow of magical levitation enveloped the large slaps of limestone. One by one, they floated from the progressing trench in the middle of the street, much to the fascination of the on-looking townsfolk, most of whom were women, as the men had been put to work as unskilled labor.

The legionaries of the 6th Cohort resumed their work, now with shovels and spades instead of pliers, and started on what they all knew to be the harder part of the project. Atronachs of stone and gravel joined in, heaving massive amounts of dirt and rock from the trench. They were nowhere near as hardy as their colder counterparts, but served a far more crucial purpose for the engineers of any legion, which was just one more reason at least one battlemage in each cohort had to be an adept conjurer.

It was apparent, to Lucius Sevilius, that the people of Laysh knew how to work the ground. They were putting their backs into it, with just as much of an effort as the legionaries. Still, they could not approach the level of organization the Legion had worked with and perfected over two eras, when it came to engineering.

Since the news had broken that Hossberg had issued a decree that basically granted the Cohort command of Laysh, the Centurion had put him and every yet able-bodied soldier to work in the woods down south. The roads had been crap, utter crap, and had caused more delays than he had thought they would. It had taken them two days of constant felling, hauling and traveling up and down the so-called road between Laysh and the forest, and for their trouble, the gain was hardly something to cheer at; two dozen trees of a kind of pine he wasn't familiar with, with thick and long and straight pieces of raw timber.

It would not be enough.

He knew this, and the Centurion knew this. It was why he had left half the workforce at the forest, as well as two of the Wardens lucky - or skilled - enough to have survived the battle. They would continue the work down there, and hopefully be prepared for when he would have to retrieve the next haul.

Still, for now they had enough wood for…He'd estimate at least two more days, if the current pace of work held. Without magical aid, this would have been a lot more cumbersome, but as it was they were making good progress. Sawmills and cranes would, of course, have been appreciated, but neither was something they currently had on hand.

Out at sea, merely ten meters from the longest pier, the second half of the project was ongoing. And it was by far the more ambitious half.

The ships were centered around a marked-out location on the seabed, and two of the mages were given the task of clearing away the ocean itself from it. An insane task, if one had asked him, to do without magic. Still, it was actually doable, and he could see the hole in the water even from this distance. Since most of the trench would be layered with wood as well as limestone, most of the timber was actually dedicated to the pumping station out at sea.

The pumping stations were inventions going back to the third era. Similar to a shaft, they would siphon up the seawater through filters of sand that would keep out most of the pathogens. Then gravity, being twisted by nothing but ingenuity, would do the pulling for them, and carry the water upwards until it would reach the enclosed aqueduct leading it towards the town itself, and the desalination-system they still needed to build.

He knew there was a second aqueduct planned, one that wouldn't connect to any kind of desalination or filters. Instead it was apparently the plan to have it run along the other aqueduct, before turning back right at the evaporators and instead run back down the hill, powering waterwheels in the process.

At least, that was about as much understanding as he had of the plans. He was a soldier, not a damn engineer, Arkay.

Right now, however, what mattered was that they had to get the street dug up, and timber sawed into the right sizes before pressuring them. That was a part he hadn't understood for a long time, how pressure could change a thing when it came to wood handling water. Apparently it was something a Redguard mage had come up with while riding out his shisha.

The wood itself, what amounts they had hauled from the forest at least, was being sawed up by townsfolk at the ends of the street, supervised by engineers. Said engineers were busying themselves with ensuring each had the correct length, thickness and that no holes were in the finished products. Sometimes it really did amaze the Quastor just how much went into sawing up a piece of wood.

He was more impressed with how quickly the massive trunks were split apart, really. Since they did lack a sawmill, the initial work was handled by engineers driving wedged into the felled trees, and then the atronachs would be the ones pounding the metal through the wood.

You didn't get to really appreciate the engineers when your cohort was a marine one.

Even then, even if both townsfolk and legionaries worked side by side, there was a clear and stark difference between their two groups. It wasn't a schism, as such, nor was it something like one group working less than the other.

It was simply the fact that legionaries worked and lived in their armor. Much to the obvious bewilderment of the natives, who still seemed confused at the sight of heavily armored men easily keeping pace with strong-armed, bare-chested Anders - bare-chested, in the middle of _winter_!  
Lucius suspected there would be more surprise, once they started drilling the town guard into proper, _actual_ soldiers. Their training swords and shields were heavier than the actual equipment, something which had caused some laughter when first explained to the interested townsfolk.

Mostly it was the children, treating him and the men as if they were some strange, exotic animals half the time, and the other half as if they were just normal people. It was quite the confusing change in pace to keep up with, but then again, children were confusing and hard to keep up with, no matter the continent. Ironically, it was this confusion that allowed the men to really feel at ease, despite being so far from home.

It also helped that they shared a language, something no one as of yet could explain. Imperial Common was apparently also the Trade Tongue, somehow. It was honestly something he'd rather just leave up to the scholars, or maybe even mages, whenever they got the resources and time to figure it out.

"Quastor."

Sevilius turned, finding one of the Immunes standing at the ready, hand clasped over his heart in salute. He returned it;

"What is it?"

"We're estimating we have enough timber to finish the trench as it is. However at least fifty additional units are needed for the entire canal, and the system itself. Also we do not currently have the necessary metals for the pumps."

Right, this was something the Centurion had dumped on him. Bless the woman, he supposed. While he _could_ understand that the Centurion - or Herald, as the townsfolk called her these days, or Saint Idoria, as some of the men had started calling her - was leaving this with him as a sign of trust in his competence, it was also a lot more work than he was used to. It was also a lot more work onto his already growing stack of duties, since they'd suffered the near-total loss of officers in the Cohort, which meant _he_ had to also assist in the training of Principes into Quastors, and had to find candidates for Centurions among the Triarii, as well as setting up a training program for those in the Hastatis showing potential for healers.

Sevilius had a lot of things on his plate these days, to put it mildly.

"Have you asked the traders?"

"We're having some trouble convincing them to let go of the materials for the project. They don't trust it to be worth it."

"Arkay's testicles, they _can't_ actually refuse to sell their wares." Lucius groaned. Sometimes he just didn't like dealing with civilians. Or clerks. Or, really anyone not a soldier; "…you did explain you'd pay for the goods, right?"

"…we do not _have_ money, Sir. All funds are relocated to paying salaries until the Legion proper makes a landing." The man explained - complained, more like it; "When this was…explained, to the merchants, they said they trusted the Herald, not everyone she'd dragged along."

"…I really should not have to deal with this shit right now." The Quastor took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose; "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I'll talk to the Sa- Centurion, and ask her to vouch for the goods. They bloody well worship her; she should be able to grab a merchant's iron…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"You'll never tell anyone I just said that."

"Understood, Quastor." The Immunes seemed to be teetering on either laughter or fright, and Sevilius would rather it be fright. He did _not_ need that last line to ever make it around to the Centurion. _Or_ any Andrastians, at all. They probably had some sort of law specifically detailing how to deal with that kind of blasphemy; "That being said, we're looking at being able to reuse roughly half of the stone from the destroyed buildings near the gate. We'll need a lot more limestone for the finished aqueducts though."

"Remind me again, why we're not just building both aqueducts at the same time?"

"The Centurion preferred the immediate solution." Immunes functioned as capable architects, and stone, at least, was not something they lacked. Laysh's quarry was, after all, damn close; "She did not see a reason to start construction on more than one project at a time."

"Right, right…When are we going to have to dig into the hillside proper?" he sighed; "For the sewers, I mean?"

"We've already started planning that, sir." The scrawnier man held up an etching of the current progress; "We're holding off on opening the ground into a tunnel until the Legion proper arrives. Until then we are expecting to have the mechanisms for the system itself prepared, and lay out markers for the fields beyond the walls."

Well, that was some schedule. The Legion proper wasn't scheduled to start arriving until sometime next week, which meant a lot of time with nothing done. Then again, it was just as easily conceivable that the weather changed and they would regret opening up the tunnel. Even the lumbering atronachs of the Fabri couldn't work if they were frozen solid.

"So we focus on the siphon and the aqueducts. Then we start on the desalination facility."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then we pump the water to public fountains and sanitation."

"Yes Sir. We're also drawing up the plans for a sewage-tank where some of the ruined buildings are being cleared away." The man nodded as he seemed to be going over each point mentally; "The plan, to my understanding, is to fertilize the fields with human waste, and then flood them."

"Not a bad plan. Remind me not to eat the first round of crops though."

"Noted, Sir."

"Well…I suppose now all that remains is to actually build the whole thing…"

Which, really, was easier said than done. Still, it wasn't an impossible task. The mages made it all possible, really, with the deadline the Centurion seemed to have put them on. She was really serious about this, it seemed, about improving the lot of the people here.

Sevilius luckily didn't have to do any actual lifting himself, and neither did most of the men as the simple, heavy-duty lifting was handled by the atronachs. The Anders called them golems, and the name was starting to stick. Lucius knew a little about the creations referred to here, and found the name fitting. It was just amusing how no one seemed to have a word for the 'golems' the moment they were on all four.

The invention of these constructs was one reason slavery had been abolishable within the Empire. Without them, it was likely slaves would have been needed for much of the mundane work required by the Empire. It was but another boon of magic, as far as Sevilius saw it.

Laysh, in some ways, was a blank slate. Land previously untouched by civilized hands, and a place that would welcome everything the Empire had to offer with open arms. There was no better way to win hearts and minds than providing clean, drinkable water.

Well, there was letting them eat cake, of course, but that was still some ways off. The Legion would be bringing supplies of grain and seeds with them, and they could get some proper agriculture started around the town. And if they could actually get the resources for it, there had to be possibilities for an aqueduct from the mountains. Of course, that would require prospectors to find a damn source of water there in the first place.

Spring-water was, after all, always better than desalinated seawater.

Hours passed by, and the sound of laughter and song echoed down the streets. The Anders sang as they worked, something the Imperials were unaccustomed to. Legionaries, by definition, did not sing while they worked. It spent energy they could otherwise spend on putting their muscles to use, and what singing there was to be had was had in taverns and inns.

"_Born of grit and the Maker's tears, born of the mountains resting here."_

Still, even though legionaries did not per definition sing, they somehow joined in on the song. Sevilius didn't bother telling them to stop, especially not since it seemed to invigorate the men. Each pause in the song was accompanied by a shovel clawing dirt from the trench, and each emphasis accompanied the dirt being thrown into the carts holding at ready.

"_This rocky shit needs to be cleared, by Herald's voice into our ears!"_

Herald…They had to mean the Centurion. So this wasn't an old song, then. Still, he didn't see a reason for them to stop. Even if the natives saw the Centurion as a Herald of their Lady…What about himself, though? Lucius wasn't so sure. He knew what he had seen, knew what the healers had said, that there was no magic in their repertoire capable of curing the Blight.

"_So __**dig**__ through the darkness, __**cut**__ through the stone! Work till your limbs are sore to the bone!"_

He wondered though, if things could remain as harmonious as they were right now. Everyone was still riding the brotherhood and euphoria of having fought and bled side by side, but…even such bonds could be broken by the power of faith.

Hopefully, the full scale of everything they were going to implement would at least make the populace more agreeable in the long term. Bathhouses, public latrines and competent healthcare, all of it part of what he suspected was the Centurion's olive branch.

The Empire extended all of these things to their citizens, in the regions and provinces that allowed for it. Skyrim, as far as he knew, was one of the places under consideration for major aqueducts, given the amount of springs in their mountains, and sewers were already installed in their major cities.

High Rock was a prime example though, of what Imperial influence brought with it. In exchange for the extremely competent and plentiful Bretoni mages, the cities of High Rock's kingdoms were given clean, running water, bathhouses, improved agriculture and roads.

Hours passed, before the toll of a bell brought the work to a halt. The Quastor found the source to be the Chantry. Sweating men and women stopped what they were doing and put down their picks and shovels, eager eyes turning toward the source as well, and the Sisters who accompanied it, carrying with them cauldrons of hot soup and freshly baked bread.

It was lunch-break, at last.

The meal was a broth of vegetables and barley in a strong soup made on beef. Lucius ate his somewhat secluded from the men, on the outskirts of the groups. It allowed him the peace of mind to ponder the progress of the day, and unfolded his sketching of the map.

The siphon-tower was currently in a state of being a walled-off hole in the sea, with tightly-fitted planks of pine keeping out the crushing pressure of the waves. He left it to the mages to keep _that_ dry enough for construction. He could mark the points between in and the piers where they would need supports, and drew a straight line from the siphon itself through the trench, then all the way to the town square.

Now that work was halted, Lucius was utterly unsurprised as the accompanying ale brought cheers and song to the men. And this time, it was a song he actually knew.

"_Hey brothers, do you still believe in one another?_

_Hey sisters, do you still believe in love, I wonder?_

_Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you,_

_There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do."_

It was an old one, older than him, and one used often when marching recruits miles upon miles, or when the oarsmen needed something uplifting. The next part, in particular, was one he felt resonate. It did with all men and women of the Legion, and had been added after the Oblivion-crisis.

"_What if we're far from home, at planes found in no tome?_

_Oh, brothers we will hear you call. Vengeance will be paid._

_What if we lose it all?_

_Oh, sisters we come to you aid!_

_Oh, even should the sky come apart on you,_

_There's nothing in this world we cannot do!"_

Full and rich voices, both men and women of the Empire, all joined in the song. It was an anchor to their home, now so very far away. It was a mark of their culture, and a testament to both their cohesion, their unity and what they had overcome. Knowing the final verse like the back of his hand, Sevilius joined his voice to his men's.

"_Oh Brothers, are your swords sharper than your tongues?_

_Oh Sisters, will you stand with us, will you be strong?_

_And if Dagon comes for us-_

_He would have to face us all and see his loss!"_

The song ended with laughter, and sporadic applause from the townsfolk. The Quastor allowed himself a small, wry smile at the show of camaraderie. The men were happy, and felt like they were doing good by the people who had taken them into their homes. They were making a difference, and a rare one that did not require the blade of a sword.

The mages required more food than the rest of them, which at least didn't seem to cause discontent within the workers. While the physical labor was much more sweat inducing, he knew using as much magic as their mages had was bound to take its toll.

The trench was going to serve as the main sewage-pipe back into the sea, after it had filtered out the waste for fertilizers. Grates and sand filters would take care of that, and the main pump would push the mush into the sewage-tank. For now, the pump would be driven by hand, but eventually the idea was for it to be powered by the waterwheels. Everything came down to how efficient they could make the siphon, and how much it would take to drag enough water up high enough for the flow to be continuous.

Bathhouses could be located where there now were only ruins of the homes burned during the battle. It would mean running either an aqueduct or a pipeline underground to the facility, and then there'd be need of a hypocaust. When the water left the bathhouses, it would then be pumped out of the town, and be used to permeate the dry soil.

Everything planned would probably take years to finish, unless the entirety of the Legion worked solely on the projects, rather than actually fighting the Darkspawn.

When the bell rang once more, children came running about to gather the bowls and utensils. Sevilius handed his to a kid that couldn't be older than five, nodded his thanks and got up.

As the hours passed by, the Quastor was relieved to see that they were making better progress at sea than they were with the trench. The ships had had their sails taken down, and the riggings changed into make-shift cranes. Each carried as much limestone as it could, and even from where he stood, in the waning light, he could see stone upon stone being slowly, carefully floated down underneath the surface of the sea.

It was a slow process, of course, and he didn't envy the men in the pit their job. It was safe, of course, but it still did not change that the engineers and Fabri down there had nothing but a few inches of wood between themselves and the sea. The mages were always at the ready to provide barriers, and altered the stone as they worked, to fit perfectly with the rest of the structure.

Of course, the tower itself was only the exterior structure. Within, it would need carefully crafted pipes that could and would take the strain of constantly flowing water, as well as remaining perfectly airtight. Even the smallest gap or crack would cause the entire system to fail, and he did not envy the poor soul caught making a mistake.

Mainly because he was the one who would sentence them to repairing the damage, without the aid of mages.

The trench before him, however, was a more simple job. It was taxing on the men, true, but easier. Already it was nearly two meters deep, something he attributed to the atronachs as much as the strength of muscle. Already they were starting to lay down the wooden framework at the piers and upwards, and soon enough they would have to start preparing the stone.

When the bell tolled once more, signaling the end of the day's work, Lucius Sevilius was actually, honestly, quite satisfied with the progress they had made.

The Centurion was setting something in the works here, and now he could say without a doubt, that what they did here, the changes they brought, would transform Laysh from a small, insignificant hamlet, into something greater.

Darkness was falling though, and so the men started marching for the one place all could call home.

* * *

Elfroot, powdered and stuffed into the port of his pipe, was a blessing when it came to unwinding from a day of hard work.

Pressing his fingertips firmly together, Lucius concentrated every last bit of magicka in his blood, and brought all the heat to bear on the thin and frail splinter in his grip. The tiny piece of wood started glowing from the scorching heat, and he smiled, stuffing it into his pipe to ignite the powder.

Leaning back against the wall of weathered, familiar wood, the Quastor sighed with content and closed his eyes, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs and free his mind. Alone at his table, with nothing but morsels and scraps left on his plate, he was perfectly comfortable with the self-imposed role of supervising the men.

They were drinking, shouting, singing, eating and arguing, but all within the confines of good spirit. When nestled comfortably within a tavern, while the temperature outside dropped to freezing depths, it was hard for men to even contemplate starting trouble that could see them thrown out on their sorry, drunken asses.

The music, too, was good. He could recognize some of the instruments used, such something very reminiscent of the Nord hurdy gurdy, but also drums and lutes and flutes. It gave the tavern more warmth, and brought cheer to the Anders as they tried teaching the accompanying songs to the Legionaries. The prevailing success so far was, from what he could tell, one named 'Steel for men'.

The reason for its success was obvious.

He hadn't seen the Centurion all day. Maybe she preferred to simply retreat to the isolation of the Herzog's house? He wouldn't fault her for it - the pressure of being who she was now made out to be, placed on a pedestal she wasn't used to be placed on, with the eyes of every man and woman locked on her the moment she showed herself?

He could understand her recent dip into the desire for solitude.

"Excuse me."

A feminine voice brought his eyes open, and his attention back to the here and now. A woman stood before him, one of the Sisters of the Chantry, if he guessed the uniform right. She didn't have the hat the higher-ranking women seemed to wear. And she was young, rather much too young to waste her life away in the confines of a Chantry temple.

But then again, it wasn't his business.

"Can I help you, Revered Sister?" he of course, did not revere the Chantry, and so neither did he view her as worth of reverence, but for the sake of respecting the traditions, culture and faith of the Anders, he addressed her as such; "The chair is free, if you need to rest your feet."

She had a book with her, he noticed now. It was a rather big one too, almost a tome.

"Thank you, Ser…Quitillius?"

"Sevilius, Sister." He corrected her, not really feeling offended. Very few of the Anders seemed capable of pronouncing, or even remembering Imperial names; "Lucius Sevilius, Quastor of Third Group, though currently it seems I'm playing mother-hen for everyone…"

The little joke made her smile, which made his weathered heart flutter just a little. Oh, to be young again, he would have taken the chance. Being older, of course, and wiser, he simply found some satisfaction in bringing something other than lamentation to his fellow people.

"I am Sister Saklya, of our Chantry." She smiled a little as if there was a joke in the making; "…though currently it seems I'm playing mother-hen for everyone."

Ah, now he remembered her.

"You brought meals to the workers." It seemed she had not actually thought anyone would have had the peace of mind to remember a face, when there was food to be had, and the smile made a return.

Sevilius decided he liked her.

"We all very much appreciate what you are doing. The Chantry thought it should help where it could, since the Herald seems to be…avoiding us, for lack of better words." Her little smile grew wry, and he found it a little too funny not to smile himself; "As you might have already guessed, she is the reason I am here."

The Quastor looked around, seeing only cheerful men, people sleeping with their heads in puddles of ale, and even more than one couple engaging in acts he technically shouldn't allow. The women of the Cohort seemed to have garnered particular attention, and attraction, from the men of Laysh.

And apparently armor was not going to come in the way of passion, at least the superficial kind.

"I don't think you came to the right place then, Sister. I haven't seen the Ce- the Herald, all day." Lucius had to divert his attention between the Sister and what appeared to be an organized pit-fight at the other end of the tavern, where a particularly brawny Anders and a Legionary circled each other.

Oh well…as long as it was organized, he supposed it was not technically a conflict.

"I did not come to find her either, Ser. I actually wanted to…Maybe I should start over." Saklya brought the book she bore onto the table; "I am one of the Chantry's scholars, so it's my duty to record everything important that occurs within my vicinity."

"You're a scribe?"

"Not an incorrect term, I suppose." The Sister mused, tapping her fingers on the hard, leather-bound front of the book; "I'm trying to collect as much information as I can about the Herald's ascension."

"Ascension?" Sevilius frowned; "She's not dead, you know?"

"Oh no, no, no, I meant her ascension, as in when she was chosen and became the Herald." Saklya hurriedly explained; "You're hardly _born_ to be a Herald. Andraste wasn't born to be the Maker's Bride, after all. It's something you become, at a certain point."

"I see…How was Andraste chosen, if I may ask?"

"She was born in Ferelden, though it could hardly be called Ferelden at the time, you see. The Maker chose her when he heard her sing. Her voice was said to be among the most beautiful of mortals, human or not." Saklya seemed to glow at the retelling. Clearly, it was something she knew by heart; "But she would not join him, for she was already married. It came to be, then, that the Maker would aid her in the very first Exalted March on the Tevinter Imperium, to free its people and bring His truth to the world. But she was betrayed, and where a final victory should have found place, instead she was tied to a stake and burned by the Tevinters, after Maferath sold her out. Archon Hessarian oversaw her execution, but put a sword to her heart when her sufferings became too great…She now resides at the Maker's side, and it is upon her words and teachings the Chantry has its foundation."

"She was a martyr, then?"

"She was." Saklya nodded; "The Herald is the first time our Lady has spoken to the people in more than a thousand years…Understandably, we need as much and as detailed information as we can, as quickly as possible, so that we can fully inform the Divine."

"A noble goal, I agree." Sevilius nodded, taking a long draw of his pipe. He made sure to exhale through his nose, and not blow it in her face; "You want to know what I know, then, of her ascension?"

"It would be very much appreciated, yes." Saklya nodded eagerly, a bright smile on her lips. Why were women like her never around in _his_ youth? "The Templars informed me you led the charge down the hill, following the Herald, and before that, that you personally saw her ridden with the Taint?"

"Ah…that…Yes…" breathing deeply, the Quastor nodded. Seeing the Centurion like that, and leaving her to what he thought was certain death, it all still haunted him. The taint, more than anything, was beyond horrifying to observe; "I'm not sure if she'd meant to sacrifice herself to stop the Ogre from breaking our lines…She stopped it, as you know, but the beast managed to infect her open wounds, and when I found her again she had lost the arm."

"I have heard some of your men refer to her as the One-armed Saint."

"They revere her, like you do, but in different ways, I guess…"

"Do you?" it was an earnest question, and one he knew he had brought upon himself. It still was uncomfortable, because it forced him to contemplate just what he had seen, for the umpteenth time.

"I watched her purge the Darkspawn with a flaming sword, and I watched her heal the taint…" he muttered, looking more at his pipe than her; "…I don't know of how I feel constitutes a Saint, but I know what I saw could not be done without the aid of a Divine, yours or ours."

* * *

**Laysh is basically where my thoughts go to relax, and where I can just imagine building a colony from scratch. Not how I'm actually planning the story, of course, but it's a nice enough metaphor, if I'm not completely mistaken.**

**Dealing with sanitation is never easy, but the Romans, and thus the Empire, nailed it to the point of art. I don't even need magic for the siphons to run, they do it them-bloody-selves, when started. It's one of the mechanisms of Roman engineering we still don't completely understand today, and we actually have two different theories on how it works, both are incomplete.**

**And in case it wasn't clear, I love tavern-scenes. I also love writing old geezers like Lucius, who can apply their experience to everything that's going on and not completely lose their shit. Speaking of taverns, how many can guess from where the tavern song is? and the two songs sung while working?**

**This chapter was out faster than normal, because I'm going to some introduction-courses for University already the 24th, so my time might be somewhat limited from that point on. Again though, as always, I greatly appreciate any and all support, whether it be reviews - especially reviews, they make me all warm when I read how much you enjoy this - or on .**  
**My profile has more on that last bit, by the way, with an actually functioning "link".**

**Roku, out :)**


	73. Plans

**Alright, finally had the time to write a chapter - I'm serious, this University-thing is more taxing than I'd thought. Between self-studies, work and attending lectures, I have like three hours to myself a week, including the weekends!**

_*Jeezz_

**Right, so this chapter will be dealing with some of the less action-oriented things going on in Thedas. Among others, we'll be seeing our dear Tribune again, and a resolution to something that's been bugging quite a few of you since the first visit to Hossberg. Not gonna spoil here though, you've gotta read through to the end ;)**

* * *

**Plans**

* * *

Rhea's accommodations at the estate were, given the state of Ferelden, quite luxurious.

Her chamber came with bed, desk and tapestries, all extravagantly decorated and sized. There was no option of hot baths like in Redcliffe, but she could herself create the water and heat it for the bathing font by the wall. It was stone, and really not as big as she would have liked, but it could, and would, be enough.

Considering the current events, she hardly thought it worthy of mentioning such issues.

Eamon had, following the revelation of Queen Anora's condition, forced his way into the woman's room. He'd been adamant, too much so for Rhea's liking, that the Queen might not be who she claimed to be. However, upon actually seeing her, the Arl had grown still.

"_How…You found her in this state?"_

"_Worse, actually…Brelyna's care has done much to improve her condition." _

"_I…I see. She will recover though? I mean, how…how could this happen?"_

"_She will recover, yes…I do not know for what reasons she suffered like this."_

"_It means Teagan was wrong, at least…at least he was wrong about her being part of this. But…but how could Loghain do this to her?"_

"_I was told he loved your king like his son. Would treating his own daughter like this then be so much different?"_

"…_No, I…I suppose it wouldn't be. Maker's breath…"_

Yes, Eamon might be…stubborn. He certainly wasn't one to actually consider changing an already laid plan, but he had shown himself to also know when to back down, even if it was later than she would have liked. He was an old man - not compared to her own age, of course - and old men in particular found change a hard thing.

She knew it from experience already.

A short series of knocks on her door was all the warning she received before her daughter entered. It was hardly a surprise, given how their last talk had gone, that Talia would want to see her. What was a surprise, was that she even bothered knocking.

"Mother."

"Talia."

It was clear from the first step the girl took into the room that something was bothering her. Most likely, it was the current situation with the Queen, and how it could impact their chances of saving Ferelden from the Blight.

Rhea might have not seen her daughter in four years, but she could still tell when something was on her mind, and could usually tell _what_ it was as well. She had been absent from four years of her daughter's life, but required little time coming to an understanding of things, once they were reunited. The girl loved Ferelden, maybe even as much as she loved High Rock.

Or rather, it most likely wasn't the country itself that she loved, but instead the people in it. It was not a foreign concept to the old Dunmer - after all, she herself very much enjoyed her friendship with Eleanor, and appreciated the spark of life she saw in the diminutive girl, Cíada, as well as the loyalty Alistair and Aedan both personified.

"Can I…can we talk, a bit?" Talia had grown up, physically at least. She had matured and hardened, mostly due to the horrors Rhea knew her daughter had faced, and yet she still very much carried the old deference children would towards their parents. It had only seemingly resurfaced once more after their last talk. When Rhea nodded, Talia closed the door, feet scraping on the floor with evident uncertainty.

Rhea chose to sit, feeling it could help make things easier for her daughter.

"Something's troubling you." Hands resting on the armrests of the chair, she watched Talia with both concern and slight bemusement; "Is this about Anora, the Queen?"

"It's…somewhat like that, but not really…I…" Talia swallowed and sat on the bed, keeping her hands gathered; "It's about the Legion."

"Ah."

"Father said they were in the Anderfels. They're here to help us against the Darkspawn, aren't they?"

"You remember he also said they would not be able to cross through Orlais to get here, don't you?" there was no disappointment or patronizing in the way she spoke, merely a reminder. Talia's face scrounged up; "Our situation has hardly changed from their involvement."

"I _know_, fuck it I _know_ we can't depend on them." Her daughter growled, fists curling and clenching on the hem of her robes.

"Words, Talia, they do not need to be swears for effect." Rhea watched for a reaction to her admonishment, something Talia would normally not take well. Instead, her daughter just remained where she sat, fists clenching and loosening in what seemed to be exasperation. She was much too young for this kind of war, something Rhea herself had told Omluard time and time again.

"_She's not a child anymore, Rhea."_

"_She's my DAUGHTER!"_

"_And she is mine. This is a path Talia has chosen for herself, if we do not respect that, how can we ever hope for her to mature?"_

Mature. Oh, Talia had matured, that much was clear. The spunky, arrogant and brash brat who'd taken off in the middle of the night from Evermor was dead. War and hardship had killed her, and instead built this woman grown, one who knew and understood the consequences of her actions, and carried more responsibility than anyone her age possibly should.

"What troubles you?"

"…is there going to be a war?" Talia's voice was low and hushed, almost as if she was afraid of being heard. Rhea frowned, feeling herself stiffen slightly in the chair as she processed the question. Of course she meant a war with the Empire, but she couldn't quite understand with whom Talia was afraid it would be. Ferelden?

"I would say we already are at war, Talia…" she muttered, curling a hand before her lips in thought; "But you worry whether there will be a war with the Empire on one side, don't you? You worry there might be an Exalted March on the Empire, and that your loyalty will be questioned for being a Warden."

"We're neutral." She did not sound as certain as she probably would have liked to; "Grey Wardens don't get involved in wars or politics."

"Current circumstances would disagree…" Rhea sighed, adjusting her seat. More than anything, she wanted to go and hug her child, to reassure her that things would work out…but days where such could actually work were past them. To assume Talia's worries could be dashed by a hug would be to belittle them; "I…understand what you mean, though. The Grey Wardens as an order is a noble ideal, that you abstain from getting involved with worldly matters beyond fighting the Darkspawn. But, Talia…You must by now have understood that no one with power, no matter how fiercely they struggle, can escape involvement."

"…what'll happen?"

"Who can say? I doubt Ferelden will become directly involved, if it's any consolation…We're too far from the Anderfels to become involved in any direct conflict between Orlais and Imperial forces." It would be a lie to say she had not pondered this herself, and whether their original purpose would become corrupted by politics. It was known that much of the Imperial nobility still wanted revenge for the damages caused by the last invasion from the east.

It was unlikely to actually matter whether said revenge was enacted on those behind the invasion or not. Blood had the convenience of flowing easily no matter where in the world it was spilled.

"But you should not have to worry about this." Leaning forward, Rhea planted her hands on her daughter's shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze before retreating; "I understand your concern, and it is a valid one. But do not let it distract you from what is happening here in Ferelden."

"But-"

"Talia." Her voice brokered no argument; "Say you do keep worrying. What exactly do you think you can do to influence what is going to happen?"

For almost a minute, the silence was her answer. It did not mean Talia was not contemplating it, however. Clearly, she was wrecking her brain to find an answer, something she could use to prove her mother wrong. It was in the nature of children, always, everywhere, to seek to surpass their parents. Finally, she looked up, mouth concealed behind lightly spread fingers.

"I could tell Alistair to try and stop it, if he becomes king."

"Kings have less power than you realize, Talia…But even then, do you not think he would already have wanted to do the same?" Alistair, to be honest, did not strike Rhea as possessing the grit or material of a warrior-king, ironic though that may be. He did not have what it took to order people to their deaths. He was a fine warrior, and _could_ make a fine king, but never a warrior-king; "Beyond combating the Blight itself, there is very little you can do which you have not already yourself set into motion."

"…meaning?"

"…I did not wish to include this as an argument, but your potential union with Aedan, and thus the joining of our houses, could do more to establish diplomatic and political ties than any diplomat could achieve, no matter how shrewd." Honestly, it had not been something she wanted to bring up as a beneficial thing. Love was something Rhea understood perfectly well, and she did not want her daughter to feel as if the union was suddenly something expected of her.

"I…I haven't really talked with him yet, about that." Talia blushed and curled up on the bed, hiding her face behind her knees; "I mean, we…we've known each other for ten months, and only been really, well, together, for like the last five."

"Does the idea frighten or deter you?"

"N-_no_, it's just…" with a groan, Talia dropped sideways in her fetal state. Rhea remained silent as her daughter rolled around in her little ball; "I don't…I don't know if we're really ready for something like that."

"You love him." It was not even approaching a question; she'd seen them together. She'd also nearly driven them apart, something she still felt ashamed of; "And I have seen enough of Aedan to know he loves you. Maybe you're right, maybe you're not ready for something so binding, but…It is rare to see such a perfect match. I only knew your father for a month before our houses were joined, after all."

"I know."

"Just remember, there is no pressure. Your union would establish strong ties between Ferelden and High Rock, and thus ultimately the Empire." Rhea did not really know if what she was saying was helping, but she wanted it to. She knew Talia had run away from arranged marriages, and did not want for this to become another. Even if it was one borne out of mutual love, it being arranged could sour the relationship.

"Except there bloody well _is_ pressure…" Talia groaned from her little ball of angst. It had been a few years since Rhea had last seen her in it; "Right now we have the Blight as an excuse, but afterwards…"

"Afterwards is not yet the present." Rhea did her best to sound reassuring; "There is still time, although not quite as much as we would both want, I suppose."

"Yeah…I just don't wanna make him feel like I'm forcing him into something he's not ready for."

* * *

"Remember, Tribune, that this is a very important meeting." Dhevsa lecture him as if he was still a child, and not nearly a quarter her age older than her; "If at all possible, do not make mentions of the Empire's military, our resources or religion."

"Malakath's _arse,_ woman, you're making it sound like he's a stumbling child." Murzob growled at the Redguard, straightening his tunic; "She's not exactly wrong though, Tribune. Better not to speak unless spoken to."

Veruin shot the both of them a short glare, somehow restraining himself from pointing out that this was nothing more than being invited to dine with the Tevinter Ambassador. It was more than a mere dinner though, as it would mark the very first diplomatic meeting between their nations, and could produce results as varying as a declaration of war…or an alliance.

"I am aware, Ambassadors, thank you." He grumbled, helmet clasped underneath his arm. He never forewent his armor, not if he could help it. Not only was it as clear a symbol of his allegiances and rank as could be found, but it could also potentially prevent an arrow from ending him.

There was no saying if they already had enemies in these lands. The Centurion had done an incredible job, keeping Laysh secure in spite of overwhelming odds. For that, she - and thus the Legion - had earned the gratitude of not just the locals, but the king as well.

It was goodwill he was none too keen on squandering, especially with how the Emperor himself was no-doubt keeping a close eye on proceedings here. For now, the Tribune lacked the means to directly communicate with him, but eventually, ideally, communications could be stablished between Hossberg and the Imperial City.

Currently, he had to make do with reporting through Centurion Mallin. Or, as some now called her 'Saint Mallin' or even 'Herald'. Both were terms he was not at all pleased with, but considering that they were names earned when she had thrown herself at the Darkspawn to buy the men time, and then driven the monsters into the ground, he could understand the need for something ceremonial.

It grated on his mind, however, that she had been forced to serve Meridia to do it.

The Daedric Prince was not, per se, evil. She was, however, still very much a Daedric Prince, and as such merely affiliating with the supernatural being would usually be grounds for capital punishment. Serving a Daedric Prince was the equivalent of deserting your pledge to the Legion, after all.

So, where did this leave the Centurion?

Obviously, it did not leave her facing charges of treason or desertion. Not only would that have been uncharacteristically foolish of the Legion to do, considering her status and standing with the locals they wanted to befriend - and eventually, possibly, grant status of protectorate - but the battle had cost them most of the Cohort's commanding officers, meaning discharging a Centurion would force him back to Laysh, and ground him there, as well as costing the Cohort an experienced officer.

It was a mess, to be sure. It did not lessen his frustration that she had told him in her report, without trying to shirk around it, what she had done. It really just went to prove that there was a reason fraternization between the ranks was never a good idea, or even allowed.

Veruin did not even consider his working relationship with her to be 'fraternization'. Rather, it had always been an efficient system of cooperation, as well as of course chain of command. Mallin was intuitive and could think on her feet, something he valued in a subordinate.

"Murzob, also please keep in mind that the Tevinters practice slavery. We do not need any outbursts." Dhevsa reminded the Orc. Veruin sighed at the reminder, watching the large delegate's expression settle into a scowl; "I would rather we can attempt a peaceful establishment from the start, rather than damage control."

"I'm _aware_, woman." He growled, fangs bared. Each tusk-like protrusion had been polished and smoothed to the point that it might as well have been ivory. Orcs, perhaps because of their history of oppression at the hands of their neighbors, did not appreciate slavery. The problem just was that they could hardly ask him to sit this one out; "I can keep my tongue tied, I'm not a whelp with no regards for his rantings."

"Good."

"But do _not_ expect me to simply ignore that these people may or may not have enslaved citizens of the Empire." The bared fangs would have betrayed Murzob's intentions, had his tone not already done so; "I do not care for whatever circumstances may or may not exists. If these Tevinter are keeping Khajiit as slaves…"

"Then it will be an issue we will have to solve, when possible." The Redguard might as well have stomped him on the foot, judging from the wince she was rewarded with; "As a delegate, and a representative of your people, I would ask you to understand the importance of maintaining a collected composure."

"…very well." Murzob growled, taking a deep breath. His chest expanded to the point that the Tribune thought he might burst his clothes; "Let us see these people then, before I regain my senses."

"_Marvelous_…" the woman muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Creases and wrinkles in her skin followed the movements like waves; "Tribune, Sir, I believe we are_ finally_, ready."

"Yes." He wasn't sure what else to say. Right now, Dhevsa was doing a better job than him of keeping her colleague in check, which was really all he dared to ask. Taking a deep, calming breath of his own, he tightened his grip around the rim of his helmet and approached the doors leading to the Tevinter Embassy. Guards were in place, their uniform and heraldry decidedly not of the Anderfels. It was darker, and with more edges than the Anders soldiers he'd seen so far; "You may inform the Ambassador that the Imperial delegates have arrived, as per his invitation."

Had their conversation been carried in Imperial Common, Veruin did not like to imagine how much they would have overheard. The remaining guard whisked them inside, into an opulent lounge, where he then left them. The room was grand, with walls of polished marble and granite, furniture of dark wood and a central fountain flowing with clear, cold water. In spite of himself, Veruin could not quite help feeling slightly impressed. Clearly, these were people intend on displaying their wealth from the very first impression. Still…

To be left unsupervised, these Tevinters were either overtly trusting or overtly confident. The Tribune knew not which, though he suspected it was the latter, since Tevinter's foreign relations with their neighbors did not speak well of their capacity for trust. Dhevsa cleared her throat;

"Remember, this is all first impressions. Should we manage to perform well enough, there will be no losers. Peaceful relations _must_ be our first priority." Weathered eyes shifted to look at Veruin; "Tribune, with your permission I would like to take the lead in this meeting."

Veruin merely waved his free hand at her; "You're the diplomats here. Take charge at your leisure."

"Yes, yes…" Murzob sighed; "Lead on, Dhevsa. I will keep my silence."

"Much appreciated." Dhevsa nodded, straightened her own robes. Far more intricately decorated than her colleagues, the finely woven fabrics did well to display the culture of Hammerfell, at least as much as a single piece of clothing could. All she truly needed for it to have been complete was the head-garment Redguards often wore, but for this meeting her hair was instead done up in countless braids; "Let us not keep our host waiting, then."

By some odd turn of coincidences, that was when the doors were opened towards the main hall.

Veruin steeled himself, prepared to face down a man whose culture was centered around the enslavement of others, and who quite possibly had in his possession rightful citizens of the Empire, kept as slaves. Images of men in dark robes, jagged edges and sinister grins played across his mind, most of it admittedly borne from the way the guards were dressed. He prepared himself to maintain his composure in the face of men who valued life as much as a chair, or a piece of furniture.

"_Wow!_"

Yellow eyes, decidedly feline in nature. Skin as brown as Dhevsa's, ears like a Bosmer and just the tip of fangs protruding from inside a mouth set in a gape of surprise. Hair only a few shades darker than her skin, flowing from a head that just barely reached his abdomen.

"You're _big…_" a cat-like tail waved around the back, visibly excited; "Oh! You're here to see my grandfather, aren't you? I'm supposed to show you in, come on!"

Veruin was, at this moment, fairly certain his heart was finally going to give up on him. What he was seeing here…This girl, this little girl was…there was no doubt; she was an Ohmes-Raht, but… not feline enough again. She had the ears, the tail, the eyes and the complexion, but…

"Tribune, I believe we should follow her." Dhevsa's hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him from his reverie; "It would not be polite not to."

"You…you saw what…she's…"

"Definitely a crossbreed." Murzob's gravelly voice interjected, his tone more confused and curious than affronted; "One part's clearly Ohmes, maybe Ohmes-Raht, but the other…Human father? The Ambassador and a concubine?"

"She didn't seem like the child of one, even one as highly placed as a concubine." The Redguard countered, her face set in a frown as her feet carried her first into the main hall; "I've nursed a theory that maybe we're dealing with an exception to the rule, but…let us see for ourselves first."

Within, Veruin and the delegates found themselves in a splendid chamber. Its center was taken up mostly by a large table, with a thick rug covering the floor underneath it. A fireplace large enough to heat the room was burning brightly, casting an almost cozy light over the room.

Across from them, through the door the little girl had disappeared through, a man now appeared. Older than he'd thought the ambassador would be, he was nonetheless worthy of the image of ambassador to his people. Dark robes covered him from neck to his feet, obscuring everything bar hands and head. A grey beard, neatly kept short and kempt marking his age, there was still a very clear intelligence to be found in his eyes, each an almost clouded grey.

It was only when he saw the cane the ambassador used that Veruin realized, with a start, that the man was clearly blind. The girl they had been greeted by walked at his side, one of her hands in his. The Tribune was doing his best to maintain composure, but already he felt as if every plan they had laid for this meeting had been rendered useless - they'd expected a slaver, after all.

"Ah, the guests have arrived. Shireen, would you be a dear and show them to their seats?"

"Of course." The girl - Shireen - skipped a step, then seemed to stop herself and settled into what Veruin could only assume was an attempt at dignified walking, pulling out a chair on each side of the table; "Ambassador Dhevsa, Ambassador Murzob, Tribune Kratorius, if you would please be seated?"

"...of course." The Orc muttered, cautiously lowering himself to the chair. Veruin and Dhevsa did the same, neither taking their eyes off the girl for even a moment. The Ambassador managed to seat himself, leaning his cane against the table as he settled in.

"_Ah_...Thank you, Shireen." The old man sighed as his granddaughter stopped at his side once more; "If you would tell the servants to start bringing out the food, I think we can let you run along after that."

"Yep." Shireen was nearly at the door again when she stopped, turning towards the table in a courteous curtsy; "It was an honor to make your acquaintances, Imperials. I hope I'll see you again so you can tell me of your homeland."

"...it...would be our pleasure, of course." Dhevsa coughed, evidently torn on how exactly to handle this turn of events. Veruin was simply glad he was not the one taking the lead today, as his mind was still too boggled to compose a coherent response. When Shireen nodded and left the room with striding steps, the Redguard finally seemed to snap from her reverie, and turned to the oddly smiling Tevinter; "She...your granddaughter is a...very well-mannered girl, Ambassador...?"

"Alexios, Alexios Komnenos." Alexios - a name Veruin would not have been surprised to find in Cyrodiil - nodded, his eyes unfocused at some point between the Orc and the Redguard; "Yes, Shireen is the jewel of my existence, in this dark, cold place. Her parents, bless them, sent her to my care before their deaths."

"She...did not appear overtly traumatized, if you would forgive me."

"She never knew them." Alexios mused; "My son and daughter-in-law were...caught up in events a decade back, when she was not even a year old. I am aware that you might recognize that she is, not, a human, nor an elf."

"Hardly a difficult observation." Murzob noted, resting his trunk-like arms on the table; "She's an Ohmes-Raht, one of the people of Tamriel."

"Ah, that she is. Or, at least her mother was." Alexios smiled. The doors opened, and four servants, all Khajiit, carried trays of food into the hall, placing steaming meats and vegetables, sauces and wine on the table. The Imperials were left in renewed silence, which lasted until the last of the servants had once again left the room; "I was not aware that was the name of their kind, but yes, her ancestors are from your lands."

"She's not the only Ohmes-Raht here, I see." The Orc continued; "How did you come to acquire servants from Tamriel?"

"In much the same way as any other in the Imperium." Alexios smiled, gingerly but surely picking up his utensils; "I bought them, of course. The same with Shireen's mother, fifteen years back. Back then I could still see, of course...Though I'm very much aware that you disapprove, you might find it interesting that I freed and employed every slave I bought, the day I bought them."

"...I'm sorry, but...why?" Dhevsa asked what Veruin wanted to, only his throat was sealed up; "Why would you do that?"

"...I could tell you that I've been opposed to slavery throughout my life, but that would not strictly speaking be the truth." The smile faded from his expression; "T'was my son, Alexandros. He'd grown up with caretakers who were slaves, caretakers he grew to love as extended family. When he grew older, and understood what slavery meant, and that only Tevinter does it, he...argued."

"Your son was a reformer, then?" the Redguard stated more than asked; "These...events you spoke of...?"

"Do they make all delegates in your country as sharp as you, Serah?" Alexios glanced in Dhevsa's general direction with something approaching a wry grimace.

"Just the good ones, Ambassador."

"...Alexandros made me see the, I suppose you would call it the 'error of my ways'..." Alexios muttered, cutting into a steaming potato; "I'm not aware of how Shireen's kind came to be in Thedas, but I realized that their...servitude, was not one I could abide by. Most of the staff here, at the embassy, are of her kind, free, of course. I've counted myself cursed to be sent so far away from home, until now."

"Meaning?"

"I'm not blind, ambassador...Well, I _am_, but... What I mean is that I know Tevinter is no longer the power it once was. You'll come to realize the same, soon...soon enough." The old man coughed, putting down his fork and knife to cup his mouth; "For the first time in my life, I might actually be able to do some good, for more than just those immediately around me. Tevinter needs friends, if we are to survive. It's as simple as that, and many know this, just not enough yet..."

"You suggest cooperation with those who enslaved our people?" Murzob inquired dryly; "Hardly the most likely to happen."

"What I am suggesting, Ambassador...is that matters are resolved, somehow. In a way that benefits both our people. I will help you, as best I can, to get as many of your people out of Tevinter as possible. In return, all I ask is that you do not harbor thoughts of vengeance towards the Imperium...It can be corrupt, and decadent, and often allows what most would consider outright atrocities, but...if we are allowed to survive, with your help...I believe it can change, that, we, can change."

"How long have the Khajiit been in Thedas?" Veruin asked.

"For at least a century. They started appearing on the slave-markets after the moonless nights." Alexios explained, reaching for a goblet of wine. Even though blinded, he still grasped it as if he could see.

"The Moonless...Are you speaking of the Void Nights?" Dhevsa nearly stood in her chair, eyes wide.

"Is that what you called it?" the Tevinter ambassador muttered; "Personally I would rather people called it for what it is; Blood magic, a travesty... But no, the disappearance of the moons were by far more interesting than the emptying of Solas' alienage..."

"Why was the 'alienage' of Solas emptied?" Veruin found himself asking. He also found himself leaning forward in his chair, his food untouched; "And you speak of 'Blood magic'?"

"Is your Empire truly so innocent, to know nothing of the depravities magic will allow?" Alexios scoffed; "The alienage was drained of life to fulfill an experiment, likely something to do with the moons. I was but a child, back then...the events have become shrouded in shadows since."

"So...lives spent to fuel spells?" Dhevsa muttered, fingers curled before her lips. Old, hard eyes seemed deep in thought; "It is not a concept unknown to the Empire, but...I must admit I never thought of its use on such a scale. Are you saying the Khajiit started appearing here in Thedas _after_ the moons vanished, or after they reappeared?"

"Before they reappeared."

"You don't think..." Murzob turned in his chair, as did Veruin, both to regard the woman. The Orc's expression was set in something akin to muted horror, which the Tribune understood well enough; if a single spell could blot out the moons, even to the point of making them vanish, it spoke of either a disturbing disregard for the cost, or it meant whomever had cast it was powerful enough to take so many lives without having to fear the consequences.

"We never did confirm whether the Dominion was actually behind it." Dhevsa spoke, sounding uncertain; "Only that they claimed to have ended it. You are certain their disappearance was caused by the mages of your people?"

"It was greatly celebrated, back then, so yes." Alexios slowly nodded; "What are you asking, Ambassador?"

"Nothing, at least not quite yet...It is merely an internal dispute." The Redguard sighed; "I would greatly appreciate if I do not have to reveal it."

"Naturally, naturally, we all have our secrets to keep." The Tevinter did not seem bothered, nor did he sound disappointed; "I would, however, still like to remind you that if your Empire plans on becoming a player in Thedas, you will need friends. Tevinter might be corrupt and decadent, but...we stay true to alliances, particularly because so few are willing to tie them with us. Help Tevinter, and Tevinter will help you."

"Your suggestion is noted, Ambassador Alexios, and will be brought to the Emperor."

The old man smiled;

"That is all I ask, for now."

* * *

**Shireen was brought to you by a combination of coffee, too much sugar, spices and all sweet things.**

**As always, leave your thoughts, smiles, frowns and brain-farts at the door ;)**

**Oh, and I've started publishing the refurbished chapters on Ptreon, for free. They'll be published there until the story's done, so if you can't wait for them to come here, that's where you'll wanna go :)**


	74. Into the Slums

**A/N: So, out with another, quite short chapter...Yes, I know there's something of a space inbetween the updates, but honestly this is the best I can do. Sorry, but...yeah. Uni is a pain right now, so this is what I can do if I want another chapter out before the end of October..**

**Well, at least we're advancing the plot. That's always good, right?**

**...right?**

* * *

**Into the Slums**

* * *

Brelyna Maryon had never really had quite the knack for potions as Talia.

While in itself this was rarely a problem, since usually aforementioned Breton was around more often than not, right now it meant she had to rely on other to do half of her work. Caring for Queen Anora - and wasn't that in itself a concept of extreme novelty? - included having to have the right potions at the ready for whenever the frail and bedridden woman had to be fed medicine.

And this, in turn, meant she had to rely on Jowan to help her.

Now, she didn't mind Jowan at all. She knew he was a Blood mage, or, at least that he used to be, but even still, she quite liked the apostate-turned-Warden. It was more...ever since his mistakes in Redcliffe, he had been somewhat uncomfortable around victims of what was clearly blood-related magic, which meant every time he entered the room, he could barely _look_ at the unconscious woman.

"Just...hand me the bottle." She sighed, taking the solution of Elfroot and balms from him. Jowan merely obliged her, wordlessly releasing his work into her care. His entire demeanor was best described as 'a wreck', right now, and he was actually negatively impacting her own efficiency.

He seemed to sense her mood, and left in a hurry. That, or maybe it was just that he couldn't stand looking at what was quite possibly the result of blood-magic.

Why, she'd asked herself more than once, did Rhea and Talia both have more important things to do right now? She didn't even know _what_ could be more important than ensuring the survival of the current Fereldan monarch, but of course, no one ever told _her_ anything.

No, she realized, it wasn't because they didn't tell her anything. It was because they knew she had...well, issues. She knew it too, which, in hindsight, should not have allowed her in the role of caring for others. Brelyna was...well, she had heard some of the other students once refer to her as 'that sociopathic, freak elf', but...that wasn't really true.

Brelyna wasn't a sociopath.

Far from it, in fact. She just always felt far, far too strongly about things. At times, Talia had joked that she only had three 'mental settings', as she'd called it. There was 'happiness', 'sorrow' and 'apathy'. It was overly simplified, of course, and not really right either, but it did somewhat manage to hit the nail on the head of her problems.

A great, or rather not, example, was that she _liked_ killing people.

But, she didn't like killing _innocent_ people, of course. It was part of her problem, that she only had those three mental settings Talia had described. Fighting was the absolute opposite of studying in the safety and warmth of libraries and dormitories. And, maybe because of that, the act of fighting for her life, of injuring, maiming and even killing, was beyond merely _exciting_ to her.

She knew it wasn't a healthy mindset.

But she also knew it could be _a lot_ worse. She could take pleasure in killing actually innocent people, and maybe then she'd have struck back against the desperate people in Lothering. She'd had the urge, back then, to at least hurt them. She'd had the urges, but she'd repressed them, because even though she didn't have a healthy mindset, she was _not_ a slave to it.

Still, her mentality was not one you would rationally put in charge of overseeing a Queen's recovery.

At the side of the bed, an apparatus had been placed. Brelyna wasn't entirely familiar with its origins, but understood its functions well enough to be allowed its handling. Tubes of cleaned intestines, brass containers and heaters allowed for the transfusion of blood. It meant they could feed the Queen sustenance without even opening her mouth.

It was not the first time she had been impressed by the medicinal advances of the Bretoni society. Most likely, it also would not be the last.

"...at least it's not a tongue this time..." she muttered, introducing the solution to the blood. The poultice was without color, and simply vanished into the thin stream of blood. She watched the clear container with little beyond academic interest. She'd been doing this most of the last two days, and eventually even the excitement of these intrigues lost their novelty; "...and at least I've got some reading material."

She'd picked up Talia's book, the 'Aspect of Fire', from the girl's room. Right now, Talia wasn't using it - and with some reluctance, Brelyna could admit to being somewhat jealous of her friend's newfound powers - which meant Brelyna could pour over it without feeling like she was depriving the Breton of important studying.

Flickering a Candlelight-spell into existence above her, she settled into the chair by the bed, propped herself into a more comfortable position, and started going over the pages she'd already read. Already she had been over the chapters that had inspired Talia into improving Two-Sock's capabilities. The Familiar had dissipated some hours earlier, leaving the Dunmer with little companionship but the comatose queen.

It was hardly the most exciting of tasks, really. There was a groan at her side, from the queen. Brelyna glanced at her patient, seeing the only change in the woman's appearance to be a more strained expression, something which she could chalk up to the often ill-explained dreams of the comatose. It was a strange state, one which-

"..._too much."_

Brelyna's heart did a skip at the voice. Slapping her book shut, she stood from the chair and turned her full attention towards the prone woman on the bed, now clearly no longer unconscious. Queen Anora's eyes were squinted, straining against what the Dunmer realized to be the light from her Candlelight. It was promptly snuffed.

"_Thank you."_

The Queen's voice was a mere rasp, if even at that. Understandable, seeing as she'd been unconscious and drained of more blood than a human being was supposed to be put through. Even now, with the transfusions and injections Brelyna - and Rhea - had carried out on her, as well as the healing sessions, there was still a ways to go before they could allow the monarch to rise from the bed.

Brelyna needed a moment to actually come up with something to say.

"_You're...I recognize you."_

"Ah, I...No, that wasn't me." She put away the book and adjusted her chair to better face the monarch, pulling down her hood as she did so. In this way, Queen Anora would see that she was concealing nothing, which would hopefully go some ways towards aiding her psychological recovery; "Allow me to introduce myself, your Highness. I am Brelyna Maryon, Dunmeri mage and companion to the Grey Wardens. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

"_You are...not human either?_"

"Ah, no...Dunmeri means I am an Elf, though unlike the kind you would know in T- Ferelden. Also, I am not sick, or otherwise impeded, in case my appearance should suggest it." While speaking, Brelyna examined the prone queen, hands aglow with restorative energies; "I have been attending your needs and health since Lady Rhea brought you here. She is the one who saved you."

"_You_...You're a healer?" the queen's voice improved a little, proportional with the infused blood returning to her body. Brelyna thanked her aptness at multitasking that she could keep track of both; "Where am I?"

"Arl Eamon's Estate, your Highness."

"Arl Eamon?" Anora's eyes widened just a little; "...but, I heard he had died?"

"It's...complicated, I fear. He is here, now, however, leading the call for a Landsmeet to decide on how to deal with the encroaching Blight." Brelyna made sure to keep her voice slow and even, leaving nothing that could get the monarch unnecessarily agitated. Right now, even if the woman was awake and conscious, she still needed rest; "Ideally it will also bring an end to the conflict of interests between us, and your father, Teyrn Loghain."

"My...father, yes..." the queen's eyes averted; "I am not sure if I can call him such, not anymore. Could you, had your father first brought about the death of your husband, then allowed..._this_, to occur?"

Brelyna wasn't quite sure what to say to that. Frankly, her relationship with her own parents made Talia's seem _normal_. Where her friend had a family she _could_ return to, if she so desired, Brelyna did not. Winterhold had become her home, not her home-away-from-home. The closest family she wanted around was, really, Talia and her mother.

There was a multitude of reasons why Brelyna did not particularly miss what could be - at best - called 'home'. Chief among them was how cold it had been, always. House Telvani was not a kind one, although to the outside world they appeared like any other noble house. Too much focus and emphasis was placed on power, its acquiring and how to further the social and societal position of the House. So much emphasis, in fact, that the individual was often reduced to the point of being a mere tool for the acquiring of power. Kindness, familial love, tenderness...she had never truly experienced any of it, and knew that, at some level, it had been part of why she was not..._sane_, she bit down. Down on the notion that she could blame anyone but herself for this, her mental abnormality...

All the more reason why she loved Talia like a sister, and revered her mother in ways she never had her own. Lady Rhea was just as, if not more powerful than any one member of House Telvani, yet she also on a daily basis demonstrated equal capacity for kindness, love and compassion. Both knew the troubles Brelyna suffered, if to different degrees, and yet there was not a hint of hesitation in their acceptance of her.

She knew, on a completely objective basis, that she was probably exaggerating the kindness they had showed her, the closeness, but...on a subjective basis, well...she didn't give a shit. Whether or not she was exaggerating their acceptance of her, it was still leagues beyond what her _blood_ had ever done for her, and as such, she took what she could get.

That too, most likely, wasn't a sign of a healthy mind either...

"Perhaps not, no." she answered instead. A tense silence seemed to take the room, with the Dunmer uncertain of how to proceed from here. She didn't dare leave the Queen right now, not even for a moment, should a relapse occur. Neither could she afford to simply sit by and wait for someone to come by.

Closing her fist briefly, she summoned up just enough magicka for a small, inconspicuous sphere of light to appear when the fist uncurled. It was a small messenger, bearing with it her thoughts. Knowing Anora was watching, she sent it off with a gentle blow of air, waiting for it to seep through the wall before turning back to her patient.

"I have sent word to the others that you are awake." She explained when the queen's eyes remained wide; "Before they - and the Arl - arrive, is there anything I can tell you? A question you might want answered?"

"I...I will admit to some curiosity about you, Serah...Marion?" it was hardly unexpected, really. Brelyna had been prepared for such questions, since basically she would have asked the exact same thing, had a person of previously unknown ethnicity appeared before her, with magic she might not recognize.

Really though, this would have been a lot less complicated if Talia had been here.

* * *

"So..._this_ is your plan?"

Talia knew she sometimes held expectations that were, well, _high_. It all stemmed from her upbringing, she supposed, but still, she had actually expected Daveth to have something remotely resembling a plan. She knew she wasn't one to talk - she'd never actually planned an infiltration of a secured compound before - but still, this was...this wasn't going to work.

"Relax, eh? Cullen's gonna have a chat'n we'll be let in, no problems." The archer grinned. For reasons she neither knew nor wanted to know, he had been able to get his hands on the uniforms of a pair of Templar initiates. Cullen, as well, had been none too amused by the fact that Daveth had procured the disguises without much difficulty, and had yet to reveal where from; "We're not even gonna have to sneak in at all, it's all official and shite."

"Cullen, please say something." Talia turned to the Templar. And really, she found herself appreciating the presence of a _Templar_, of all people,_ because_ of him being a Templar. If that wasn't wrong in all sorts of ways, she didn't know what else was; "As in, please say something that'll make me think this isn't going to go horribly, horribly wrong."

"We're not _sneaking in_, because I'm actually assisting the Chantry." Cullen replied with unusual dryness. His helmet donned, he could have passed for just about anyone, including either gender. Templar armor didn't compensate for tits, apparently. Talia found that both odd and genuinely amusing at the same time. Ser Ava, wherever she was, must be using some _tight_ bindings; "One of their Templars entered the Alienage almost a week ago, and they haven't heard from him since. I'll be trying to find him, while the two of you...remind me, why are we even going in together? You still haven't told me _why_ you want to get into the Alienage."

"Top secret, mate." Daveth's grin was too genuine to actually _be_ genuine. Talia knew she could tell, only because she knew what they were headed into. A reunion that was unlikely to be anything but unpleasant, at best. The last time Daveth had been here, he'd pretty much been banished. Self-imposed exile, she recalled, but still thrown out all the same; "But don't worry, we'll try not breaking any laws, eh?"

"...sometimes I really wonder if I ever actually escaped the demons, of if this is all some drawn-out session of torture..." Cullen grumbled, shaking his head. The weight of the helmet clearly added a bit more momentum to the motion; "Just...stay quiet, and let me do the talking. Of the three of us, _I'm_ actually supposed to be wearing this."

"Right, right, won't be sayin' a peep." Daveth emphasized his words with a finger going along his lips, like he was sewing the shut. She'd seen that done, once, to a convict. She'd never found out what he'd _done_, though...Still, she didn't bother dwelling on something like that now. Cullen was already approaching the guards stationed at the bridge that lead to the Alienage, and she and Daveth had to do their best to look like they were really just a bored pair of initiates.

Gods, she hated robes.

"Alienage's closed, Ser Templar." The first guard stated indifferently, eying the three of them. His expression didn't change one bit from boredom, so she guessed the uniforms worked; "State your business."

"I am Knight-Templar Cullen, of the Kinloch Hold Circle of Magi, lending temporary assistance to the Denerim Chantry." He even had a little notice from the chantry in mention. Talia had to give him point for being a stickler for the rules, yet somehow still being _smart_ about it; "You'll see here that the Revered Mother Perpetua has asked for my assistance in establishing contact with Ser Otto, who is currently within the Alienage."

"'nother one of you lot, eh?" the guard grumbled, glancing at Talia and Daveth; "And those two, what about 'em? Don't need pot-headed youngsters stirring up more shit in there, 'nough of that with the knife-ears."

"Initiates require field-work." Cullen answered smoothly; "Finding a wayward Templar is safe enough for untested minds."

"Right, right...Right, well, it all looks well'n good, I guess..." the guard yawned, shaking his head before turning to his fellow; "Aye, Jonas, open the portcullis."

Talia exchanged a single glance with her fellow Warden, finding him appearing as if this was exactly what he had expected to happen. Honestly, she was still waiting for someone to call their bluff, and swords to be drawn. She didn't have her glaive, and Daveth didn't even have his bow. Their only armaments consisted of a mace, much like the Vigilants of Stendarr, actually.

The similarity was not lost on her.

Beyond the portcullis, a narrow bridge stretched across what had apparently once been a proper canal, yet now it was nothing but a thin stream of dirty water, trickling by down below. Talia wasn't sure if she was more surprised or somewhat disgusted to see hovels down there, barely the size of the table they ate at in the Estate, with children - _elven_ children - splashing around in the muck.

"First time you've been to a slum?" Daveth's quiet voice reached her, but she doubted Cullen heard it. When she looked up at her companion, the archer's expression had grown a great deal more sullen and somber; "Feels like there used to be...more people here."

"Evermore does have a slum, but..." she'd never really made an effort to see it. After all, why should she? Aveel was the one supposed to take over the seat, not her. There was no reason for her to delve into the poverty-stricken areas of the city. At least, not when she'd been younger. Back then she hadn't seen the point. There still wasn't one, from a practical point of view, but she understood now, understood that there was a need to understand all facets of life, even if some of them were less-than reputable. And reeked.

"Stench's just from the stream, it'll get better once we're in deeper."

"You feeling at home yet or what?" she grunted, pinching her nose shut. Gods, this was _not_ a good time to have the sense of smell of a magical reptile. As if Grey Warden senses weren't evolved enough, Hakkon's blood-bond only made it worse. _No wonder I'm not seeing any dogs here._

"...a bit."

"Alright, this is where we...what the..." Cullen stopped dead in his tracks, and Talia had to kick her feet into the dirt to avoid colliding with the heavier frame. Daveth had stopped too, and Talia stepped around the Templar to see what they'd found - and what could at the same time be the source of what sounded like agitated conversations.

They stood at the entrance to a plaza, albeit a smaller one than that of the market. And, instead of tents and stands, this one was dominated by a towering, thick and all throughout _massive_ tree. From root to the first branch, the bark was decorated with white markings that seemed to swirl and curl and twist in intricate patterns of red and white. Further up, _much_ further up, the tree spread its branches out in a canopy of green, leaving the ground underneath it utterly devoid of snow.

"The Vhenadahl..." Daveth muttered, having seen her expression no doubt; "Talia, look over there."

Following his finger, she noticed that the large crowd of elves gathered beneath the tree was not, in fact, focused on the tree, but rather on...a small group of very oddly dressed individuals. What they wore, it looked like some bastardized merge of Merrill's Dalish clothes, and the robes Cíada walked around in.

"Tevinter." Cullen noted, his voice dry and hard; "What the hell are _Tevinter_ doing here, in Denerim?"

"Is this bad?" Talia asked, looking at the Templar. It was Daveth, however, who spoke first;

"Tevinter _never_ show up for a good reason. They're mages too..." he looked at Cullen; "The fuck do we do? They spot us, you'n particular, and things could turn bad."

"We stay back." Cullen muttered; "We stay back, and we observe."

"I don't like this."

"Neither do I, Daveth..." the Templar sighed; "I was not expecting to see Tevinters here."

The elves were dissatisfied, that much was clear. There was shouting, cursing and clenched fists. It was odd, how when there were only elves in the crowd you really could not tell that they were in fact only the height of children. Or, well, adolescents.

"Oh, you're _helping _us, are you shem? Like Valendrian and my uncle Cyrion, you helped them, didn't you? Helped them never to be seen again!" a top of red was just visible in the crowd of brown and black hair, yet Talia felt like the _appearance_ wasn't the first thing to have startled Daveth. The rogue was stiff as a board, his eyes wider than she'd seen them in weeks. _Didn't he say...?_

"We've explained this to you before, girl. More whining will not persuade us to let you into the quarantine to carry plague back out into the Alienage." The Tevinter mage - and he had to be a mage, in those outlandish robes - groaned with clear exasperation.

A plague, then? There was a plague in the Alienage? Was that why these people were here, elves and Tevinter both? Talia couldn't make heads or tails of it, not like this. Daveth, on the other hand, seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

"Should we have brought potions?" she whispered, mainly to Cullen. The Templar opened a small satchel he bore on his waist, revealing a neat group of small, brightly colored flasks. She recognized them as potions of 'Cure Disease', a fairly common treatment against most diseases and ailments. It wasn't her work, so one of the others had to have been busying themselves with potioneering; "Neat. Where'd you get those?"

"Your mother had them prepared." His short reply was hardly as informative as she'd have liked; "I think we should...wait, where's Daveth?"

What? Snapping about, Talia realized that yes, Daveth was gone. How, exactly he had managed to vanish, she had no idea. Right now, all she could do was stare at the ground he had occupied, and try to come up with a way to deal with their rogue going...well, _rogue_.

"_...fucking fantastic_."

"Maker's Mercy..." Cullen sighed; "Alright, you find him, I'll find Ser Otto and we'll reconvene here. Hopefully..."

"Hey, _I _wasn't the one who thought just walking in dressed as Templars was a _good_ idea." Talia chewed out, rubbing the bridge of her nose; "Right, right...I'll find him, you go find your Templar buddy. Try not to get shanked, okay?"

"You really have so little trust in me?" there was honest annoyance in his voice, something she knew she kinda had coming. Objectively, she knew she hadn't been the...well, nicest of people towards him. He didn't deserve that. Still, stubbornness - and some probably stupid sense of pride - kept her from outright apologizing.

"Sure I do, but this is a slum, Cullen, not a battlefield." She gave him a light pat on the pauldron; "If you're not careful you'll get shanked for your satchel. Knives have a tendency of getting through where swords won't, so..." maces had never really been her style anyway. Far too heavy and too little range in return; "It's dangerous to go alone, take this."

"You won't need it?" Cullen hesitantly accepted the weapon; "I understand you're not comfortable with weapons other than your staff, but do you think it's wise to go unarmed?"

"I'm a mage, Cullen." She let a small kindling dance in the palm of her hand; "I'm never unarmed. Besides, a mace would just make me stand out...well,_ more_ than I already do, in these clothes."

"Alright, just be careful. There's no telling what those Tevinter are doing here."

"Well." Talia started off down the first, the best path, taking care to head _away_ from the crowd. Oddly enough, she could no longer spot the crop of red in it. Strange, it had been such a contrasting color, compared to the rest; "That's what we're gonna have to find out, isn't it?"


	75. Where did all the Orphans go?

**I'll be honest...I too far too much pleasure in this chapter to probably be considered morally sane. Then again, after Kinloch that should really be a given...**

* * *

**Where did the Orphans go?**

* * *

"_Daveth?!"_ Talia whispered harshly, leaning around corners. So shoddy was the construction that merely her weight was enough to make the wooden supports creak; "_Daveth, where the _fuck_ did you go?"_

Right now, Talia wasn't in the best of moods. Cullen was off looking for his Templar friend, and now _she_ had to find_ her_ friend. Daveth disappearing right now was not the best timing ever, really. Clearly, seeing those Tevinter mages, and the crowd, had done something to upset him. She wasn't entirely sure _what_ it was yet, since she only had passing knowledge of Tevinters herself.

She knew they were supposed to at the very least be fine with the use of Blood Magic - and that alone caused some red flags to go up. She'd _seen_ what that shit could do to people in Kinloch - as well as the fact that they practiced slavery. That last one was, perhaps contrary to common morality, what rubbed her the hardest the wrong way. Slavery, no matter how _benign_, was utterly, fucking repulsive.

Was that why Daveth had up and vanished? Did he think the Tevinters were here to enslave his family? Family, and not friends, since she was pretty sure anyone threatening to cut _her_ throat would not really remain on the somewhat short list of people she called friends. Still, if so, it was a valid concern. The redhead in the crowd_ had _been complaining that those they had taken into quarantine hadn't come back out again, but...well, wasn't that kinda what a quarantine was meant for?

Talia wasn't stupid, never had been. But, she'd been guilty of prejudice more than once, and wanted to make sure she wasn't fucking something up by being prejudiced here, again.

"_Daveth_!" once again, there was no answer. All she found was dirty cobblestone and woodwork where rot and dampness had done much to damage the buildings. A soft squelch alerted her to something underneath the sole of her boot. Lifting the foot, she grimaced; "Gods _damn it_, I am _not_ in the mood for this shit."

There was, of course, the option of simply going along with...well, whatever their plan was supposed to be, and then just letting Daveth catch up. Still, she wanted to make sure her comrade hadn't been mugged while no one was looking. She _was_ pretty sure she'd have heard it if someone had shanked him close by, but at the same time, neither she nor Cullen had even noticed him vanishing.

"_-_see _you_ again too."

There was no mistaking thát voice, or the way it was so clearly thick with suaveness. If that was even a word, which right now, was not Talia's highest priority. Instead, around the next corner was when she finally found their wayward archer. Daveth was...well, if it hadn't been for the smile on his face, she'd said it looked like he was being mugged.

"What are you even _doing_ here, Daveth?" the redhead demanded. She didn't seem to have noticed Talia yet; "You got any idea what would happen if the others saw you? Soris's gone and everyone says it's because _you_ pissed off the Shem."

"Damn, Daveth, if this is the family you _wanted_ to meet, then I don't want to see what'd happen with the others." Talia sighed, stepping out from the shadows. The elf's eyes were immediately on her, a sharp glare and a watchful posture; "So, could you maybe not kill my companion? I sort of need him alive, or at least with both hands."

"Who're you?" the elf didn't even wait for Talia to stop before speaking up, one hand going to the knife on her belt; "Haven't seen you here before, you one of those shems talking big about saving us sorry little knife-ears?"

"First of, I'm a half-elf, so kindly stuff those slurs where the sun doesn't shine." Talia stopped a few feet away from the agitated girl; "Second, I'm a Grey Warden, so no, I'm not with those mages talking about a quarantine. Third..." she extended a hand; "Talia Aulus, nice to meet some of Daveth's family."

"You..." the girl stared at her, then at Daveth, then back at her, then back at Daveth. Slowly, the already angered expression on her face grew in intensity; "You...you joined the Grey Wardens? Daveth, of all the idiotic, suicidal, moronic..._What_, in Andraste's name, made you think _that_ was in any way a _good_ idea?"

"Hey, to my defense I didn't really have much choice, okay?" Daveth replied, holding up his hands in defense. Right now, like this, it wasn't hard to believe those two were related. Or, at least that they had grown up together, since the physical resemblance couldn't be more vague. Daveth, with his scruffy black beard and round ears, looked _nothing_ like an elf; "Dunno if you missed that detail, but compared to living on the streets, the Alienage's a bleeding paradise. Grey Wardens at least don't have to steal to make it, you know?"

"Because you_ die_ from being a Warden!"

"'Ey, I'm still alive."

"Yes, though I doubt that is your own achievement." The girl sighed, turning a flat eye towards Talia; "So, you're a Warden too, then? Talia, was it? I'm guessing you're the one responsible for my absolute _moron_ of a cousin still being alive, then?"

"You're cousins? That makes you..." right, what was the name again? She was pretty sure he'd mentioned it more than once, since their talk in the forge; "Shin? Anna? Shi...Shianni?"

"That's me." The elf- Shianni - nodded, relaxing her stance a little. She still seemed wary, though, but at least her hand left the handle of her knife, so Talia considered that progress; "So, you're not with the mages out there? Then why are you here, both of you?"

"This is Daveth's business, I'm just here to make sure he's not shanked."

"Daveth?" Shianni turned back towards the archer, giving him a cautious look; "Why did you come back? You have to understand the others don't want you here."

"Came to find Nesiara, Shianni." His words could as well have been set in stone, for all that they wavered. Daveth's eyes took on a gleam of calm and collectiveness, something Talia took note of; "I know she's not here anymore, but someone's gotta know where she is, and I need to know."

"Nes- Ah...Oh Daveth, you absolute _idiot_..." Shianni's curled hand unclenched and slapped his forehead. Not softly, but neither did it seem hard enough to actually do more than irritate; "Of course you'd come back here for her. Not like anyone else seemed to give a shit about you afterwards, so I don't..._fuck_, I don't even blame you. How _messed_ up is that even?"

"Pretty messed up." Talia interjected, stepping forward; "Look, we're on a bit of a deadline here. We're looking for a lost Templar, someone named Otto? He's been missing since...a long time, basically. You know where he is?"

"Templar?" Shianni frowned; "There's not been any...wait, there...there might have been one, someone named Otto too, but..." the elf shook her head, as if dismissing herself; "That was a month back, no way he's still here."

"What was he doing here, this someone _not_ Templar?" Talia inquired, shifting her feet; "It's important that we find him."

"...Why?" Shianni's question was, to her credit, honestly spoken. Still, it gave Talia some pause, because she personally could not think of any objective reasons why it was important that they found Cullen's colleague, other than the fact that it they had agreed to do it, in order to get Cullen's help in sneaking in.

"Honestly it's a favor to one of our friends, it's how we got in here in the first place." And, whether she wanted to admit it or not, Cullen had earned that term. She still wasn't going to tell him just how deep her connection with Hakkon went, and actually preferred that he knew as little as possible about the whole damn thing, but...he could be trusted. It was irony, if nothing else, that she thought like that of a Templar, but there it was; "Where's the last place he was seen?"

* * *

"So...this is the place?"

Talia was decidedly unimpressed. While the alienage itself was hardly something worth classifying as a 'pretty' place, this just about took it down a notch further. With a façade that seemed ready to fall apart, a door that was in the impossible interspace between rotten and dry as a twig, and a roof that had collapsed from the weight of the snow, the orphanage looked more like ruin than anything remotely ready for habitation.

Next to her, Daveth seemed to suffer from something of an aversion to the place.

"Isn't this where..."

"It is." Shianni cut him off. Talia frowned, looking at the two. Honestly, it was hard to see the resemblance, but at the same time they interacted with far too much familiarity for there to really be any doubt. The elf seemed to catch her stare, matching it with a sigh of her own; "Couple of years back, something or someone massacred everyone in the orphanage. We only heard the screams, and no one dared going near it. Nor have they ever since."

"So...wait, are you saying all the bodies are still in there?" Talia cupped her mouth, trying to block out the images. Bodies decomposed at different speeds, depending on the environmental conditions, she knew that. A place like this, with rats, bugs and more bacteria than could be accounted for with any kind of magic? Hopefully they would only be finding skeletons, but even still, she could feel a shiver running the length of her spine, and it wasn't from the cold winter air; "Arkay guide their souls."

"It's also the most likely place to find Ser Otto." Cullen muttered, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, and the way he stood, all betrayed the fact that there was an actual Templar in him. Alistair lacked the...she wasn't sure what quality it was that set them apart, but somehow she doubted the Princeling could have been tasked with this; "At the Chantry, they said his mission had been to investigate the possibility of a demon in the Alienage. It could be what's responsible for the massacre."

"Demons can't just...well, _enter_ the material world though, right?" Talia, right now, regretted the lack of a staff. Well, it wasn't like she couldn't defend herself without a staff, and her new abilities did afford her some extra competency in close quarters, but at the same time, she had found a changed hand unable to cast even the weakest of spells.

It would seem there was something of a tradeoff; one she had been unaware of.

"Not usually, no." Cullen replied; "Demons usually only cross through the veil if directly summoned, if there's been enough death in an area that the Veil is thinned, or if it can possess a mage. The last one is the most common cause, since it's not unheard of that people who discover magical abilities try to avoid being brought to the Tower."

"Which is something I completely agree with, especially considering how the Tower failed to keep its denizens safe anyway..." Talia might be agreeable to Cullen, but she would be hard-pressed to forget the atrocities she'd seen in Kinloch on her second visit. It still was in her dreams, sometimes; "That aside, Shianni, _were_ there anyone in the orphanage with hidden, magical abilities?"

"You're seriously asking me whether the Alienage covered up something like that?" the elf replied, a frown marring her expression; "With a Templar right there? How naïve are you?"

"You'd be surprised." Daveth grinned, though it did not take a people-person to see it was forced; "Tali's been through a lot of shit, Shianni, cut 'er some slack, she's not your run'o the mill Shem."

"Fine, fine...But no, as far as I know, no one in the orphanage had anything like magical powers or abilities." Shianni sighed, relenting some of the hostile air; "You'd had to ask someone who'd been inside around the time it happened."

"And, of course, anyone fitting _that_ description, is _still_ inside." Talia groaned, though more with being tired of the current situation than Shianni's words in particular; "Honestly, I'm starting to see why Daveth left. Even when friendly, you lot are grating on my nerves something fiercely."

"So it's not just me?" Cullen muttered, his words barely making it beyond the confines of his bucket; "Right then, if this is the last place Ser Otto was seen, then it speaks to logic that we at the very least investigate it. Should we find a demonic presence, allow me to handle it."

"Taking charge?" Talia mused, tilting her head at the taller Templar; "Well, it _is_ one of your comrades, if only by profession. Sure, go ahead."

"Yeah, ehm...I don't have to actually accompany you inside, do I?" Shianni's eyes wandered the decrepit façade; "I'm... not really all that keen on dead bodies, you know?"

"Relax, you don't have to come." Talia rolled her shoulders. Really, this uniform was a bit too restrictive for her likings, but the alternative was taking it off, something she was not exactly that keen on. At least, not until she got back to the bedchamber she shared with Aedan; "Besides, this is just an empty building, right? Even if there's a demon or two, we faced worse in Kinloch."

When Cullen made to open the door, he somehow seemed not to expect it to simply fall from its hinges. It dropped inwards onto the corpse of , leaving a tilted ramp for them to vault. Beyond it, little was visible.

"Right, here we go. Talia, I'd like you to call your Familiar up to help tracking down anything that might await us in there." Cullen stepped through the doorway, sword already drawn. Daveth followed, mace in hand. It was odd, seeing him armed with something other than daggers or his bow. She herself went in last, one hand already clenched to disband Two-Sock's current form from the Estate, and bring him back to the material world with them; "Right now, we need to keep calm, collected and confident."

"Are those the...ugh, those the three 'c's of being a Templar?" Talia asked as she stepped over the door where it had fallen, leaning over the halfway decayed corpse of a Mabari. She'd seen enough dead bodies by now that this didn't really get to her, but still, she was glad Aedan wasn't here with them; "Because right now I'd really rather we didn't make this some sort of actual initiation."

Inside, the orphanage was dark. Little light reached beyond the first room, and Talia had to cast a candlelight to see much more than the barest silhouettes of her companions. Almost as soon as she had set her feet within the first chamber, an oppressive atmosphere seemed to lower itself around them. She sensed it more than she felt it, like an invisible breath of cold fog, rising around them.

"Do you feel that?" Cullen muttered. The slight anxiety that always seemed to linger in his voice was gone, replaced with what she guessed was his attempt at overpowering it with raw determination and anger; "There's something in the-"

Behind them, the toppled door rose from where it had fallen, slamming itself shut and solid against the doorway. Talia had only just stepped over it, and felt the top of it push her forward as it went up. Whirling around on the spot, hands ablaze, there was nothing to see. Only the door, sealed shut.

"Okay, what the _fuck_ was that?!" she exclaimed, kicking at the door. Almost as if to mock her, the wooden obstruction did not even creak. Putting more force into it, she kicked again, only to hit what might as well have been solid rock; "Cullen!"

"This confirms it, at least...There's a demon at work, and it's probably not a materialized one." In the glow of the candlelight, she could see him shaking his head, while Daveth had his mace out; "There's no use in trying to get back out. At least, not the way we came in."

"Meaning?" Daveth asked, fingering the heavy end of his weapon. Cullen sighed, oddly enough with little trace of fright. Right now, Talia definitely felt frightened, because this was some Daedric shit if she'd ever seen it.

"Meaning this entire building is probably under the demon's sway." The Templar explained, running a hand over his sword. Softly glowing blue runes started appearing along the blade's center. At any other time, Talia might have asked what exactly he had just done, but right now she was just a little more concerned with the possibility of being trapped in a house with demons and whatever else the Thedasian supernatural had to offer; "We'll have to force it out of hiding, and kill it."

"You're a Templar though, right?" Daveth asked, the edge of anxiety creeping into his words. Talia, meanwhile, was pouring fire at the door. To about as much effect as Cullen had predicted; "Can't you just banish it from here? Or, just dispel whatever's sealing the door?"

"I'm just a Knight-Templar, Daveth. I'm...not good enough for that yet." Cullen admitted with some reluctance; "I can dispel it if we kill the source, but...We'll need to find it first."

Talia clenched her fists, looking to Two-Sock for a sign of trouble. The Familiar seemed mostly interested in the Mabari's corpse, and not so much with the door before them. Actually, on second thought, he didn't so much seem uninterested in the door as actively shying away from it; "What's wrong?"

A whimper was her reply, to which she could only sigh. Two-Sock was smarter than most humans, but there were still things he couldn't convey between them. There was will, and not much else. At least, not unless she absorbed him again, but then they'd have no other warning than Cullen's senses as a Templar. At least, she_ assumed_ he had some sort of sensing ability when it came to possible demon infestations.

"Something's on the other side of that door, and it's giving him the shivers." It was the gist of it, really. She couldn't relay it any better, but still made a mental note of looking through Two-Sock's mindscape the next time she had the peace of mind to properly comb it over; "Which means it's probably something supernatural."

"Well then..." Cullen took a deep breath, folding his hands in what seemed like contemplative prayer. It only lasted for a moment, but when he unclasped them again, she was certain there was some sort of new, blue glow from the inside of his helmet. Still, it was too weak for her to actually be sure; "Whatever it is, it already knows we're here."

With that, he raised his foot up and kicked in, sending the door crashing through the next room. Talia was, momentarily, stunned to the point of speechlessness at his action.

"...ever heard of knocking, Cullen?" Daveth, it seemed, did not share her sense of trepidation when it came to further antagonizing a possible demon. Physical ones, she could handle. But considering how much she still didn't understand about the Fade, she didn't like making too hasty moves against entities that felt more like what you'd expect from Daedric beings than Demons. Nothing she'd fought so far had felt like this, maybe with the exception of the Sloth demon in Kinloch; "I mean, you'd think..."

Daveth's speech finally stopped, although his mouth certainly did not seem eager to. Talia and Cullen stopped as well, having seen the same as him. Before them, standing in the middle of the hallway, a black shadow was before them.

The size of a child, it did not seem to notice them. Instead, it was caught in what appeared to be repeating motions. Huddled forward and with both hands protecting its face, the shadow was sobbing with fear and distress. It was only now, seeing it, that the sound started being something none of them could ignore.

"It's a lost soul." Cullen's voice was more somber than hard, stepping forward towards the black shadow; "The massacre in Kinloch left a lot of them around..."

"So...it's a ghost?" Talia hesitantly asked, eyes locked onto the spectre.

As soon as the final word had left her mouth, the child seemed to snap up, turning towards something behind them. Looking where it did, she saw nothing, but clearly, something_ had_ been there. The ghost turned and ran, only to be raised into the air. The sobbing had stopped, replaced with hoarse, raw screams of agony and terror, as something ripped the arms from the child's shoulders. The head then started turning, around and around and around, until it simply came off.

Talia stared, horrified beyond the capacity for words, as the spectre was simply discarded onto the ground. Remaining there for but a moment, it was then dragged off by that same, invisible being, vanishing from sight.

"Andraste have mercy on their souls..." Cullen whispered, gripping his sword with clearly renewed vigor. At her side, Talia saw Daveth fighting to remain standing. He looked sick, tortured at the sight of what they had just witnessed.

"Cullen..." Talia whispered, finding her own throat dry as parchment, and her voice reluctant to even reach beyond her lips. At some point, at her side, during the display of inhumanity, Two-Sock had started snarling, and had yet to stop. The Familiar stood with raised barbs and bared teeth; "What...what was that?"

"The demon."

"Gods...it just...it just...did it do _that_ to everyone..." shivers and tremors racked her body. Averting her eyes from where the ghost had been forced into the air, Talia's eyes instead fell on the only thing that had not been dragged along; "Oh for the love of..."

The child's head had been left behind. Decomposing and with maggots crawling through the flesh, it somehow still retained the expression of stricken terror, forever locked in that last visage of agony and fear. Punching out before she succumbed to the nausea, Talia set the head on fire with as much intensity as she could muster.

Within seconds, all that remained was a charred skull. Somehow, that did not make her feel better. The nausea remained, and now the stench of burning skin and fat permeated the corridor. The empty sockets of the skull seemed to glare at her, as if accusing her. Cracked teeth and flakes of charred skin burned themselves into her-

"We should move on." Cullen's words snapped her from the trance. With a nod, she swallowed and slapped Daveth on the shoulder, pulling him from his shocked stupor as well. Too much of this reminded her of Kinloch already, and she dreaded what was ahead; "Be ready for anything."

What was ahead, she was right to dread. Talia's senses threatened to leave here there and then, when they entered the next rooms. Blood had been painted across the walls as if it had been in infinite supply, with broad strokes that could only be from a body being slapped across the wood. Imprints of bloody hands dragged across all surfaces, even the ceiling, and the ruined furniture bore equal sprays of blood and dried gore.

But the worst was still the ghosts. These 'shadows' and lost souls, all seemed determined to haunt her mind and dreams for the rest of her life. Talia was biting her lips to blood, trying to ignore the pained screams of the ghostly specters of elven children. All as one, they were reliving their deaths, in every brutal little detail. Limbs were ripped from their sockets, heads were chewed and little bodies broken and cracked with all the accompanying horror. Every squelch and crack threatened to bring the Breton to her knees.

Was this what Kinloch had been like, had _sounded_ like, when the massacre took place?

"Where's all the bodies?" Daveth's voice was small, so small she barely heard it, once the ghosts were gone. Common to all of them, was that they seemed to have been; "There's...there's no bodies."

Talia spared her friend a concerned look. Right now, much as she was teetering on the brink of panic, Daveth was experiencing the atrocities committed in a place he'd grown up. He might even have known some of the people living here. The closest comparison she could offer with herself was that night in Highever. Daveth looked...he looked sick. Sicker than she'd seen him in a long time.

Two-Sock was snarling again. This time, it was at the door farthest away from them. It also was where every broad, dried trail of blood led towards. Her Familiar positioned himself before the doorway, tail stiff and ears flat. Waves of fiery red and yellow washed through his ethereal fur. Danger.

There was something dangerous beyond that door. And it was physical.

"Cullen." She had to fight the nausea to speak, and the Templar seemed momentarily unable to hear her; "Cullen." When he turned to look at her, even through his enclosed helmet she could see the dilation of his pupils, the way his eyes were trying and failing to take in the horrors; "There's something in the next room. And it's not a shadow."

"Good." Daveth's voice was still small, but now it held some venom to it. A dangerous edge she hadn't heard in a while. It was rare that he was truly, thoroughly set on killing something from a personal motive, but here...Looking at their surroundings, at what had happened, she wanted nothing more than to join him, and murder whatever or whomever the fuck was on the other side of that door.

Cullen seemed to be of the same mind. Three fast, angry steps took him to the door, and a fourth planted itself into its blood-soaked frame. Without a word, he kicked the door in, tearing the lock from its place, splinters of rotten wood flying from their frame. Before the door had even come to a rest, he was through it, shield raised and sword at the ready.

"Blessed are they who stand before. The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." She followed him in, right after Daveth, finding Cullen's chants oddly reassuring. Maybe it was because right now she was simply too mad to give a shit about religion, or even the persecution she had faced herself. Right now, something needed to die, and it needed to _suffer_ before it died.

What she saw within the next room, however, brought the bile back up into her throat.

There, perched on a mound of bodies as if it were a throne, a mass of flesh, shadows, scales and rags sat. A head without its own face, wearing instead that of a blind man, regarded them, having paused in the devouring of a child's arm. A mouth that was sat in the face of a man was opened, far wider than should be possible, and the crushing of bones could be heard as it chewed through the tiny arm.

"DEMON!" Cullen screamed at the being, his sword glowing almost as brightly as her Familiar; "I'LL SLAY YOU FOR THIS!"

"_Ah_, a _Templar_, then?" the demon huffed, speaking through its human face. Blood spilled from its mouth with every motion of the broken lips, and the stench of death and decay drifted towards them. Human eyes that seemed to have once been blind, gazed upon them with boredom; "So _long, _it _has_ been_ so_ long _since _I _was_ given_ something..._fresh. _This_ meat_ is _all_...dried_. Rot, _tear_ and _dust, _seeping_ through _this_ place. _Tell_ me_, Templar,_ do_ you_ know _this_ face?" _

Cullen, disregarding the demon's words, advanced on the creature. In response to this, it simply picked up the cadaver of a child and tossed it at the Templar. The throw had enough force that the impact threw him to the ground.

"_Materials_, always_ in_ such_ haste_ to _carry_ on..._I_ asked_ a, _should_ I _say,polite _question._" The demon curled itself around the pile of bodies, its own more akin to a centipede's than the demons Talia had seen so far. Countless spider-like limbs carried the monstrosity, cracking and creaking as the chitinous plates rubbed against each other; "_You_ do_ not_ know_ this_ face, _then_? Pity..._It_ belonged _once_ to _one_ of _your_ order."

"You...you killed Ser Otto?!" Talia had never seen Cullen _this_ furious before. With a scream he was on his feet again, charging the abomination. This time, when it threw a corpse at him, he dodged around it, closing the distance as his sword caught fire; "GO BACK TO THE FADE YOU MONSTER!"

"So_ tiresome..._" the centipede sighed, curling its body around itself. Cullen's sword blow hit the chitinous armor with a resounding clatter of steel against bone. The impact was enough to send him staggering back, almost as if the blow's force had been directed back at him; "_Curious_, that _they_ would_ think_ a blind_ man, _capable. _I _skewered_ his _corpse_ and _delighted_ in_ his _flesh_." Another blow, this time it was Daveth who brought his mace to bear on the creature's head. Something like an eyelid closed itself over the face, and once more, the blow was deflected.

"TALIA! BURN IT!" Cullen's shout echoed through the room. Talia had, until now, tried to find any weak points the demon might have, but had come up empty with both firebolts and icicles. She didn't dare anything larger, for fear of harming her friends; "BURN ITS FACE! BURN IT!"

She did as he asked, or, at least did her best at it. Pouring a stream of fire at the face, all she achieved was that the demon closed the eyelid again, protecting what seemed to be its only soft spot against injury. She continued, even as the drain on her magicka started becoming noticeable, because if there was _one_ thing every demon in the Circle, bar the Rage demons, had in common, it was an aversion to fire.

Maybe she could boil it in its own, chitinous armor. She knew some mages trained in how to _cook_ soldiers in theirs, so that _should_ be an option here, right? Then again, this was a demon, and if the amount of corpses it had collected was to be any indication, it was _good_ at killing. It wasn't likely going to let something like fire do it in.

There was no way she could be that lucky, was there?

One thing she achieved, at least, was that with the sealing of its eyelid, it seemed the demon could no longer actually _see_ what was going on. That much was evident in how it spontaneously curled and swung its body and limbs, reacting more than anything to the glancing blows. Cullen was forced to defend himself against what appeared to be a large, stinger-like spike at the end of the centipede's body, while Daveth was simply doing what he could to _not_ be impaled with one of the many, razor-sharp legs. Already, his uniform was seeing tears, yet he didn't seem to even hold a shred of fear.

Suicidal anger seemed to drive him, and it was not a good thing. Much as Talia knew she was not one to talk, she also had the luxury of being able to heal herself. Daveth, if he got impaled, did not. Wasting little time, she turned his skin hard as oak, the best she could do whilst keeping the stream of fire uninterrupted.

"TALIA! Switch to freezing it! We need to break that ar-" Cullen was interrupted when the spike drove itself into his shield, and yanked both it and him through the air. Even as he freed his arm from the shield, he was flying with too much speed to stop, and hit the wall hard.

"CULLEN!" Talia screamed as he fell to the ground, unmoving; "Shit!" she was forced to stop casting on Daveth, even as the monster ceaselessly stabbed and cut at him. The Oakflesh would hold up yet, hopefully. Fire turned to frost, and both outstretched hands spewed flash-freezing liquids. As opposed to trying to pierce its armor - she'd tried _that_ already, to no avail - this might just make the chitin brittle enough that they could simply smash it.

"_It_ is..._cold_." the baritone voice of the demon rumbled from the walls; "_Mage_, why _must_ you_ pain_ me _so_? Are _you_ not _happy_, that_ I _have_ disposed_ of _those_ who_ would _seek _to _imprison_ you,_ for _the_ crime_ of_ your_ birth? _You_, who_ reek_ of _the _blood_ of _the_ Old _Ones_?"

"Shut up!" she didn't know what else to say, _had_ nothing else to say to it. So, instead, she sprayed it with ice, trusting that Daveth and Two-Sock could keep the monster away from her; "Just shut your hole and fucking die! You killed _children!_ You killed and ate _children!"_

"Does _the_ age_ matter, _when _you_ butcher_ the _lamb?" the demon asked; "When_ you_ squash_ the gnat_ underneath_ your _boot_, does _it_ matter_ whether _it _was_ young_ or _old_?"

"Bastard." Talia spat out the word like it was the bile in her throat. She could barely move without stepping in the remains of the demon's feast. Most of it was just tiny bits, like fingertips, ears and what else had fallen off; "You evil fucking_ Bastard!"_

She had coated the demon's form with a thin layer of frost, but its constant trashing about made it impossible for her to actually freeze it down. Its scales and plates were white with frost, yet it didn't seem to actually overtly bother it.

"Tali! What the fuck are we gonna do?!" Daveth's yell reached her over the noise, from where he was struggling not to get impaled with the same spike that Cullen had been introduced to; "How're we gonna kill this thing?!"

Shit! Right now, she didn't know. There wasn't enough room in here for her to transform, and she doubted her partial transformation would be strong enough to actually kill it either. Still, what other option did they have at this point? She had to come up with a plan, but all sensible ones had gone out the window when Cullen was knocked out.

"Keep it away from me, just for a second!" she jumped back, hoping and trusting that Daveth could actually pull that off, without her support. At least Two-Sock was still at his side, biting and yanking wherever it could; "Okay, I might have an idea!"

Heaving down a deep breath, she ceased casting and instead held out her hands, fingers outstretched for easier transition. Eyes closed, eyes open. Eyes closed again, and magicka rushing through her veins, altering the very structure of her DNA on a local basis. She could thank Morrigan, she knew, that this was starting to come easier to her.

Eyes open, and arms and hands were now powerful claws. Claws, she knew, that could not cast even the simplest spell. It had shredded the gloves Cullen gave her against the cold, with the leather barely hanging by a tread at her wrists. Still, she could feel the power of iron-muscles coiled tightly underneath the skin and scale. The transformation reached all the way to her shoulders, offering her strength even Sten would have envied.

"Daveth! Go for its face!" she waited for him to comply, taking her time to edge around the demon's great form. Its centipede-like body coiled and twisted like a snake. Its countless legs busied themselves with stabbing at her Familiar and keeping itself snaked around the top of its mound. Its 'pile of treasures' as if it were a dragon nesting on gold.

Once she was close enough to the demon's flank, and its attention was on the man attacking its face, and the Familiar attacking its rear, Talia struck. With reflexes honed of years of training, then enhanced by at first the Joining, then Kulaas' blood, and her bond to Hakkon, strong claws grabbed and tore at the first of the insectoid limbs they could reach. Immediately, she was pulled forward and nearly had her shoulder dislocated by the demon's powerful pull.

"I've _got_ you now, you piece. Of. _Shit_!" with an expression betraying the effort she was forced to exert. The demon howled and wailed with wrath as she tore, feeling the iron-hard muscles working underneath her skin. With a great tearing of flesh, she both heard and felt the sharp, spike-like leg come free of its socket. As soon as it was free, she discarded it onto the pile of corpses. In hindsight, this was a fittingly ironic statement, to throw its own limbs onto its victims. Almost like a vengeance, but not quite enough.

Blocking out the painfully shrill screams of fury her action had resulted in, she plunged her claws into the slimy tissue that was underneath the chitinous plates. With the leg gone, suddenly she could now get a hold on the demon's exoskeleton.

"Talia! Keep it up!" Daveth yelled as she tore and ripped into its side, spilling black ichors and blood in fountains. The front of her clothes were soaked with unmentionable liquids already, and she knew she would have to burn them. With one hand she tore, and with the other she pummeled, a clenched fist as hard as steel and bone shattering scale and chitin with repeated, merciless strikes.

There was an urge to bite it, as well. An urge to sink her teeth into its flesh, that she mentally threw out almost as soon as it manifested, finding it beyond repulsive. It was the urge to drink its blood, to devour it like it was some sort of prey. She'd felt _that_ before, back when Hakkon had first taken her over.

The demon coiled, like a spring wound too tightly. Talia didn't notice in time to avoid it unleashing itself upon them, slapping both her and Daveth with all the force of its weight and momentum. It felt like being run over by a horse, as if Niko had kicked her in the front, and she was thrown back, saved only by her ability to roll with the attack and land on her knees.

Daveth, quick as he was, did not have the same luck. She grimaced as the sound of his body hitting the wall, before falling to the ground. She could hear him groaning with barely suppressed agony, but at least that meant he was alive. Still on her knees, Talia winced as she felt her ribs protesting even the slightest of movements. _Fuck, _something was broken. _Definitely, _something was broken.

"You!_ Insolent_ little _creature_! You_ dare_?!"

"_Fuck..._shit, that hurt." Every breath brought sharp pangs of agony, almost like the sting of a wasp in her lungs; "_Oh_, oh _that's_ going to leave a mark." Her blood boiled, something in her soul begging to tear and render. She knew it wouldn't work, to even attempt shapeshifting completely in here. A cough racked her body, and blood sprayed from her lips; "Oh fuck...that's...that's not good."

As the demon approached her, cautiously as if approaching a wounded animal, Talia wracked her brain for options. Right now, she didn't see a great many. Transformation wasn't an option, not at this distance. The demon would tackle her before she even had the chance to begin. Firebreathing was out too, her lungs felt like they'd been pierced with the broken rib, and her breathing wouldn't allow for it.

"Know_ that _I_ will_ take_...great_, delight, _in_ consuming_ your body_, Mage." The human face smiled, an expression that only became more eerie by how it failed to actually look like a natural smile, and more like the muscles were simply operated in a mockery of the gesture. Saliva and ichors dripped from gums in the human mouth, looking forward to the meal. Much to both her disgust and horror, the face itself split horizontally, revealing itself to be a larger mouth, a gaping maw of fangs and jagged teeth; "I _will_, allow_, your_ friends_ to _watch._ A _feast_, to _be_ sure_, of_ such_ a..._worthy_ morsel."

"Yeah, I'm not-" another cough, greater in force, took her to her knees as more blood spilled from her lips. She clasped a hand over the broken rib and tried pushing restorative energies into the wound; "- I'm not too keen on that."

"Mmmm_mm_, your_ compliance_ on _the_ matter_ is..._irrelevant." a thick tongue licked the edges of its teeth, further pouring saliva over the bodies of its victims as it moved forward; "_In_ the _greater_ scheme _of_ things_, everything_ you_ have_ done_ so_ far_ is _irrelevant. _The _day _will_ come, _when_ all_ are_ free_ of the _Great_ veil,_ and _the_ true_ feast shall, _hmmm,_ comme-"_

A great crash, like the breaking of rock and trees, came from above. Talia barely managed to process the source of the noise before the ceiling above them broke as well. The demon uttered what could just be heard as a startled noise, before a form hit it with all the wrath and power of an angry god, breaking its back in a single moment.

"Get _away_, from my _Daughter_, you piece of insidious _slime!_" rising from the broken back of the centipede-like demon, Talia saw her mother standing tall, chains flowing from her sleeves as her feet were embedded in the chitinous plates of the malicious creature; "Talia, stay down and focus on your breathing. I'll take care of this."

"M-_Mom_?"

"Shh, it's okay, Sweetie." The tone of Rhea Aulus' words starkly contrasted the vengeance with which she sent the tip of a chain, glowing like white-hot steel, plunging into the hole Talia herself had created just before. Not yet dead, the demon underneath her boots writhed and screamed, its human face contorting in expressions that had little to do with pain. Tali could only see more and more of the chain burrowing into the insectoid body, meters at a time simply entering flesh and sinew; "Mom's got this."

With a tearing motion, her mother then unfolded the entirety of the chain she had burrowed inside the demon, tearing the creature apart from the inside out. Its screams and wails could only just be heard over the great wracking noises of breaking tissue and chitin cracking. Blood and ichors spurted from every opened wound.

Deprived of its mass and its blood, and ruined by the wounds it had suffered, the demon finally fell still, collapsing onto the blood-soaked floor. Bubbles of black and red foamed at its maw, in the end becoming little more than a trickle.

"There." Her mother stepped off the still steaming corpse, offering her surroundings. Within a second, she was kneeling by Talia's side, one hand supporting her back so that Talia wasn't going to stumble or fall; "It's going to be okay now, sweetie. It's over. I'm here."

* * *

**'Helheim has no cold like that of a Mother's fury'**

**Yeah, Rhea doesn't really mess around when it comes to protecting her children.**


End file.
